Chapter 2 - The Midnight Attack That Turned Me Into the Mafia Boss’s Weakness
The first thing I learned about Octavio Ki after midnight was that fear did not make him louder.
It made him quieter.
Dangerously quiet.
He pulled me through the stairwell door just as footsteps thundered across the floor below.
I expected shouting.
Orders.
Panic.
Instead, he simply raised one finger to his lips.
Silence.
His men flooded the rooftop behind us moments later.
Three of them wore dark coats, earpieces, and expressions that suggested nobody in their line of work celebrated New Year’s Eve with champagne.
One of them was bleeding.
“Boss,” he whispered.
Octavio looked at the blood.
“Yours?”
“No.”
“Then stop dripping it on the floor.”
The man nodded and turned away.
I stared.
Octavio looked at me.
“Stay close.”
“I thought you said I wasn't involved.”
“You aren't.”
“You're acting like I'm a hostage.”
“I’m acting like someone may have come here because they knew my sister lived here.”
“I've lived here for 4 years.”
His eyes sharpened.
“Exactly.”
The building suddenly felt unfamiliar.
The peeling walls.
The buzzing hallway light.
The old elevator that had been broken twice this month.
Everything looked like a stage after the actors had left.
Except there was no audience.
Only us.
And someone outside who wanted Octavio dead badly enough to attack one of his operations on New Year’s Eve.
He guided me downstairs.
Every few steps, one of his men checked corners.
I hated how quickly my body adapted to their movements.
“Your people know this building?” I whispered.
“No.”
“Then how did they get here?”
“They didn't.”
He opened a door.
Inside was an empty apartment.
My apartment.
I stared.
The lock was broken.
A drawer had been pulled open.
My clothes were scattered across the floor.
My sketchbooks were everywhere.
“No.”
I rushed inside.
Octavio caught me before I could touch anything.
“Don't.”
“They went through my things.”
“Yes.”
“My drawings—”
“Could contain information.”
“What information?”
He looked toward my desk.
A sheet of paper lay on the floor.
A charcoal drawing of the Ki family mansion.
My stomach tightened.
I had drawn it months ago.
The driveway.
The gates.
The side entrance.
The guard station.
Octavio picked it up.
He studied it.
“You drew this from memory.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I observe.”
He looked at the sheet again.
Then another.
A sketch of one of his warehouses.
Another of a black armored SUV.
Another of a man from a family dinner.
I suddenly felt exposed.
“I wasn't spying.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because whoever searched your apartment knew exactly what they were looking for.”
My voice dropped.
“What if they thought I knew something?”
Octavio looked at me.
“What if they knew?”
I frowned.
“I don't.”
“I believe you.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because you look at me like you want to punch me.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
“That doesn't prove innocence.”
“It proves honesty.”
A crash sounded downstairs.
Octavio's expression changed.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“You’re not going.”
“I’m not hiding in my apartment while armed strangers run through the building.”
“Then you’ll stay beside me.”
He took my hand.
Again.
This time neither of us mentioned it.
We descended two flights.
At the bottom, they found the first intruder unconscious near the entrance.
One of Octavio's men searched him.
“No identification.”
Octavio crouched.
He examined the man's wrist.
There was a tiny tattoo beneath the sleeve.
A black crow.
He went completely still.
I saw it.
“That's bad?”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
He looked up.
“Nothing good.”
Before I could ask more, his phone buzzed.
He answered.
“What's happened?”
The voice on the other end made his jaw tighten.
“Valentina just got married.”
I blinked.
“What?”
He stared ahead.
“She texted me.”
I smiled despite myself.
“See? Happy ending.”
“She sent a photograph.”
He showed me his phone.
Valentina and Axel stood beneath a neon guitar-shaped chapel sign, laughing.
She wore a white dress with sneakers.
Axel wore a ridiculous black suit covered in tiny silver stars.
Both were grinning.
I smiled.
“She looks happy.”
Octavio's expression softened for one brief second.
Then another message appeared.
A photograph of the back of their wedding chapel.
A black crow had been painted across the wall.
My smile vanished.
“That was sent from her phone?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then she sent it.”
“No.”
His voice was colder than the wind.
“She wouldn't know what that symbol means.”
“What does it mean?”
He slipped his phone away.
“A man from our past.”
“What man?”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“Rafael Moretti.”
The name carried weight even though I'd never heard it.
“Who is he?”
“The only person my father ever feared.”
The lights went out.
Everything disappeared into darkness.
Someone screamed upstairs.
Octavio pulled me against him.
I felt the hard line of his body behind mine.
A gunshot cracked.
Then another.
He covered my head with one arm.
“Stay down.”
I heard men shouting.
Glass shattered.
Footsteps.
My breath came fast.
Then Octavio whispered into my ear.
“Bambina mia, look at me.”
I did.
His face was inches from mine.
“If anything happens, you run when I tell you. Not before.”
“What if you get hurt?”
“I won't.”
“You don't know that.”
His gaze held mine.
“No,” he said softly. “But I know I will not let them touch you.”
Something in my chest twisted.
Not romantic.
Not yet.
Something more dangerous.
Trust.
A gunshot thundered above us.
Octavio turned.
“Now.”
He pulled me into the service corridor.
We ran.
A door slammed behind us.
His men covered the hall.
Then a bullet struck the wall beside my face.
I screamed.
Octavio grabbed me and spun me behind him.
His weapon came up.
Three shots.
Silence.
The attacker collapsed around the corner.
One of Octavio's men approached.
“Clear.”
Octavio didn't move.
His eyes were still on me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Let me see.”
“I'm fine.”
“Nomi.”
The way he said my name made me stop.
He took my face between his hands.
His fingertips brushed my temples.
My cheek.
My jaw.
He was checking for blood.
His hands were steady.
Mine weren't.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“So are you.”
He glanced at his own hand.
A faint tremor.
“Occupational inconvenience.”
I laughed nervously.
Then I noticed blood on his shirt.
“Octavio.”
He looked down.
“That's not mine.”
His men had already gone.
He was still standing too close.
“Your heart is pounding,” he said.
“So is yours.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
For one second, the entire hallway disappeared.
Then his phone rang again.
Reality returned.
He stepped back.
“Answer it,” I whispered.
He did.
His face changed.
“Where?”
A pause.
“Stay there.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
“Valentina.”
My stomach dropped.
“She’s safe?”
“For the moment.”
“What happened?”
“Someone tried to intercept their car leaving Vegas.”
My blood ran cold.
“She's in danger?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“And whoever is behind this knows my sister, my business, my people…”
His gaze lowered to my charcoal-stained fingers.
“And now they know you.”
I swallowed.
“What happens now?”
He answered without hesitation.
“You cancel your New Year's plans.”
“I didn't have any.”
“Then you cancel whatever you think comes next.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you're coming with me.”
“To where?”
“My house.”
“No.”
His brows rose.
“You just survived an attempted attack.”
“I'm not moving into the house of a mafia boss.”
“You're not moving in.”
“That sounded suspiciously close to moving in.”
“You're staying somewhere protected.”
“I can protect myself.”
“I saw you tackle a sketchpad during a helicopter landing.”
“That sketchpad was expensive.”
He almost smiled.
Then the smile vanished.
“Nomi, listen to me.”
His voice turned serious.
“This isn't about control anymore.”
He took one step toward me.
“It is about survival.”
I stared at him.
Outside, fireworks finally erupted over the city.
Red.
Gold.
Blue.
The light flashed across his face.
For the first time, I saw exhaustion underneath the power.
And loneliness.
Maybe that was why I nodded.
Maybe because I was afraid.
Or maybe because when Octavio looked at me, he no longer looked at me like furniture.
He looked at me like someone he intended to keep alive.
We left in an armored SUV before 1:00 a.m.
Chicago disappeared behind tinted windows.
I watched fireworks burst between buildings.
Octavio sat beside me in silence.
Then his hand found mine.
Not gripping.
Not commanding.
Just resting there.
I looked down.
Then at him.
He didn't look away.
“I don't understand you,” I whispered.
“You're not supposed to.”
“Then why did you call me Bambina mia?”
His jaw tightened.
“It slipped out.”
“Why?”
He stared through the window.
“My mother used to call Valentina that.”
I waited.
“And?”
“And I haven't said it in years.”
“Why me?”
He finally looked at me.
“I don't know.”
May you like
That was the first honest answer I'd ever heard from him.
And somehow, it frightened me more than the gunshots.
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