Chapter 1 - BENEATH THE FAKE ROCK
The weight of twenty-three years of carefully curated invisibility settled on my shoulders as I locked the pharmacy door. Most people assumed there had to be something fundamentally wrong with someone who worked ten-hour shifts, lived alone in a drafty studio, avoided every party, and treated dating like a hazardous waste zone. While my coworkers traded weekend drama over fluorescent-lit lunch breaks, I smiled politely and kept my mouth shut. Being alone wasn't my weakness. It was my armor. After watching my mother spend her entire life falling for charismatic men with dangerous secrets, I made a silent vow never to let anyone close enough to destroy me.
The rain slicked the Chicago pavement, turning the streetlights into blurred streaks of amber and gray as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Gemma: Feed Macaroni. I owe you. Keys are under the fake rock.
Gemma Russo had been my anchor since we were six years old, back when we shared crayons and secrets on a worn playground. Even after her father built an empire that made the Chicago underworld bow, nothing shifted between us. She was pure, unfiltered chaos wrapped in designer labels, and I was the quiet girl who always cleaned up the mess left in her wake.
I caught the subway to her luxury high-rise overlooking the churning, dark expanse of Lake Michigan. The lobby was dead silent, the doorman nodding respectfully as I let myself inside the elevator and rode it up to the penthouse level.
“Macaroni?” I called out into the quiet foyer, slipping off my damp coat.
The orange tabby didn't come bounding toward me as usual, and the luxury apartment was cast in heavy shadows. I reached out blindly for the wall switch near the kitchen archway.
“The breaker tripped,” a deep, gravelly voice answered from the dark living room.
My pulse spiked, hammering violently against my ribs as I froze in place. Dominic Russo stepped out of the shadows, the gray light from the floor-to-ceiling windows catching the sharp planes of his face. I had only seen him a handful of times across the years, an intimidating figure standing on the periphery of Gemma's life. Eight years older than her, he ruled the Russo family with a quiet, lethal authority that made grown men lower their voices.
“You're here for the cat,” he stated, his tone flat and unreadable.
“Yes,” I managed, gripping the strap of my bag.
“I know.” He studied me for several long, suffocating seconds, his dark eyes stripping away my defenses. “When did Gemma contact you?”
“Three hours ago,” I said, pulling out my phone to show him the screen.
“She hasn't been home in two days,” he replied quietly.
Ice flooded my veins, instantly washing away my surprise. Gemma was wild and reckless, but she never went dark without a word. Before I could process the rising panic, Dominic casually rattled off intimate details about my daily routine that no casual acquaintance should ever possess.
“You work at the pharmacy on Fourth Street. You live alone. You never date.”
I crossed my arms defensively, fighting the tremor in my hands. “You've been watching me?”
“I watch everyone connected to my sister,” he answered without a hint of hesitation.
His brutal honesty irritated me far more than a comforting lie would have. “My life isn't that interesting.”
“No,” he agreed evenly. “It isn't.”
May you like
I rolled my eyes, desperate to mask my mounting anxiety. “Then if you're done investigating me, I'd like to feed the cat.”
For the first time since I walked in, the corner of Dominic's mouth lifted into something dangerously close to a smirk.
