Chapter 1 - The Armor and the Debt
The armored SUV cut through the wet Boston fog like an phantom, its engine purring with quiet, terrifying power.
Inside the rear passenger cabin, the silence was suffocating.
Penny Higgins pressed her back firmly against the plush leather seat, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she could hear it echoing in her ears. Her server apron was still tied around her waist, wrinkled and damp with spilled whiskey and melted ice.
She glared at Matteo Conti.
The forty-something crime boss sat opposite her, casually dabbing a pristine white silk handkerchief against the small cut along his jawline. His dark eyes, sharp and unreadable as obsidian, didn't leave her face.
“What do you mean, ‘I know’?” Penny demanded again, her voice cracking slightly under the weight of exhaustion and lingering adrenaline. “How do you know about my mother?”
Matteo set the stained handkerchief down on the console between them.
“Penny Higgins,” Matteo said, his voice a low, resonant rumble. “Twenty-six years old as of one hour and twenty minutes ago. Head waitress at the Velvet Room for two years. Primary caregiver for Evelyn Higgins, who resides at the St. Jude Assisted Living Facility in Quincy. Your mother’s monthly rent is due on the fifth of every month, and you are currently forty-three dollars short.”
Penny’s jaw dropped. The outrage that had been keeping her afloat suddenly evaporated, replaced by a cold, prickling dread.
“You’ve been tracking me?” she whispered, her hands gripping the edge of her seat until her knuckles turned white. “Are you a stalker?”
Leo Mercer, sitting in the front passenger seat with his silenced pistol drawn and resting on his lap, didn't turn around, but his eyes met Penny’s in the rearview mirror.
“The boss doesn't stalk people, Miss Higgins,” Leo corrected dryly. “He runs background checks on every employee who enters the VIP floor of the Velvet Room. It’s called basic security.”
“He runs background checks on waitstaff?!” Penny practically shrieked, looking back at Matteo.
“I run background checks on anyone who steps within ten feet of me,” Matteo corrected smoothly, leaning back and folding his long legs. “Including the young woman who poked me in the chest twice in front of thirty people.”
Penny winced slightly, looking down at her own hand.
“I was angry,” she muttered defensively. “Your oversized goons knocked over my tray. That was twenty dollars in broken glassware, and my manager, Jimmy, is a cheap tyrant who takes it out of my tips.”
“Jimmy Morales will not be taking anything out of your tips again,” Matteo said flatly. “In fact, Jimmy Morales no longer manages the Velvet Room.”
Penny blinked. “Did you fire him?”
“I bought the building twenty minutes ago from my phone,” Matteo replied, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “Jimmy has been reassigned to maintenance duties at the fish packing plant on Pier 4.”
Penny stared at him in utter disbelief. “You bought a three-story nightclub at 1:30 in the morning just to demote my boss?”
“I bought the building because it had security vulnerabilities that allowed a gunman to walk into my private lounge,” Matteo said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And because I do not like my staff being mistreated by small men with clipboards.”
Before Penny could process the absurdity of his statement, the SUV banked sharply to the left, pulling into a secure subterranean parking garage beneath a massive, gated waterfront complex in Fort Point.
Heavy steel security gates slammed shut behind them with a loud, mechanical THUD.
The driver cut the engine. Instantly, four heavily armed men in black tactical gear stepped out of the shadows, surrounding the vehicle with their weapons held at low-ready.
“Where are we?” Penny asked, her throat tight.
“My private residence,” Matteo said, opening his door and stepping out into the chilly underground air. He held out his hand to help her down. “Welcome to the safer side of Boston, Penny.”
Penny looked at his extended hand—calloused, powerful, decorated with a silver signet ring bearing the crest of the Conti family.
She ignored his hand, gripped the doorframe, and stepped down on her own two aching feet, wincing as her high heels hit the concrete floor.
“I’m not staying here, Conti,” Penny declared, holding her ground even as four armed mercenaries stared at her in stunned silence. “I have a shift at nine in the morning, my mother needs her medicine brought to her at noon, and I am not a hostage in your mob war.”
Matteo looked down at her.
For a fraction of a second, that dangerous, fascinated flicker returned to his eyes. He stepped closer, towering over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights of the garage.
“You are not a hostage, Penny,” Matteo said softly, leaning down until his dark eyes were level with hers. “You are an inconvenient witness. And until I find out who sent that shooter into my club, you don't leave my sight.”
“And if I walk out that gate right now?” Penny challenged, pointing a finger at the steel shutters.
May you like
Matteo didn't flinch.
“Then the man in the gray jacket will find you at your mother’s apartment by sunrise,” Matteo said, his voice dropping into a register of terrifying certainty. “Because he knows you saw his face. And unlike me, Penny... he doesn't care if you have rent to pay.”
