SHADOWS NEXT DOOR

Ellie Harper’s POV The scream tears through my apartment walls like a gunshot, raw and desperate, jolting me from a half-assed attempt at sleep. It’s 3 a.m., and Brooklyn’s summer heat has me sprawled on my lumpy couch, the fan doing jack to cool my sweaty skin. My heart’s already pounding, screams aren’t new in this neighborhood, but this one’s close. Too close. It’s coming from next door, from his place. Nico Valenti, the guy with the smoldering gray eyes and guitar riffs that haunt my dreams, is no stranger to weird hours, but this? This ain’t music. I’m on my feet, barefoot in a tank top and cutoff shorts, my curly auburn hair a tangled mess. My gut’s screaming to stay put, but my neighbor’s in trouble or causing it and I’m too damn stubborn to ignore it. I grab a kitchen knife, the blade glinting under the flickering bulb, and creep to my door. The brownstone’s hallway is dark, the air thick with stale beer and secrets. Nico’s door is ajar, a sliver of light spilling out, and the screaming turned to muffled sobs, punctuated by a low, guttural voice his. “You thought you could run, Carlo? In my city?” My blood runs cold. That’s not the Nico I know, the guy who carried my groceries up three flights, flashing a grin that made my knees weak. This is someone else, someone dangerous. I should bolt, call 911, anything but push that door open. But I do, because apparently, I’m an i***t with a death wish. The sight hits me like a punch: Nico, all 6’1” of lean muscle, looms over a guy tied to a chair, blood dripping from a gash on the man’s face. Nico’s black shirt is unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, revealing tattoos I’ve never seen snakes coiling up his forearms. His hands, those same hands that strummed a guitar last week, grip a gleaming switchblade, hovering inches from the guy’s throat. Two other men big, scarred, suits screaming money stand by, guns holstered but ready. The apartment’s a lie, not the cozy bachelor pad I imagined but a stark, sterile space, like a stage for violence. A table holds a duffel bag, cash spilling out, and a stack of what looks like ledgers. Nico’s head lifts sharply, his gray eyes meeting mine. For a brief moment, there’s surprise then it vanishes, giving way to a chilling, ruthless tranquility. “Look, Ellie,” he began to speak, his voice thick and nearly a scream. “You are not supposed to see this and you don't belong here.” My mouth was tight, it was like being sealed not to talk, and the knife in my hands, useless, shaking in my tight grip. "What on earth is this, Nico?" I choke out, my voice louder than I mean. The tied-up guy Carlo whimpers, and one of the goons steps toward me, hand on his gun. Nico raises a finger, stopping him dead. “Leave her,” Nico orders, never breaking eye contact with me. “She’s not part of this.” He moves nearer, the switchblade still grasped tightly, blood splattering his knuckles. My heart pounds like a jackhammer, yet I refuse to yield. I can’t. Not when those eyes, the ones I’ve doodled in my sketchpad like a lovesick teenager, are sizing me up like prey. “Not part of what?” I snap, gripping the knife tighter. “Torturing people? You’re supposed to be a consultant, not…” I gesture at Carlo, the blood, the cash. “This!” He smirks, yet it's sour, not the delightful smile I'm accustomed to. “Do you believe you understand me, Ellie?” You don’t know shit.” He’s close now, close enough I can smell his cologne cedar, whiskey, danger. “Go back to your apartment. Forget this.” “Forget?” I laughed, shrieked and panicked. “You’re carving up a guy in your living room! Who are you?” My voice falters, revealing the fear I'm attempting to conceal. Carlo is crying once more, whispering about “the Ghost,” and my stomach churns. I’ve heard whispers in dive bars the Ghost, Brooklyn’s untouchable Mafia boss, a shadow who runs the city’s underworld. No. It can’t be Nico. But the tattoos, the goons, the knife it’s adding up, and I’m drowning in it. Nico’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he’ll grab me, drag me out, or worse. Instead, he turns to the goons. “Take Carlo to the docks. I’ll deal with her.” The men nod, hauling the chair and a whimpering Carlo out a back door I didn’t even know existed. The duffel and ledgers disappear with them, leaving me alone with Nico. He put down the switchblade on the wooden table, gentle and deliberately, as if proving not to be a threat. “Ellie,” he says, softer now, almost human. “You walked right into a chaos, something you can't erase and forget. So, I am trying to at least keep you safe, to protect you, but you are just making it harder for me if you continue to stay here.” “Safe?” I spit, stepping back, knife still raised. “You’re a criminal. A killer, maybe. And I’ve been what, flirting with you? Thinking you were…” I trail off, my cheeks burning. God, I’m such an i***t. Those late-night chats in the laundry room, his hand brushing mine it was all a lie. He flinches, just a flicker, but it’s there. “I didn’t lie about everything,” he says, voice raw. “I like you, Ellie. Too much. That’s why you need to walk away.” My heart twists, torn between fear and something stupider, hope. “Then tell me the truth,” I demand. “Are you the Ghost?” I was waiting for an answer but before Nico could respond to my questions, the heavy metal front door exploded inwards, locks splintering to the floor. A tall, very young Lady storms into the room, she looks sharp with chiseled cheekbones, her presence lethal with grace and her black jacket was screaming nothing but trouble. She’s maybe 30, with dark eyes that cut through me like glass. A gun’s in her hand, pointed at Nico, but her smirk’s aimed at both of us. “Nico Valenti,” she purrs, “you’ve been naughty, hiding from me.” Nico tenses, stepping in front of me, his body a shield. “Gina,” he growls. “Bad timing.” My brain is reeling, trying to figure out who the heck is this woman. Who is she? Another player in his world? An Ally or enemy. But it’s her next words that turn my blood to ice. “The Viper sends his regards,” she says, c*****g the gun. “And he wants his fiancée back.” Her eyes slide to me, and I freeze. Fiancée? Me? I’ve never heard of the Viper, never been engaged to anyone, but the way she’s looking at me like I’m a prize says I am in a deeper s**t than I thought. Nico’s hand twitches toward the switchblade, but Gina’s faster, firing a warning shot that shatters a lamp. “Don’t,” she warns, then nods at me. “Ellie Harper, you’re coming with me. Viper’s got plans for you and your father’s debt.” My father? Dad’s been gone for years, dead in a car wreck when I was a kid. Or so I thought. The room spins, Nico’s eyes burning into mine, a mix of fury and something like guilt. “Ellie, don’t move,” he says, voice low, but Gina’s advancing, and I’m caught between a Mafia boss and a woman who thinks I’m someone’s bride. I clutch the knife, my pulse a war drum. Nico’s the Ghost, my neighbor’s a monster, and now I’m tied to some Viper and a father who’s not dead? The twist hits like a freight train: my life’s a lie, and Nico knew. He’s been playing me, protecting me, or both, and I’m about to be dragged into his war. Gina’s gun swings toward me, and Nico lunges, but I’m already moving, my knife slashing at her arm. She screams, and the world erupts gunfire, shouts, and blood. As we crash to the floor, Nico’s voice cuts through the chaos: “Ellie, run!” But I can’t, not when the truth’s bleeding out in front of me. Who am I to the Viper? And why’s Nico fighting for me? The door’s wide open, but so’s the abyss, and I’m falling in.