Chapter 1 - The Bottle at His Feet
I collapsed in Chicago's most expensive restaurant while begging for $300 my former boss refused to pay. My baby needed food. That woman was me, and when my bag spilled across the marble floor, a baby bottle rolled straight into the shoe of the city's most feared mafia boss. Instead of having me thrown out, he picked up the bottle—and when I woke in a locked office, he was waiting with my bag in his hands.
My name is Norah Davis, and that evening, I hadn't eaten a proper meal in more than twenty-four hours.
Cold rain soaked through my worn boots as I stood outside L'Osteria, a restaurant where one dinner cost more than my weekly groceries. Inside my canvas bag were overdue utility bills, a few crackers, diaper cream, and a baby bottle containing the last formula I had for my son, Sam.
I had forty dollars left until payday.
Except there wasn't going to be a payday.
Gregory Davis, the restaurant manager, had hired me to clean grease traps and mop freezer floors for a month. Three days before rent was due, he fired me by text and refused to pay the $300 he'd promised.
That money meant keeping my baby in a warm apartment instead of sleeping in my rusted Honda.
So I walked inside.
The host looked at my wet clothes and frowned.
"Ma'am, the delivery entrance is around back."
"I'm here to see Gregory."
"He's busy with VIP guests."
I walked past him, ignoring the stares.
The smell of roasted garlic and warm bread made my stomach twist. I hadn't eaten since the previous morning, apart from half a piece of toast Sam didn't want.
Then I spotted Gregory beside a private booth.
"Gregory," I called.
He turned, and his expression changed.
I took another step.
The chandeliers blurred.
The floor tilted.
I grabbed a wooden tray stand, but it toppled beneath my weight.
Glass shattered.
Red wine spread across the marble.
And I fell.
My bag flew open beside me.
Bills, crackers, my broken wallet, and Sam's bottle scattered across the floor.
The last thing I saw was a pair of polished black shoes.
Then everything went dark.
I didn't know those shoes belonged to Ethan Hayes.
Chicago's most feared mafia boss.
A man whose name made powerful businessmen lower their voices.
While other guests panicked, Ethan remained perfectly still. His armed bodyguards moved into position, searching for danger.
Gregory rushed forward.
"Mr. Hayes, I'm terribly sorry! She's just some crazy woman from the alley. I'll have her arrested."
Ethan looked at the baby bottle resting against his shoe.
"No police."
Gregory froze.
"Sir?"
"I said no police."
Ethan glanced at my scattered belongings.
Then at my unconscious body.
"She was walking toward you. You know her."
Gregory swallowed.
"Temporary kitchen help. We fired her."
"Why was she looking for you?"
Gregory didn't answer.
Ethan instructed his men to check that I wasn't carrying a weapon and move me somewhere safe.
When I finally woke, I was lying on a leather sofa in Gregory's office.
My head throbbed.
The fluorescent lights made me nauseous.
Then I remembered.
My bag.
Sam's formula.
The time.
I tried to stand.
"Looking for this?"
A deep voice came from the corner.
I turned.
A man in an expensive charcoal suit sat with my canvas bag on his lap. Sam's bottle stood beside him on the desk.
Ethan Hayes.
I recognized him immediately.
"My bag," I whispered. "Please give it back."
He studied me.
"You need to sit down."
"I can't. I have to leave."
I tried standing, but my knees nearly gave way.
"What time is it?"
"Six twenty."
My heart stopped.
"No."
I stumbled forward.
"No, no, no. Mrs. Higgins leaves at six thirty!"
Ethan's expression sharpened.
"Who's Mrs. Higgins?"
"My babysitter."
My eyes filled with tears.
"She's watching my little boy. She said if I'm late again, she'll call child services."
I reached desperately for the bag.
"Please. My son needs me."
Ethan moved it just out of reach.
"Sit down, Norah."
I froze.
I hadn't told him my name.
May you like
And as he looked from the baby bottle to the unpaid bills in my bag, his expression turned frighteningly serious.
"Before you go anywhere," he said quietly, "you're going to tell me why my restaurant manager owes you money."
