Chapter 2 - Shadows in the CabinAn hour later, the bleeding had stopped, stabilized by a tight, professional pressure bandage and meticulous sutures. Leo lay unconscious on the iron cot, wrapped in a moth-eaten wool blanket Leora had managed to find in an old trunk.
A feeble fire crackled inside the rusted wood-burning stove, casting long, dancing shadows across the rustic pine walls and taking the razor-sharp edge off the freezing mountain air.
Leora sat on an overturned wooden crate near the stove, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her uniform was ruined—caked in dried mud, water, and the dark, unmistakable scent of human blood. Her hands were still faintly trembling, the adrenaline crash finally setting in, leaving her bones feeling hollow and leaden.
She looked over at Leo. In the dim, amber glow of the fire, the harsh, untouchable aura of the mafia prince was entirely stripped away. He looked human. Vulnerable. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched as his subconscious replayed the betrayal that had nearly cost him his life.
Samuel.
The name echoed in her mind. Samuel Reed, the head of security. A man who always wore a polished, professional smile, who nodded politely when she carried heavy linen baskets past his office, and who secretly orchestrated a bloody coup against his own employer.
Leora’s thoughts drifted back to her apartment in Albany. To her eighteen-year-old sister, Sophie, currently sitting in a sterile hospital room waiting for a kidney transplant evaluation that cost more money than Leora would earn in a decade. The collection agencies called twice a day. The eviction notices were piling up on her welcome mat.
She had stayed at the Moretti estate precisely because the pay was exorbitant—double the market rate for housekeeping, provided you signed ironclad nondisclosure agreements and asked zero questions about the men in tailored suits coming and going at 3:00 a.m.
She had told herself she was just a ghost. A cleaner. Someone who scrubbed the floors and looked the other way.
Tonight, she had stepped right out of the shadows and into the crossfire. There was no going back to being invisible. If Samuel’s men found them, they wouldn't just fire her; they would bury them both in the woods and call it a hunting accident.
A sudden, sharp groan from the cot snapped her out of her thoughts.
Leo shifted, his eyes opening slowly. The glassy, delirious haze was gone, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp clarity. He tried to sit up, but a sharp intake of breath betrayed the agonizing pain in his abdomen.
“Don’t move,” Leora said quietly, standing up and walking over to him with a tin cup of warm water she had boiled on the stove. “Your stitches will hold, but if you tear the underlying tissue, you’ll bleed out internally before sunrise.”
Leo accepted the cup with a steady hand, his dark eyes fixed on her face. He took a slow sip, letting the warm water soothe his parched throat, before speaking in a low, gravelly baritone.
“You saved my life,” he said, stating it not as a question, but as an undeniable, staggering fact. “Why?”
“I didn't save you out of charity, Mr. Moretti,” Leora replied, her voice steady and devoid of fear. “I saved you because if you died on my watch, Samuel’s men would have scrubbed the entire estate—including me. My survival instinct just happened to align with yours.”
A faint, humorless smirk touched the corner of Leo’s mouth. “Honest. I can respect that. Most people start shaking or crying when they realize who I am.”
“I know who you are,” Leora crossed her arms. “You’re the man whose family owns half the state legislature, three major shipping ports, and a private army. And right now, you’re bleeding on an iron cot in a cabin that hasn’t seen a fresh coat of paint since the Carter administration.”
Leo winced as he shifted his weight. “Samuel didn't act alone. He’s been bought off by the Russian syndicate out of Brooklyn—the Bratva. They want to cut the Morettis out of the international shipping routes. Taking me out was phase one of a hostile takeover. Once my father realizes what’s happened, it’ll be a full-scale war.”
“And what about your father, Don Moretti?” Leora asked sharply. “Where is he?”
“In Europe. Negotiating a summit in Palermo. He won’t be back for forty-eight hours,” Leo said, his eyes darkening with cold fury. “Which means for the next two days, Samuel and the Russians control the estate, the communications network, and the local police. We are entirely on our own.”
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Leora stared at him, the gravity of the situation settling over her like a physical weight. Forty-eight hours. Two full days of hiding in a decaying cabin in the middle of a torrential mountain storm, hunted by trained mercenaries who knew every inch of these woods.
“Well,” Leora said flatly, turning back toward the fire. “It’s a good thing I brought extra firewood.”
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