BELLA'S POV
The diner smelled like burnt coffee and broken dreams.
My feet screamed with every step. Sixteen hours. Sixteen hours of carrying plates, forcing smiles, pretending I didn't want to collapse. The clock above the register blinked 2:03 AM in angry red numbers.
"Bella, you're done, honey." Rosie wiped down the counter, her tired eyes matching mine. "Go home. Get some sleep."
Sleep. Like that was possible when Mom's hospital bill sat in my purse like a ticking bomb.
I dumped my tip jar onto the back table. Coins scattered everywhere. I counted fast, my hands shaking.
Ten dollars. Twenty. Thirty-five. Forty-seven.
Forty-seven dollars.
My chest got tight. Mom needed two hundred for this week's medicine. I'd worked sixteen hours and made forty-seven dollars.
"You okay?" Rosie touched my shoulder.
I nodded because crying wouldn't pay bills. "Fine. Just tired."
"You work too hard, kid."
Not hard enough. Never enough.
I grabbed my coat and headed for the back door. The front was closer, but the alley cut ten minutes off my walk home. Ten minutes meant ten more minutes of sleep before my next shift started at eight.
The metal door groaned when I pushed it open. Cold air hit my face. November in Chicago felt like knives.
I stepped into the alley, already walking fast. Mom always said bad things happened in alleys at night. But bad things also happened in hospitals when you couldn't pay.
That's when I heard it.
Pop. Pop.
Gunshots.
I froze. My brain screamed RUN but my legs wouldn't move.
Twenty feet away, under the flickering streetlight, a man in a suit stood over someone kneeling on the ground. The kneeling man was crying, begging, his words tumbling out fast and desperate.
"Please, I can get the money, just give me one more week—"
The man in the suit raised his gun. No hurry. No anger. Just cold and calm like he was checking his watch.
Pop.
The kneeling man fell.
My hand flew to my mouth. Don't scream. Don't scream. Don't—
The man in the suit turned his head.
His eyes found mine.
Time stopped.
He was tall. Broad shoulders. His suit probably cost more than my entire life. But it was his eyes that made my blood freeze. Gray like winter storms. Empty like nothing lived behind them.
We stared at each other. Three seconds. Five. Ten.
He should chase me. Shoot me. Kill me because I saw.
Instead, he tilted his head. Studying me like I was a math problem he needed to solve.
Then he lowered his gun.
My body finally listened. I ran.
My shoes slapped against wet concrete. My breath came in sharp gasps. Behind me—footsteps? Or just my heart pounding?
Don't look back. Don't look back.
I burst onto the main street. A taxi sat at the corner, its driver half-asleep. I yanked open the door and threw myself inside.
"Drive!"
"Where to, lady?"
"Just drive! Now!"
He jumped at my tone and hit the gas. I twisted around, staring out the back window.
The alley was empty.
No man in a suit. No body. Nothing.
Like it never happened.
"You okay?" The driver watched me in the mirror. "You look like you seen a ghost."
Maybe I had.
---
I didn't sleep.
How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Those empty gray eyes. The way he killed someone like it meant nothing.
The way he looked at me and let me live.
Why?
Killers didn't let witnesses walk away. Everyone knew that. So why was I sitting in my tiny apartment instead of bleeding in that alley?
At six AM, my phone rang. The hospital.
My hands shook as I answered. "Hello?"
"Miss Romano? This is County General. I'm calling about your mother's account."
My stomach dropped. "What about it?"
"I'm afraid we need to discuss payment options. Your mother's treatment is very expensive, and the balance—"
"I know the balance." I'd memorized every number. Every impossible dollar. "I'm working on it."
"Miss Romano, I understand this is difficult, but without payment, we'll have to stop treatment by Friday."
Friday. Three days.
"Please," I whispered. "She's getting better. The medicine is working. Just give me more time—"
"I'm sorry. Hospital policy. We'll do everything we can to make her comfortable, but—"
I hung up.
Comfortable. That was code for "we'll let her die."
I pressed my hands to my face. Don't cry. Crying wastes time.
Someone knocked on my door.
I jumped. Nobody visited me. Ever.
"Who is it?"
Silence.
Another knock. Harder.
My heart hammered. I crept to the door and looked through the peephole.
A man stood in the hallway. Expensive suit. Broad shoulders.
No.
It couldn't be.
"Isabella Romano." His voice came through the door. Smooth. Cold. "We need to talk."
I backed away. "Go away or I'm calling the police!"
"No, you're not."
"I saw nothing. I don't know anything. Please just leave me alone—"
"Open the door, Miss Romano. I'm not here to hurt you." A pause. "I'm here to make you an offer."
"I don't want anything from you!"
"Not even your mother's life?"
My blood turned to ice.
How did he know about Mom?
"I bought your mother's hospital debt one hour ago," he continued. "Every penny. Which means I own her treatment. I can make one phone call and get her into the clinical trial that could save her life. Or I can make another call and have them disconnect life support by Friday."
His shadow shifted under the door.
"Your choice, Isabella. But you need to decide now. Open the door and listen to my offer, or condemn your mother to death."
I stared at the doorknob, my whole body shaking.
"Tick tock, little bird. I don't have all morning."
My hand reached for the lock.
God forgive me.
I opened the door.