Chapter 2 - The Car That Followed
The SUV followed.
Not closely.
Not aggressively.
It crawled along the street parallel to me, matching the pace of my exhausted steps.
By the time I reached my building, my fingers were numb.
The old front-door lock always stuck, requiring a particular combination of pressure and jiggling that I normally performed without thinking.
Tonight, my hands shook too much.
“Need help with that?”
I spun around.
My heart leapt into my throat.
A man stood behind me.
One of the black-suited men from earlier.
I had not heard him approach.
Had not noticed the SUV stop.
“No.”
My voice came out steadier than I felt.
“Thank you. I’m fine.”
“Mr. Richi wanted to make sure you got home safely.”
He gestured toward the door.
“May I?”
The name struck me like a physical blow.
Everyone in Chicago knew that name.
Even if most people pretended not to.
Dante Richi.
The man whose influence stretched across Chicago like a shadow.
Politics.
Real estate.
Waterfront businesses.
The man whose family had controlled the city’s underworld for generations.
And I had fallen directly into his arms.
Before I could refuse, the guard took my keys and opened the stubborn lock with disturbing ease.
He returned them with a small nod.
“Mr. Richi will be in touch.”
Then he turned and walked back toward the SUV.
I hurried inside.
Locked the door.
Leaned against it.
My heart hammered.
From the single window in my apartment, I watched the black vehicle remain outside for several long minutes.
Eventually, it pulled away.
Only then did I remove the card from my pocket.
My fingertips traced the raised numbers.
What had Dante Richi seen when he looked at me?
Why had he given me this?
And what would happen if I called?
I placed the card on my tiny kitchenette counter.
It looked like something both precious and dangerous.
A key to a door I was not certain I wanted opened.
That night, I dreamed of dark eyes and rain.
Of hands that protected and imprisoned at the same time.
And somewhere in a part of Chicago I had never seen, I knew those same eyes were probably still open.
Perhaps looking at my name.
Learning who I was.
Deciding what to do with the woman who had literally fallen into his life.
I woke to sunlight filtering through thin curtains and the distant sound of traffic below.
For several seconds, I remained still beneath my blankets, enjoying the rare luxury of waking naturally rather than to an alarm.
Then the previous night returned all at once.
The storm.
The SUVs.
The dark eyes.
The card.
I sat upright.
Had it actually happened?
I looked toward the kitchenette.
The cream-colored card remained exactly where I had left it.
In daylight, it somehow looked even more expensive.
Dante Richi.
I had collided with Dante Richi.
And somehow, impossibly, I had walked away.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A message from my manager at the diner.
Don’t bother coming in today or ever again. Position filled.
My stomach dropped.
3 consecutive shifts covering for a sick coworker.
And that was my reward.
No warning.
No explanation.
A text message ending what little financial stability I had.
I fell backward against the pillow and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.
“Perfect.”
The word came out bitterly.
“Just perfect.”
Rent was due in 1 week.
I had less than $200.
I could not afford even 1 day without income.
I would have to start applying immediately.
Restaurants.
Stores.
Anything within walking distance.
I forced myself into the shower.
The water was lukewarm, because the building never managed truly hot water.
I tried to wash away the lingering smell of rain and expensive cologne that seemed to remain on my skin.
When I dressed in my only decent jeans and a simple blouse, my eyes kept drifting toward the business card.
No.
Men like Dante Richi did not help women like me for free.
Whatever he wanted in return would probably cost more than I could afford.
I put the card inside a drawer beneath a stack of old T-shirts.
Then I left.
The morning was bright and clear.
Almost no sign remained of the storm except for puddles slowly evaporating in the sun.
I spent hours walking from place to place.
Applications.
Forced smiles.
The same practiced lines repeated again and again.
Hard worker.
Quick learner.
Team player.
By afternoon, I had covered most of the neighborhood.
My feet ached.
My hope was fading.
I stopped at a corner café and counted coins for the cheapest thing available.
Plain coffee.
I nursed it slowly, making it last as long as possible.
From a seat beside the window, I watched people pass.
Everyone seemed to have direction.
Purpose.
Security.
When had I last felt secure?
Before my mother died, perhaps.
Before her medical bills consumed her savings.
Then mine.
Before I learned how quickly a person could go from managing to barely surviving.
A black SUV pulled up across the street.
My heart stumbled.
Same model as the previous night.
I lowered myself slightly in the chair.
The vehicle remained for a moment.
Then moved on.
The knot in my stomach did not.
Was I being paranoid?
Or had it been following me all day?
The thought remained with me as I continued searching for work.
At every intersection, I glanced behind me.
By evening, exhaustion had dulled even my fear.
I was so focused on placing one foot in front of the other that I did not notice the sleek black car outside my building until I was almost at the entrance.
A man stood beside it.
Not the guard from before.
Different face.
Same suit.
Same alert posture.
He straightened.
“Miss Ki.”
My hand immediately moved toward the pepper spray inside my bag.
“Mr. Richi would like to speak with you.”
He indicated the open rear door.
Not an invitation.
An instruction.
“I’m busy.”
My attempt at confidence came out small.
The man’s expression never changed.
May you like
“It concerns your employment situation.”
Cold moved through me.
