Chapter7
955 Words
Ava didn’t answer him right away.
Nico stood in front of her, the glow of the city stretching behind his shoulder through the warehouse window. His voice still echoed in her ears: Have you changed your mind yet?
She could’ve lied. Played tough. But what was the point?
She’d nearly died tonight. A stranger pulled a gun on her like she was worth killing. For what? Being seen with Nico? Having his name in her mouth?
She met his gaze and gave the smallest nod. “Yeah. I’ve changed my mind.”
Nico didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. He just gave a short nod, like he’d expected this from the start.
“Good,” he said simply, turning toward the desk. “Then we start now.”
“Now?” she asked, voice hoarse.
“You want protection? Answers? You want to stay alive? Then you move fast in this world.”
She exhaled, dragging a hand through her hair. “I don’t want to be part of anything.”
“You already are.”
The words hit her like a slap. Not cruel—just true.
He motioned for her to sit. “You’ll need a place to stay. Your apartment’s compromised. Someone put eyes on you.”
“I can’t just disappear,” she protested. “I have a job. A life.”
He looked at her like she’d said something naive.
“A bar job and a one-bedroom walk-up isn’t much of a life, Ava.”
“That’s not the point,” she shot back.
He sighed, walked around the desk, and pulled open a drawer. Inside, Ava saw a worn folder with a red band around it.
He tossed it onto the desk.
“Open it.”
She hesitated, then stepped forward and pulled the band free. Inside were photographs—blurry street shots of her apartment, her walking to work, her going out the back alley at the bar. One showed her unlocking her front door, groceries in hand.
Her stomach twisted.
“How long have I been watched?”
“Since the alley,” Nico said. “I had Enzo keep tabs. After you saved my life, it wasn’t just about you anymore. It became about anyone who saw that night.”
“So, what—your enemies think I’m part of your crew now?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
“They already think I’m in,” she whispered.
“Exactly. So unless you want to be the only unarmed civilian in a war zone, you’d better start learning how to survive in it.”
Ava looked down at the photos again. At herself, unaware. Unprotected. Being hunted.
“Where am I staying?”
Nico glanced at his watch. “Enzo will drive you to the safe house tonight. It’s secure. Unmarked. Bulletproof glass.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Great. Just what I always wanted.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“I doubt that.”
He smirked faintly. “You’ll see.”
The ride to the safe house was silent.
Enzo sat behind the wheel of another black SUV, eyes straight ahead. Ava sat in the back, staring out the window as the city blurred past—its flashing lights and late-night streets suddenly unfamiliar.
“Do you always babysit the new recruits?” she asked dryly.
Enzo didn’t take the bait. “I don’t think of you as a recruit.”
“What then?”
He paused. “Collateral damage. But useful.”
“Wow,” she muttered. “Charming.”
The safe house wasn’t a house at all. It was an upscale apartment building tucked between a bakery and a tattoo shop—so normal it almost felt fake. Inside, the elevator opened directly into the apartment: exposed brick, clean lines, floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a kitchen stocked with fresh groceries. A leather couch. A sleek bed with military-tight sheets.
Enzo handed her a burner phone and a keycard. “Don’t use your old phone. Don’t call anyone from it. Don’t go back to your apartment.”
“What happens if I do?”
“You won’t get a second warning.”
He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway.
“Nico doesn’t offer protection lightly. Don’t waste it.”
Then he was gone.
Ava didn’t sleep that night.
She tried. She paced the clean floors, sat on the couch, stared at the city lights. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw the shooter’s face. The glint of the gun. Her own breath fogging the air as she realized she might die.
Around 4 a.m., she finally lay down—clothes still on—and stared at the ceiling until exhaustion finally dragged her under.
The next morning, Enzo returned.
He didn’t knock.
Just walked in and tossed her a bag.
Inside was a change of clothes—dark jeans, boots, a plain black jacket—and a small pouch.
She opened it to find a folding knife and a sleek phone.
“This isn’t charity,” he said. “Nico’s giving you a trial run. You don’t get to just sit around.”
“A trial for what?”
“To prove you’re not dead weight.”
“I didn’t ask to be in your little mafia.”
He leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “Then you should’ve let Nico die in that alley.”
Silence filled the space between them.
Ava swallowed the retort burning in her throat. Instead, she looked down at the knife. It was heavier than she expected. Cold.
“What do I have to do?”
“For now, nothing flashy. You’ll work under Nico. You’ll shadow meetings, observe drops.
- Writer
