Chapter 3 - THE WARNING THAT CAME AFTER MIDNIGHT|
I read the message three times before my hands began to shake.
“STOP TALKING TO LUCIAN MORETTI IF YOU WANT TO SEE DAY SEVEN.”
Until that moment, Lucian had been nothing more than a stranger with a kind voice and an unexpected talent for making frightened women laugh.
Now someone was threatening me because of him.
I looked toward my apartment door.
The deadbolt was locked, and the security chain hung in place.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone might be standing on the other side.
My phone vibrated again.
“Did you understand my warning?”
I dropped it onto the couch.
For several seconds, I stared at the screen without moving.
Then I picked it up and opened my conversation with Lucian.
“Who are you?”
The reply came almost immediately.
“Someone who sent you pancakes.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
I swallowed.
“Someone just threatened me because I'm talking to you.”
This time, he didn't answer.
The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.
Then my phone rang.
“Amelia,” he said the moment I answered.
His voice was different now.
The warmth I'd heard earlier had disappeared beneath something cold and controlled.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
I read the message aloud.
Silence followed.
“Lucian?”
“Don't delete it.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know who sent it.”
My heart began pounding.
“Why would somebody threaten me over a conversation with you?”
He exhaled slowly.
“Because there are people who believe hurting someone near me is the easiest way to hurt me.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity.
“Near you?”
“We've spoken for less than two hours.”
“I know.”
“I'm a stranger, Lucian.”
“That's exactly why this worries me.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
Across the street, a black sedan sat beneath a broken streetlight.
Its headlights were off.
I didn't know whether it had been there earlier.
Suddenly, I wished I'd paid attention.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked.
Another silence.
Then he answered.
“I own businesses.”
“What kind?”
“Restaurants, transportation companies, real estate.”
“And what else?”
“Amelia.”
The way he said my name told me there was something he didn't want to explain.
I opened my laptop with trembling fingers.
It took less than thirty seconds to find him.
LUCIAN MORETTI.
NEW YORK'S MOST FEARED UNDERWORLD FIGURE.
BUSINESSMAN LINKED TO ORGANIZED CRIME INVESTIGATIONS.
MORETTI FAMILY SURVIVES ANOTHER FEDERAL CRACKDOWN.
My mouth went dry.
I clicked on a photograph.
The man staring back at me was tall and dark-haired, with sharp features and the expression of someone who rarely heard the word no.
A black tattoo disappeared beneath the cuff of his tailored shirt.
Two men in dark suits stood behind him.
I looked at the photograph.
Then I looked at my phone.
“Oh my God.”
“Amelia?”
“You're a criminal.”
He didn't deny it.
“I'm not going to lie to you.”
I pressed a hand against my forehead.
“That's an interesting time to start being honest.”
“I understand why you're upset.”
“Upset?”
I laughed once, without humor.
“I told a mafia boss I'm dying, and now somebody is threatening to kill me before I get the chance.”
“Listen carefully.”
“No, you listen.”
My voice cracked.
“I have seven days left.”
“I know.”
“Seven days, Lucian.”
“I know.”
“I don't want to spend them being afraid of men with guns.”
Something changed in his breathing.
When he spoke again, the authority had vanished.
“Neither do I.”
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I heard nothing except the rain tapping against the glass.
Then he said something I wasn't prepared for.
“I can make sure nobody comes near you.”
“How?”
“By keeping the people who work for me away from your building and finding out who sent that threat.”
“You expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
“I expect you to make your own decision.”
I looked at the black sedan.
Its engine started.
A moment later, it pulled away from the curb.
“There's a car outside,” I whispered.
“What kind?”
“Black sedan.”
“Can you see the license plate?”
“No.”
“Step away from the window.”
I did.
“Are you sending men here?”
“No one has my permission to approach you.”
“But somebody knows where I live.”
“Possibly.”
My knees weakened.
I sat on the floor beside the couch.
“I don't want to die tonight.”
The words came out so quietly that I barely heard them myself.
Lucian heard.
“Amelia, stay with me.”
Tears slid down my face.
“I thought I was ready.”
“You don't have to be ready.”
“I've spent three years preparing for this disease to kill me.”
“Then you've already spent too much of your life preparing to lose it.”
I covered my mouth.
Nobody had ever described my illness that way.
For years, my schedule had been divided into treatments, appointments, scans, and recovery days.
I'd stopped making plans because I hated canceling them.
I'd stopped falling in love because I couldn't bear explaining why I might not be there for the ending.
I had mistaken caution for peace.
And now a dangerous stranger was telling me I deserved something more.
“I'm going to call someone I trust,” Lucian said.
“No.”
“Amelia—”
“I don't want strangers in my apartment.”
“Then no one comes inside.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I heard him speak to someone away from the phone.
His voice hardened instantly.
“Marco, I want every camera around that building reviewed.”
A muffled answer followed.
“No intimidation, no confrontation, and absolutely no contact with her unless she requests it.”
I listened, stunned by the contrast.
One moment, he'd sounded like a man capable of frightening an entire city.
The next, he was asking whether I had enough blankets.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Get under one.”
“You're very bossy.”
“I've been told.”
“Frequently?”
“By people who usually regret it.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
Then a sharp pain spread across my chest.
I gasped.
“Amelia?”
I tried to answer, but the room tilted.
The phone slipped from my fingers.
“Amelia, talk to me.”
I reached for the edge of the coffee table.
My vision blurred.
The pain wasn't entirely unfamiliar.
My medical condition had caused episodes like this before, but tonight the weakness seemed to arrive all at once.
“I can't—”
My voice disappeared.
I heard Lucian calling my name.
Then the darkness swallowed the room.
When I opened my eyes, someone was pounding on my apartment door.
“Miss Carter?”
I tried to move.
“Miss Carter, this is Emergency Medical Services.”
Blue and red lights flashed against my ceiling.
I was lying beside the couch with my phone several feet away.
A woman outside the door called my name again.
I managed to whisper, “Help.”
The next few minutes blurred together.
Someone entered after the building superintendent unlocked the door.
A paramedic knelt beside me.
Another checked my breathing.
Questions came quickly.
Did I know where I was?
Could I describe the pain?
What medication had I taken?
I answered what I could.
Then the paramedic lifted my phone from the floor.
“There's someone on the line,” she said.
I reached toward it.
“Lucian?”
His voice came through immediately.
“I'm here.”
“You called them?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know?”
“You stopped answering, and I heard you fall.”
I closed my eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize.”
“They're taking me to the hospital.”
“I know.”
I opened my eyes again.
“How?”
He hesitated.
Then he said, “Because I'm already on my way.”
I should have told him not to come.
I should have remembered everything I'd just learned about him.
Instead, I whispered the truth.
“I'm scared.”
His answer was immediate.
“Then you won't have to face tonight alone.”
Twenty minutes later, as the ambulance carried me through the wet streets of Manhattan, Lucian Moretti stood outside the emergency department.
He wore a black coat over an open-collared shirt.
A silver watch gleamed on his wrist.
Beside him stood Marco DeLuca, who had just received a photograph from the security team.
“Boss,” Marco said quietly.
Lucian turned.
“We identified the man in the sedan.”
“Who?”
Marco handed him the phone.
The photograph showed a middle-aged man with thinning gray hair leaving a parking garage.
Lucian's expression changed.
For a moment, he looked genuinely shocked.
Then his jaw tightened.
“That's impossible.”
Marco didn't answer.
Lucian stared at the image.
He recognized the man immediately.
Dr. Nathaniel Voss.
May you like
The same physician whose signature appeared on Sofia Moretti's medical records eleven years earlier.
And according to Marco's preliminary findings, he was also the specialist who had just told Amelia Carter she had seven days left to live.
