Chapter Four
EVIE
I can’t believe what just happened. When I came into the restaurant today, I was expecting to have a quick meal before making my way back to my tiny studio apartment. Back to my normal, boring life, only to do everything again the next day. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d meet a man that ignites a fire tucked inside my rib cage, hidden and held back until now.
Red holds me close, his lips brushing softly against my hair. The tenderness in his touch catches me off guard—it’s a gentleness I never imagined he was capable of, especially after hearing about all the illegal activities he coordinates daily. I’ve only just met him, but somehow I know this isn’t something he gives freely. To him, I’m something rare, something special. And for the first time, I think I might actually feel it.
Red pulls away after a few minutes of enjoying each other’s presence. He kisses the corner of my mouth and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. I let my eyes fall closed, accepting the comfort that he’s providing.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
"Amazing," I say with a smile, the word tumbling out like it could somehow contain the depth of what I’m feeling. It doesn’t. I doubt any combination of words in the English language could truly capture it. But maybe, just maybe, Red will understand anyway. Hopefully, he can read between the lines and see everything I’m trying to say without saying it.
We stand there, only a breath apart from kissing again when a loud crash echoes from downstairs. I flinch, and Red reacts instantly, pulling away and quickly yanking his pants up. The shift in his demeanor is jarring, and I freeze, unsure of what to do.
It feels like something urgent, something serious is happening, but I can’t make sense of it. Brandy probably just dropped something, right? Surely whatever caused that sound couldn’t warrant this kind of sudden, intense response.
“Fuck,” Red curses under his breath, grabbing my pants and underwear from the floor and kneeling in front of me. “Come on, Evie. I need you to get dressed.”
“What–” I begin, stopping when I hear another loud crash. My eyes flicker to the door before there’s a litany of yelling.
Red doesn’t give me a chance to help him get dressed. He moves quickly, effortlessly, his strength undeniable as he manhandles me. In seconds, I’m fully covered, and without hesitation, he lifts me up, tossing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. I let out an undignified squeak, my hands instinctively gripping onto him to keep myself steady, trying to find some sort of anchor in the chaos.
“I have to keep you safe,” Red says, his voice urgent as he kicks open a door to a room that might have been a bedroom. There’s a desk and rows of filing cabinets. My eyes land on a massive safe in the corner, and suddenly, everything he said earlier makes so much more sense. The weight of his words sinks in. “I need you to promise me you won’t move until I come back.”
“I don’t understand,” I protest, even as he shoves me into a closet. I know I’m not going to get any answers right now, but I have to try. “Red, what’s going on?”
“Do not move,” he repeats, his voice hard. “Stay here and stay quiet.”
The closet door slams shut behind me with a finality that sends my pulse racing. I hear the distinct click of the lock, and then... nothing. I’m trapped. Red has locked me in this tiny, suffocating space while he goes off to handle whatever mess is unfolding downstairs.
Panic claws at me, a rush of adrenaline flooding my system. How long is he going to keep me in here? If I had my phone, I could call for help, but I left it on the table, beside my bags.
How could I be so careless? I never go anywhere without it. I know how dangerous the world can be, how many risks women face. My phone is my failsafe, the one thing I count on if I ever end up in a situation like this. But now? When I need it most, I don’t have it.
A sharp, loud bang tears me from my spiraling thoughts. My body jerks in surprise. I don’t know what it is at first. It sounds almost like a firework, but sharper, more deliberate—without the crackle of a fuse. My bones vibrate with the impact, and I know, deep down, what it is.
The realization only hits me when another gunshot rings out below us. My entire body tenses. Can a bullet come up through the floor? Are we safe up here?
My body is frozen, unable to stand. I know I’m stuck here with the unexpected lurking downstairs. I think about how I could fight my way out of this or run away. But instead, I’m cornered. My ears perk up at the sound of Red barking an order at someone. His voice is commanding, unbothered by the chaos erupting around him. Despite his confidence, my body is trembling.
But a little bit of my fear subsides listening to him, hearing him take charge, knowing he’s down there in the danger zone. Something soothing moves through my belly, and I realize I’m completely turned on by how he’s handling this danger—he’s calm and collected, and it makes me want him even more. I want him to come and use that attitude on me. I want him to make me fall apart while he wears that domineering mask.
These thoughts startle me; I have no idea where they come from. I’ve dreamed about falling in love, but that person in my mind looked nothing like Red. I imagined a soft and sensitive man, the kind that would surprise me with flowers and work with animals or something. Never in my life did I consider being involved with someone who isn’t remotely phased by a shoot-out in his restaurant.
“Oh my god,” I say to myself, my shaking hand coming to rest over my mouth. “He’s…”
He’s what? Exactly who he says he is? Was I really trying to go toe-to-toe with a mobster? Did I actually let him touch me, kiss me in the most intimate way, and accept it without question?
I should be afraid of him. I know I should be. The gunshots ringing out downstairs are all the evidence I need. This man, this powerful, dangerous man, has probably killed before. The way he handled the situation earlier—it wasn’t fear or hesitation; it was annoyance.
But here’s the thing: I’m not afraid of him. If anything, I’m drawn to him, fascinated by him. The more I think about it, the more I want to understand his world, to be the one thing he treats with care. I want to be the exception. Actually, I need to be the only exception. When he called me his earlier, I thought it was just the heat of the moment, but now... now there’s no doubt in my mind. I want to belong to him, whatever that means. I’d let him do whatever he wants with me, even if that means putting myself in danger.