Chapter 2 - The Call
The number was not saved in my contacts. I didn't need to save it. For five years, I had carried those ten digits in my mind like a loaded gun I swore I would never fire.
The phone rang once. Twice.
"Nebula."
The voice on the other end was a low, vibrating rumble that made the freezing rain around me feel suddenly insignificant. It was a voice that commanded rooms, dictated terms, and ended lives.
Dante Russo.
Five years ago, I had walked away from him because I wanted a quiet, normal life. I had wanted safety. I had traded the terrifying, possessive shadow of a syndicate boss for the bright, respectable illusion of an architect.
"Dante," I whispered. My jaw flared with agony just forming his name. I tasted fresh blood.
The silence on the line shifted. The air in the receiver seemed to turn to ice. Dante did not ask how I was doing. He did not ask why it had been five years. He heard the tremor in my breath, and the apex predator woke up.
"Who did it?" Dante asked, his voice deadly calm.
"My husband," I choked out, a sob finally breaking through my ribs. "Dante... can you come get me?"
"Where are you." It wasn't a question. It was a targeting coordinate.
May you like
"Oakridge Country Club. On the smoking patio. He said... he said I have ten minutes before we go home."
"You are not going home," Dante decreed. The sound of a heavy door slamming echoed through the phone, followed by the roar of a high-performance engine turning over. "Stay on the ground. Do not move. I am five minutes away."
