Chapter 4 - A Dangerous Debt
"You," Dante said, his voice cutting through the hiss of escaping steam and the distant screams echoing from the dining room.
Mia swallowed hard, her back pressed flat against the stainless-steel door of the walk-in cooler. She could smell the sharp tang of gunpowder mixed with expensive cologne. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to disappear into the alleyways of Chicago and never look back. But her legs refused to move.
"I told you... to use the other exit," Mia managed to whisper, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound brave.
Dante took two slow, measured steps toward her. In his left hand, he dragged Vivian Vale by the wrist. The elite heiress was a sobbing, disheveled mess, her expensive gown ruined, her makeup smeared across her cheeks.
"You saved my life," Dante said, stopping just a foot away from Mia. Up close, he was towering, an imposing wall of lethal authority. "In my world, that means two things. A debt is incurred, and a debt is collected."
Mia’s breath hitched. "I... I don't want anything. I just saw something I shouldn't have. Let me go, and I swear I'll never say a word to anyone."
Dante tilted his head, his dark eyes scanning her frayed uniform, the grease stains on her apron, and the raw, unyielding defiance flickering in her green eyes. He had expected a cowering rat. Instead, he found a cornered wolf.
"You think I'm going to kill you?" Dante asked, a faint, humorless smirk touching the corner of his lips.
"Most men in your position don't like witnesses to their assassination attempts," Mia retorted, a sudden surge of adrenaline overriding her fear.
Dante let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated in his chest. He turned his gaze toward Vivian, who was cowering on the floor, babbling apologies and excuses.
"She's right, Vivian," Dante murmured softly, looking down at his treacherous ex-fiancée. "Witnesses are dangerous. Especially the ones who actually have brains."
He looked back at Mia. "What’s your name?"
"Mia. Mia Bennett."
"Well, Mia Bennett," Dante said, holstering his weapon with a smooth, practiced click. "Your shift at the Blackstone is officially over. Pack your things. You're coming with me."
"What? No! I can't just leave—"
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"You didn't survive a cartel-backed hit squad tonight just to go back to scrubbing dishes for minimum wage," Dante interrupted, his tone shifting from conversational to absolute command. "Marcus! Bring the car around. We’re going underground."
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