The Russian Mafia Queen

ITALY (Venice) CHLOE The sun filtered through the curtains, its harsh rays glaring into my eyes. I groaned, slowly cracking them open. Another morning. Another day at work. My bed felt so warm and inviting, but I had responsibilities to meet. With a sigh, I pushed myself up, my body reluctantly following my will. I rubbed my eyes and dragged myself to the bathroom. As I picked up my toothbrush, the cold porcelain felt strange against my fingers.

My mind was still foggy, but I went through the motions-brushing, gargling, and washing my face with water that was cool against my skin, helping me wake up just enough to face the day. The hot shower that followed felt like a temporary escape, the water falling over me in a soothing cascade. I let it run down my back, my muscles unwinding under its comforting heat. I scrubbed away the remnants of yesterday's exhaustion. After a few minutes, I stepped out, wrapped a towel around myself, and made my way back to the bedroom. The mirror reflected a face that wasn't quite awake, but I knew I had to get ready. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could just get on with it. I moisturized my skin, the lotion feeling smooth as I massaged it in. I blow-dried my hair, then applied a bit of product before pulling it into a neat bun. Simple, efficient. Not too much effort. I rummaged through my drawer for something to wear. Overalls. They were comfortable and practical. I paired them with a simple black top, nothing fancy. Comfortable sandals would do. Makeup? No, not today. Just a touch of lip gloss to make my face look a little fresher, though I didn't expect anyone to notice. I grabbed my purse, double-checking that I had my wallet, credit card, bus pass, cellphone, and a handful of loose change-just in case. I locked the door behind me, my keys safely tucked inside my bag, and stepped out into the city. Venice was always beautiful, no matter the time of day. The streets, the canals, the ancient buildings, they were a constant reminder that I lived somewhere magical. But that magic never fully reached me, not with my mundane routine. Still, I appreciated it, even if I didn't always have the energy to savor it. Since I didn't own a car, the bus was my only option. I stood at the stop, waiting for the bus, watching the hustle and bustle around me. The streets were alive with activity as the day began. I caught a glimpse of a man in a tailored suit hurrying along, his briefcase swinging with every step. I smiled to myself, envying the ease in which he moved through the world. When the bus finally arrived, I climbed on and scanned my pass. The driver gave me a curt nod, and I found a seat by the window. The city passed by in a blur. People rushing to their offices, their suits pressed, their shoes polished. The usual chaos of the morning-honking cars, bustling crowds, the cacophony of a city coming to life. As the bus made its way toward my stop, I stared out the window, lost in thought. This was my life now-nothing more, nothing less. I had chosen this. Not exactly the glamorous life I had once imagined, but it was enough to get by. That's all I needed. I arrived at my stop and got off the bus. The coffee shop where I worked was already buzzing with energy. The early rush was in full swing-professionals eager to fuel up before diving into their busy days. I quickly made my way inside, tying on my apron, offering a smile to Macy, my coworker. She waved back, focusing on the customer she was serving. "Hey, Chloe!" Macy called out as I approached the counter. "Good to see you. Ready for another crazy day?" I laughed, adjusting the strap of my apron. "Always," I said, grabbing a rag and getting to work. I barely had time to think as the morning rush hit. People streamed in one after another, all wanting their coffee-black, with milk, with sugar, iced, hot, you name it. I moved with the flow, taking orders, making drinks, and handling cash. A familiar routine. It was then that he walked in. The man in the tailored suit. He approached the counter with a calm air about him, like he was used to the world bowing to his every command. He was tall, sharply dressed, his dark eyes unreadable as they met mine. "I'd like a coffee. Black. No sugar, no cream," he said, his voice low and commanding. I nodded, feeling a little flustered but maintaining my composure. "Coming right up," I said as I quickly got to work. Within moments, I handed him his coffee, the scent of rich espresso filling the air. He didn't hesitate. His credit card was in his hand, ready to be swiped. I quickly took it, ran it through the register, and returned it to him. Just as he was about to turn away, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills, placing them in my tip jar. I couldn't help but smile, but a small part of me was curious. If he had that much cash, why use a card? Not that I was complaining. Extra cash was always welcome. Macy was running around behind the counter, coordinating orders and chatting with a few regulars. I returned to the task at hand, trying not to get distracted by the tall man's presence. He sat down by the window, quietly sipping his coffee, not looking at anyone. Mysterious. The rest of the morning passed by in a blur. The crowd shifted from professionals to schoolchildren and families. We had introduced milkshakes and mocktails recently, and they were a huge hit with the students. My tip jar was steadily filling up, and I carried it to the break room to sort the money. I was just about to take a breather when Macy suddenly popped into the back, holding a wedding magazine in her hands. "What do you think about this gown?" she asked, holding it up excitedly. I glanced at the magazine, gasping. "I love it! This is the one!" Macy's face lit up. "I thought so too! I'm calling Nathaniel and Trisha right now. They'll be thrilled!" I chuckled as she dashed off to make the call. Nathaniel, her fiancé, was wealthy, but Macy had always stayed grounded. She was simple and real, which made her so lovable. I admired her for it. Their relationship felt so genuine-Nathaniel could have married anyone, but he chose Macy, a humble café owner. It was a kind of love I wanted for myself, one that didn't feel forced or transactional. By 4 p.m., my shift was over. I had asked to leave early because I had a friend's birthday party to attend. "Bye, Macy!" I called as I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. "Take care, Chloe!" she called after me with a wave. I made a quick stop at the supermarket to grab a makeup kit and a gift box. It wasn't much, but I knew Tracy would appreciate it. Then, I caught the bus home, my mind still occupied by the day's events. That evening, I spent some time wrapping Tracy's gift before heading for a quick shower. I dressed in a blue gown, the fabric soft against my skin. As I finished my makeup, the quiet of the evening felt almost too calm. Suddenly-Bang! Bang! Bang! Three gunshots rang out in the distance, so loud that my heart skipped a beat. My body went rigid as I rushed to the window, my hands trembling. Outside, I saw four men standing over a lifeless body on the street. The image froze in my mind. My pulse raced as I took in the scene, my breath caught in my throat. The sunlight was beginning to fade, but there was enough light to make out their figures clearly. And then, one of them-he turned and looked directly at my window. Panic flooded me. I ducked behind the curtains, my heart hammering in my chest. I could barely breathe as I slowly peeked through a small crack in the curtains. The men were gone. But the body was still there. I rushed to my purse and fumbled for my phone, dialing 911 with shaking fingers. "911, what's your emergency?" a calm voice answered. "I... I just w-witnessed a murder," I stammered, my voice barely audible. "Four men... they... they killed someone near my house!" "Please stay calm, ma'am. What's your address?" "15 Willow Grove," I whispered, feeling like my world was crashing down. "Please, hurry." "Stay indoors, ma'am. Officers are on their way." Within minutes, five police cars arrived outside my building. I heard a knock on my door. I rushed to open it, still shaking. "Good evening, ma'am," one of the officers said, his tone professional but soft. "May we come in?" I nodded, stepping aside. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew I had to help. I described everything I saw, detailing the men's features as best as I could. The sketch artist worked quickly, turning their faces into rough drawings. "That's them!" I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. The officers exchanged looks. "Thank you for your help," one of them said. "For now, we'll take it from here. We'll keep in touch." I nodded, feeling numb. I had to cancel my plans with Tracy. I couldn't bring myself to celebrate after what I had just witnessed. My phone rang non-stop with messages from friends. I couldn't bring myself to respond. The images of the men, the murder, played in my head over and over again. One Week Later The days blended together, each one passing like a foggy, monotonous blur. I had been holed up in my apartment, barely leaving. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by a heavy sense of dread that hung over me like a storm cloud. My groceries were running low, but I couldn't bring myself to go outside. Every time I thought about stepping out, my mind raced back to the images of that night-the gunshots, the lifeless body, the chilling gaze of the man in the suit. My apartment had become my sanctuary and my prison, all at once. The loneliness weighed heavily on me, the silence pressing in. I hadn't answered my friends' calls or texts. I had shut everyone out. Guilt gnawed at me-Macy, my boss, had texted several times, asking if I was okay. I hadn't been able to bring myself to tell her the truth, so I lied. I sent a simple message, apologizing and telling her I'd been sick. I didn't want to burden anyone with my fear and confusion. Macy, always kind and understanding, texted back: "Take as much time as you need, Chloe. I hope you feel better soon." But even her comforting words did little to ease the tight knot in my chest. The knock on the door came when I was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing in particular, the dim afternoon light barely filtering through the curtains. I jumped at the sound, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't expecting anyone. My first instinct was to ignore it, to stay hidden, but something about the knock felt urgent, insistent. I hesitated for a moment before peering through the peephole. Two detectives stood outside, their faces stoic, their posture serious. I froze. A part of me wanted to run and lock myself in the bathroom, to hide away from everything, but I knew I couldn't avoid this forever. Not anymore. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. "Good day, ma'am," one of the detectives said, his voice firm yet gentle. "We have good news. The criminals have been caught." Relief flooded through me, followed by a wave of exhaustion. I leaned against the door frame, the weight of the past week finally starting to take its toll on me. "What... what happens now?" I asked, my voice hoarse. The other detective stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Would you be willing to testify in court?" The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I hadn't really thought about the aftermath-about what this would mean for me. The thought of standing in front of a courtroom, facing all those people, reliving the nightmare again, made my stomach churn. "I can give a written testimony," I said, my voice trembling. "But I can't... I can't testify in person." The first detective nodded, his face softening. "That's fine. Jerome here will document everything for you." Jerome, the sketch artist, stepped forward, his sketchpad in hand. I could barely bring myself to look at him, let alone recount the details of that night. But I knew I had no choice. So I took a deep breath and began, my voice shaking at first, but steadying as I spoke. I described the four men-one with a scar on his cheek, another balding in the middle. I described their movements, their cold expressions, the way they'd looked at me as if they knew I was watching. My voice faltered when I got to the part about the gunshots, but I pushed through, knowing it was the only way to make sure justice was done. Jerome scribbled furiously, pausing only when I hesitated. When we were done, the detectives exchanged glances, and I felt the weight of their gaze. "We'll be in touch," the first detective said. "For now, I advise you to keep a low profile. An officer will check on you periodically." I nodded, feeling as if the walls were closing in around me. They left without another word, and I was left standing in the silence, the only sound the beating of my own heart. The trial began three days later. I had no intention of attending. I couldn't bring myself to relive it in front of strangers, to face the men who had caused all this destruction. But I followed the news, my stomach tightening with each report, each new detail. The verdict came quicker than I had expected. Second-degree murder. Ten years in prison. I was stunned. I had expected a harsher sentence, maybe life. But ten years? It didn't feel like justice. The weight of it all crashed down on me. Ten years for taking a life? Ten years for the nightmare that had been thrust upon me? It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. I felt hollow. The decision was made for me. I couldn't stay in Venice any longer. I had to leave. I packed my things in a daze, not really processing anything, just moving through the motions. I quit my job at the café. I couldn't face Macy, not after everything that had happened. She had been so kind to me, and I couldn't bear to see the pity in her eyes, or worse, the questions. I booked a flight back to Russia, to my mother. The thought of returning to the familiar comforts of home, to the safety of my childhood bedroom, was the only thing that felt like it might bring me peace. Before I left, I made one final stop. Tracy's birthday gift, the one I had bought for her, still sat untouched on my kitchen counter. I wrapped it quickly, not really caring how it looked, and left it on her doorstep. The final goodbye. Then, I boarded the plane, not looking back. Italy, Venice, the nightmare-it was all behind me now. Or at least, it would be, for now.

Chloe's POV "Here's your change, sir," I said, handing a crisp bill and a few coins to the businessman in front of me. He nodded in appreciation, gave me a polite smile, and walked out the door, the small bell chiming as he left. I let out a quiet breath and glanced around the café. My mother's café. It had become a sanctuary for me over the years, a place of peace, warmth, and comfort. The scent of roasted coffee beans filled the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of fresh pastries.

The space was always full of life-customers engaged in lively conversation, the gentle clink of cups against saucers, and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. It had been ten years since I left Italy. Ten years since I made the decision to disappear, to bury my past, to start over. I had been so afraid back then, so broken. The memories of that night-of what I had witnessed, of what I had survived-still haunted me. It felt like I had been running from it all my life, hiding from the fear that one day, someone would find me. But life had been kind here, in Russia. My mother's café was thriving, and I had found a strange sense of peace in the routine of normalcy. Every day felt like a step further from the nightmare I had left behind. The door opened again, and a man walked in, his voice cutting through my thoughts. "I'll take a black coffee to go. No sugar." I nodded, my hands moving automatically as I filled the cup, steam swirling into the air. I handed it over, and the man paid before leaving, offering a brief "Thank you." I gave him a polite smile and turned toward the clock above the counter. My shift was over. Relief washed over me as I stepped into the back room, pulling off my apron and stretching my arms above my head. My body ached from the hours of standing, but the exhaustion was familiar. The café, my mother's café, had become my safe place. It was my sanctuary, my haven. "Finally," I muttered under my breath, rolling the tension out of my shoulders. Jenna, my coworker and my closest friend, peeked her head into the room. "You heading out?" she asked, her voice light. "Yeah, my mom's still here, so I don't have to lock up," I said, my voice filled with the quiet satisfaction that came with the end of a shift. She grinned. "Lucky you. Meanwhile, I'll be stuck here dealing with the late-night rush. You owe me one, you know." I chuckled softly. "I'll bring you something sweet tomorrow, promise." Jenna rolled her eyes playfully but waved me off. I grabbed my purse, slung it over my shoulder, and stepped back into the café. "Bye, Mom!" I called, waving as I skipped toward the door. "Be safe, darling!" my mom replied, barely looking up from a new customer she was serving. I smiled and turned back, ready to leave for the night- And then it happened. I wasn't paying attention. I hadn't been expecting it. Suddenly, my body slammed into a hard chest, the impact jolting me back. My heart lurched in my chest as I stumbled, but before I could hit the ground, strong hands caught me, steadying me. A shiver ran through me-not from the cold air outside, not from fear-but from something deeper, something raw, something I had spent years pushing down. I pulled back quickly, my breath catching in my throat, and looked up. My heart stopped. There, standing before me, was a face I hadn't seen in ten years. A face I thought I'd never have to see again. His sharp jawline, his dark hair, and those eyes-blue-gray, intense, filled with something unreadable. Nicholas. The man who had once stood over a dead body in the streets of Italy. The man who had haunted my nightmares for so long. And now, here he was, standing in front of me, alive and... real. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. For a split second, I saw it-confusion. It flickered in his eyes, almost imperceptible. It was like something in him recognized me. Like a distant memory, one he had long buried, clawed its way back to the surface. And then, panic surged through me. A cold rush of fear, the kind that made my knees go weak. "I'm sorry," I blurted, my voice a strangled whisper. I yanked myself away from his grasp as if his touch had burned me. Without thinking, without processing the situation, I turned and bolted for the door. I didn't stop. I didn't dare look back. All I knew was that the past I had tried so desperately to outrun had just caught up to me. Nicholas' POV "What do you mean you can't locate the snitch?" I growled into the phone, my grip tightening around it. My frustration was boiling over, and the need to have this sorted out was starting to consume me. Silence. I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply, willing myself to calm down before I did something rash. I slammed my fist into the nearest wall, the sharp crack of my knuckles against the surface echoing in the empty room. "I want that person found," I continued, my voice dangerously low. "I don't care if you have to tear down all of Italy-find the snitch." I hung up without waiting for a response, my anger still simmering beneath the surface. Ten years of planning. Ten years of waiting. The betrayal still burned like a fresh wound. We had been unstoppable once. Untouchable. But then, someone had decided to play hero, and it had cost us everything. Ten years behind bars. Ten years of planning my revenge. I didn't care if it was a man or a woman. Whoever had ruined my life was going to pay. And when I found them, I wouldn't show mercy. "Hey, Nick," Ken called from across the room, breaking me from my thoughts. "I just found the best coffee shop in town. Let's check it out." I barely spared him a glance, my mind still consumed with rage. "It better be worth my time," I muttered, grabbing my coat as we headed out the door. Fifteen minutes later, we were outside a small café, its warm glow spilling onto the pavement. The smell of fresh coffee was thick in the air, but I hardly noticed it. My thoughts were too clouded. Ken smirked at me. "Told you it was good." I didn't answer, just pushed open the door and stepped inside. The place was buzzing with customers, the clink of cups and laughter filling the air. I scanned the room lazily, my gaze moving over the faces, the chatter. But then, something caught my attention. A flash of movement near the exit. A girl. She collided with me. My body stiffened as she bounced off my chest. Her eyes met mine-wide, filled with an emotion I couldn't place. Fear. Raw, unfiltered fear. And then, before I could say a word, she yanked herself away and bolted for the door. I froze. Something wasn't right. "Did you see that?" I asked Ken, my voice dangerously low. Ken raised an eyebrow. "See what?" I turned toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest. That girl... Why did she run? And more importantly-why did she look like she had seen a ghost? I stood frozen, my arms still tingling from where I had touched her. The moment our eyes met, something shifted inside me. A connection. A pull. Something I couldn't explain. Ken nudged me. "You good, man?" I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes at the door where she had disappeared. "Who was that?" I asked, the words coming out harsher than I intended. Ken shrugged. "No idea. Some worker here, I guess. But dude, she ran like she knew you." I felt it too. She knew me. Or at least, she recognized me. My mind raced. Was she just another woman intimidated by my presence? No. There was something more. That kind of fear-raw, uncontrollable-only came from someone with a secret. I turned toward the counter, scanning the room for an employee who might know her. An older woman, probably in her fifties, was wiping down a table near the register. I walked over, my voice smooth but firm, masking the storm brewing inside me. "Who was that girl that just left?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral but unmistakably commanding. The woman looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why do you ask?" My temper flared, but I held it in check. People didn't question me. They answered. Ken, sensing the tension, stepped in. "She just bumped into my friend here and took off. We were just making sure she's okay." The woman studied us for a moment, her gaze cautious. Then, with a resigned sigh, she answered. "That's my daughter, Chloe." Chloe. The name hit me like a bullet to the chest. My muscles tensed, my thoughts racing. I had never known the name of the snitch who put me behind bars. That detail had been buried, carefully hidden. But now-Chloe. Her name. Could it really be her? I needed to be sure. The name Chloe echoed in my mind like a heavy drumbeat, each syllable like a key unlocking something buried deep within me. The past I had spent years trying to outrun was suddenly right in front of me, and I couldn't ignore it. The way her eyes had locked onto mine-wide, terrified-was a reaction I had seen before. A reaction only someone with a hidden past would have. I forced my features into a neutral expression, masking the storm brewing inside. I couldn't afford to let anyone see how much I was unraveling at the thought that the very person who had caused me ten years of torment could be standing right here in front of me-right under my nose. Ken, noticing my sudden stillness, raised an eyebrow. "What's going on, man? That girl, Chloe... you know her?" I didn't respond immediately, my thoughts whirling. The silence between us stretched long before I forced myself to focus. I couldn't let Ken see the cracks forming. Not yet. "I'll figure it out," I said, my voice low, the edge of authority creeping in. "She's not who she seems." Ken gave me a confused look, but wisely held his tongue. He knew when to push and when to back off. I needed time to process, to piece things together, to understand what the hell just happened. "If it is her... I have unfinished business," I said, my voice colder than I intended. "And I don't leave things unfinished."

Chloe's POV I ran until my legs burned, my breath coming in frantic gasps as I sprinted down the cobbled streets. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else. I didn't care where I was going, didn't care how late it was. I just needed to get away from him. From Nicholas. The man who had haunted my nightmares for so many years was standing right in front of me. And the moment I saw him-when I locked eyes with him-I felt the fear, the pain, and the guilt all crash back into my chest like a tidal wave.

I had spent ten years running from the life I had left behind, burying my memories, convincing myself that I was safe here. But it had all come crumbling down the moment I saw him. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except run. I didn't know if he remembered me, but I sure as hell remembered him. The man who had been part of my worst days. The man who had been involved in things I could never undo. My footsteps faltered as I turned a corner, finally allowing myself to slow down. The city street was quieter now, the shops closed, and the world around me seemed to fade into the background. I rested my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath, my mind still racing. My thoughts were a blur, spinning in circles. He was here. He found me. I couldn't-no, I wouldn't-let him drag me back into that world. I couldn't let him find out who I really was, the truth that I had worked so hard to keep hidden. But what if he already knew? What if, somehow, he had recognized me? The panic that had gripped me when I saw him-was that just fear of him? Or was there something more to it? I needed to calm down. I needed to think clearly. I straightened, wiping my hands on my jeans, trying to steady my breathing. I couldn't let myself fall apart. I couldn't let him have that kind of power over me again. I started walking again, slower this time, my footsteps echoing through the empty streets. I glanced over my shoulder once, just to make sure he wasn't following me, but the street was empty. I was safe-for now. But for how long? I didn't know how long I could keep running from my past. And I didn't know what I would do if Nicholas came looking for me again. The only thing I knew for sure was that I couldn't let him find out the truth. No matter the cost. Nicholas' POV "Dude, you've been staring at that door for, like, five minutes now," Ken's voice broke through the silence, pulling me back to reality. I hadn't even realized how long I'd been lost in thought, my gaze fixed on the café entrance. The girl was long gone, but the sensation of her presence still clung to me-an invisible trace of something I couldn't explain. I blinked, shaking my head as I pulled my eyes away from the door. My fingers clenched around the cup in front of me, the warmth of the ceramic doing nothing to calm the storm inside. "I think I've found my soulmate." Ken froze, his coffee cup suspended midair. His eyes locked on mine, wide with disbelief, before he burst out laughing, loud and sharp. "What?" he gasped between fits of laughter. "You? Soulmate? Nah, man. You don't do soulmates. You do revenge and business. That's your thing." I bit back a frustrated sigh, gripping my cup harder. Ken was right-he always was when it came to the cold, calculated version of me. But what the hell was I supposed to call this feeling? The jolt that shot through me when her body had collided with mine, the inexplicable connection I felt as if my soul had recognized hers before my mind had even caught up. Ken, still grinning, leaned forward, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. "Don't tell me the great Nicholas Moretti actually fell for some random café worker?" I narrowed my eyes at him, my voice low and dangerous. "I said shut up, Ken." "Yeah, yeah," he replied, not missing a beat. He took another sip of his coffee, but his eyes were dancing with mischief. Ken thrived on seeing me off-balance, on catching me in moments where I couldn't control everything. But this wasn't some fleeting attraction or passing infatuation. The way she had looked at me-the way her eyes had widened in fear, the way she had physically recoiled from me-wasn't something I could ignore. It wasn't attraction. It wasn't curiosity. It was fear. Raw, visceral fear, like she had seen a ghost. And that... that didn't make sense. I wasn't the type of man who inspired fear in strangers. Sure, I had my reputation, but she didn't seem like the kind of person who would recognize me by name or face. She acted like she knew me. As if she'd been expecting me to walk through that door. The way her body had stiffened in recognition. I gritted my teeth, trying to push the thought out of my mind. No. It wasn't possible. If she were just some random girl, why would she run like that? Unless... A cold realization settled in, wrapping itself around my chest like an iron vice. What if she wasn't just some girl? What if she was tied to the past I was trying so hard to untangle? I exhaled slowly, my mind already working through the possibilities, the questions I needed answered. "I want information on that girl," I said, my voice steely, devoid of any trace of uncertainty. Ken's smirk stretched wider, the corners of his mouth curling up as if he'd won some kind of victory. "Damn, you really are interested. I should've recorded this moment," he teased, but his voice was laced with a hint of respect. I shot him a look that could've peeled paint off the walls. "Just do it." Ken raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression still amused. "Fine, fine. I'll ask around, see what I can dig up. But if she's just some random girl, you owe me drinks." I didn't dignify that with a response. The last thing on my mind was whether or not I'd owe him anything. I just wanted answers. A dark-haired waitress approached our table, placing the bill in front of us with a soft smile. "Here's your check." I nodded absently, barely glancing at her as my mind was already miles away, focused solely on the puzzle in front of me. The girl. Chloe. I wasn't going to let this go. As we stepped outside, the brisk Russian air slapped me in the face, the chill doing little to ease the fire burning in my veins. "We'll visit again tomorrow," I said, my eyes lingering on the café's sign, as if somehow, seeing it again would bring me closer to the answers I needed. Ken shot me a sideways glance, clearly still processing the weight of what I'd said. "You're really serious about this, huh?" I didn't answer right away, my mind still turning over every detail, every moment from yesterday. I exhaled slowly, the air leaving my lungs in a rush, as if the pressure in my chest was too much to bear. "And the next day," I murmured, my voice low but unwavering. "And the day after that. Until I see her again." Because if she was who I thought she was... She wouldn't be able to run forever. ⸻ Chloe's POV The steam from my shower clung to the air, curling lazily around the mirror as I wiped a trembling hand across its surface. My reflection stared back at me, but I barely recognized myself. I hadn't been able to shake the image of him-the man I had collided with, the one whose presence had shattered my fragile peace. I swallowed hard, feeling a wave of panic claw at my throat. It's not him. It can't be him. But everything inside me screamed otherwise. That jawline. The intensity of those eyes. The way his presence seemed to fill the room, suffocating the air around him. It had to be him. I felt my chest tighten, a knot of dread forming deep in my gut. I had been so careful. I had changed my name. Moved to a country where no one would think to look for me. I had buried myself under the quiet routine of a new life, convinced I could escape the ghosts of my past. So why now? Why here? I forced myself to turn the faucet, splashing cold water onto my face in an attempt to shock my system back into some semblance of calm. It didn't work. My hands shook as I braced myself against the sink, the cold porcelain grounding me, but only barely. I had spent years convincing myself that I had escaped. That the testimony I'd given had been sealed away, my involvement erased from memory. I had trusted that no one would ever find me. But that look in his eyes... It was like he had felt something when our hands touched. And that terrified me more than anything. He couldn't know. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my fingertips to my temples in a futile attempt to erase the image of him. Calm down. Think. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was just someone who looked like him. The world was full of faces that resembled others, right? Maybe I was panicking over nothing. I forced myself to go over the facts, trying to keep my mind sharp, focused. I had testified in private. No one in that courtroom had seen my face-not even the criminals. The prosecution had made sure of that. So even if it was him, there was no way he could know who I was. Unless... The thought made my stomach twist in horror. What if someone talked? What if someone let something slip? No. I shook my head, willing the thought away. That was impossible. I exhaled shakily, the weight of the truth pressing down on me. I couldn't keep living in fear. I had a new life now. A normal life. Yes. I would go to work tomorrow like nothing had happened. Like everything was fine. Because that was my only option. If I showed fear-if I let him see that I knew something-then I would be inviting danger. I would be putting a target on my back. I turned off the bathroom light, climbed into bed, and wrapped myself in the covers as tightly as I could. But no matter how secure I tried to make myself feel, the cold, gnawing sense of dread refused to leave me. It seeped into my bones, reminding me that nothing was as simple as it seemed. Because deep down, I knew one thing for sure. If that man was Nicholas Moretti... I was already in trouble.