Chapter 1 - One Hundred Seven Nights
I never imagined the most feared crime boss in Chicago would show up at my bedroom door drunk, begging me for help. Hours later, I was hiding him beneath the servants’ staircase while powerful men searched the mansion for him, and one whispered confession shattered everything I thought I knew about him.
The knock came at exactly 2:07 a.m.
Three heavy knocks. Not loud enough to wake the other staff, but strong enough to rip me out of a deep sleep. Rain hammered the mansion outside as I cracked my door open, expecting an emergency.
Instead, I found Raphael Orsini.
My employer looked nothing like the perfectly composed man who ruled the city with quiet authority. His expensive coat clung to him, soaked from the storm. His shirt was buttoned wrong, a cut split his lower lip, and the unmistakable scent of whiskey surrounded him.
Raphael never drank.
For two years, I had watched him command rooms full of dangerous men without raising his voice once. Every morning, they waited outside his office for instructions. That night, he could barely stand.
His tired gray eyes met mine.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Those six words froze me.
Every sensible part of me wanted to close the door. I needed this job to pay for my little brother Micah’s medical treatments. Losing it wasn’t an option.
But I couldn’t leave him standing there.
I grabbed his sleeve, pulled him inside, and hurried him through the empty staff hallway before anyone could see us. We slipped into the unused kitchen, where I studied nursing after midnight, away from the security cameras.
“Sit,” I whispered.
He collapsed into a chair while rainwater dripped onto the floor.
I handed him a glass of water.
Instead of drinking, he stared through the dark window.
“They all need something from me,” he finally said. “Money. Orders. Protection. Decisions. Every single day.”
His voice barely sounded like his own.
“Not one of them asks if I’m tired.”
Silence settled between us.
Then he looked directly at me.
“You’re different.”
I frowned.
“You’ve never asked me for anything.”
“I get paid to do my job.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I knew exactly what he meant, and it frightened me.
If anyone found him here, I would lose everything. Without my paycheck, Micah could lose access to the treatment keeping him alive.
I forced myself to stay practical.
“How much did you drink?”
“Enough to finally tell the truth.”
“You’ll regret saying this tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Yes, you will.”
He gave a weary smile.
“You always think five steps ahead.”
“I have to. Nobody else will.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then voices echoed somewhere upstairs.
Raphael’s expression changed instantly.
Without another word, I led him beneath the old servants’ staircase, where forgotten storage space created the perfect hiding place.
As I pulled the hidden door shut, he leaned close enough for only me to hear.
“One hundred seven nights,” he whispered.
I stared at him, confused.
“What does that mean?”
His haunted eyes never left mine.
“It’s how long I’ve wanted to knock on your door.”
I thought he was talking nonsense.
Then footsteps thundered overhead.
“Search every room!”
A man shouted from the second floor.
“Mr. Orsini is somewhere in the house.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I crouched in front of the hidden door.
“Who are they?”
Raphael pressed one hand against his bleeding lip.
“People I trusted.”
That answer frightened me more than anything else.
I had worked in the Orsini mansion for two years. I knew the usual sounds—the guards changing shifts, the kitchen staff whispering after midnight, the elevator carrying men to Raphael’s office, the heavy gates opening for black cars.
But I had never heard panic in his security team.
Now men were tearing through the mansion.
Drawers slammed.
Doors crashed open.
Someone shouted my name.
“Mara?”
I held my breath.
A moment later, footsteps stopped outside the kitchen.
“Have you seen the boss?”
I forced myself to answer.
“No.”
My voice sounded too calm.
“Check her room.”
My stomach turned.
A guard walked away.
Another followed.
Raphael looked at me through the darkness.
“You should have let me stay upstairs.”
“Then you'd be dead.”
His expression softened.
“You don't know that.”
“I know enough.”
The search continued for nearly an hour.
When the mansion finally quieted, I opened the hidden door.
Raphael stepped out slowly.
The alcohol had begun wearing off.
“You're hurt.”
“It's nothing.”
“Sit down.”
He obeyed.
I cleaned the cut on his lip with antiseptic.
He watched me in silence.
“You're shaking,” I said.
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
He glanced at his hand.
He was.
“Who attacked you?”
He looked away.
“My brother.”
I stopped.
“You have a brother?”
“Had.”
The word landed strangely.
“His name?”
“Matteo.”
I had heard that name before.
Everyone in Chicago had.
Matteo Orsini had died eight years earlier in an explosion outside a nightclub.
At least, that was the story.
I looked at Raphael.
“You're saying Matteo is alive?”
Raphael's face hardened.
“I’m saying somebody wants me to believe he is.”
He pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his coat.
There was a single sentence written on it.
You should have died with him.
I stared.
“What does this mean?”
Raphael closed his eyes.
“It means tonight wasn't about killing me.”
“Then what?”
“It was about making sure I ran.”
“From whom?”
He looked directly at me.
“Everyone.”
I didn't understand.
Then he reached into his pocket again.
This time, he pulled out a small photograph.
A woman.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
Smiling beside a young boy.
I recognized the boy.
Raphael.
The woman was his mother.
But there was another person standing in the background.
A man whose face had been scratched out.
“Who is that?”
Raphael took the photograph back.
“My father.”
I stared at him.
“I thought your father died before you took over.”
“He did.”
“What are you hiding?”
Raphael stood.
“You.”
I laughed nervously.
“Excuse me?”
“They know I care about you.”
I felt cold.
“Who?”
“The people searching the house.”
“Why would they care about me?”
“Because I told them once that you were the only person in this building I trusted.”
My heart began racing.
“You did what?”
He stepped closer.
“One hundred seven nights ago.”
I remembered nothing.
“You started counting?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because that's when you saved Micah's medication from being thrown away.”
I frowned.
“I thought it was just my job.”
“It wasn't to me.”
He looked exhausted.
“I saw you that night. You thought nobody was watching.”
I looked away.
“You've been watching me?”
“Not like that.”
“Then like what?”
“Like someone trying to understand why a person would risk losing her job for somebody who couldn't repay her.”
I didn't know what to say.
Suddenly, a sound came from the corridor.
Raphael reached for my arm.
“Hide.”
We slipped behind the kitchen cabinets just as the door opened.
A man entered.
Giovanni Vescari.
One of the most powerful businessmen in Chicago.
He was supposed to be Raphael's closest ally.
He spoke into his phone.
“Search again.”
A pause.
“No, he hasn't left.”
I could hear Raphael breathing beside me.
Giovanni continued.
“If he reaches the west tunnel, he'll get to the clinic.”
I frowned.
What clinic?
Then he said the words that changed everything.
“Make sure the girl named Mara doesn't interfere.”
I felt Raphael stiffen.
Giovanni left.
I turned toward him.
“What clinic?”
Raphael looked at me.
“Your brother's.”
My blood ran cold.
“What does Micah have to do with this?”
Raphael didn't answer.
That was when I understood.
My job.
Micah's treatment.
The strange financial assistance that had appeared in his hospital account two months earlier.
The medication that had suddenly become affordable.
I had thought my insurance had covered it.
It hadn't.
Raphael had.
But why?
He whispered, “I didn't hire you because you needed a job.”
“Then why?”
“Because your brother's illness was connected to the reason my brother disappeared.”
May you like
I stared at him.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the man I had been serving for two years had actually been protecting me from the moment he saw my name.
