Chapter 3 MARKED

Eva hadn't slept.

Not even for a second.

She'd spent the night curled up on her worn couch, still in her cleaning uniform, eyes glued to the door. Every creak of the floor above, every passing siren, made her flinch. She'd half expected someone-him-to come back for her. Or worse, send someone else.

But no one did.

By 6:00 a.m., the silence became the loudest thing in the room.

She stood in the mirror, brushing her teeth with a trembling hand. Her face was pale, her eyes sunken from fear and insomnia. The toothbrush paused mid-motion.

*You're the cleaner, right?*

*You just became part of a very messy night.*

His voice echoed in her head, low and lethal-and disturbingly smooth. There was something about the way he looked at her that didn't match the weapon in his hand. Something that felt... deliberate. Controlled. Hungry.

She turned the faucet off. The silence screamed louder.

She should go to the police. She *knew* that.

But what could she say?

She hadn't even called 911. Hell, she hadn't even touched her phone. She didn't know who the dead man was, or who Dominic Moretti really was-at least not on paper. But every instinct in her gut told her this wasn't a normal murder.

It was *organized*.

Professional.

And walking into a precinct might only paint a bigger target on her back.

Her fingers hovered over her phone. She opened a browser. Typed in the name she wasn't supposed to remember.

**Dominic Moretti.**

It auto-filled before she hit enter.

The search results were vague, full of corporate jargon and charity galas. CEO of Moretti Development. Son of late real estate mogul Vincent Moretti. Clean record. Too clean.

But on page three, buried between an article about zoning permits and a puff piece in *Forbes*, she saw a photo that made her breath hitch.

It was him.

And behind him, at a party, stood a man with half his face cropped out-wearing the same gray suit she saw soaked in blood last night.

Eva closed the laptop.

*He's real.*

*He's powerful.*

*And he let you live.*

Her heart pounded.

Why?

She wasn't special. She was a cleaner with student loan debt and a leaky faucet. She didn't belong in that world.

So why did she feel like it was pulling her in?

A sharp knock at the door made her freeze.

Three slow, spaced-out taps.

She stepped forward, barefoot, stomach clenched so tight she thought she might throw up. She looked through the peephole-

And stopped breathing.

A single white envelope sat on the floor outside her door.

No name. No return address.

She waited. One minute. Then two.

Nothing.

She opened the door.

The hallway was empty.

She picked up the envelope with shaking fingers and slid her thumb under the seal.

Inside was a single card. Thick, expensive paper. One line, typed in clean black ink:

**"Curiosity is dangerous, Eva. But I like it."**

No signature.

Just the scent of cologne still clinging to the card.

The same one he wore.

Dominic Moretti.

He'd found her.

And now, she knew:

She wasn't just a witness anymore.

She was *watched*.

Eva stared at the card for a long time.

"Curiosity is dangerous, Eva. But I like it."

Her name in print looked too deliberate. Too personal. He wanted her to know this wasn't a coincidence.

She went to the window, pulling back the curtain just an inch. Her apartment faced the street-mostly empty at this hour except for a parked black car across the road.

Tinted windows. Engine running.

*Was it him?*

She let the curtain fall and backed away from the window.

This wasn't just intimidation.

This was a message.

He didn't want her to be afraid. Not really. He wanted her to know she was being watched-and *chosen*. Like he'd placed a mark on her, not to kill... but to claim.

She should be terrified.

But deep down, in a place she didn't want to name, the fear tangled with something hotter. Something reckless.

He hadn't threatened her. Not directly. He could've, easily. He could've sent someone to drag her from her bed. He could've made her vanish.

Instead, he left her a card like an invitation.

*I like it.*

God help her, but something in her liked it too.

She spent the day trying to act normal.

She went to the grocery store, bought eggs she didn't want, walked the long way home to see if she was being followed. Every time she turned around, no one was there. But the feeling lingered.

By 9:00 p.m., she was pacing her apartment again.

Her shift had been covered-someone had texted from work saying she was off rotation for the next week. No explanation.

Eva hadn't told them to do that.

Someone else had.

She sat on her bed, phone in hand, staring at the name she'd saved after her search.

**Dominic Moretti.**

She didn't have his number.

But something told her she wouldn't need to.

He'd come to her again.

And when he did, she had no idea whether she was going to run... or open the door.