11. Cat
— ? —
Cat
The alley empties onto a service road behind the hardware store, or what used to be the hardware store before it closed last month. I know this route. I’ve walked it a dozen times, memorizing escape paths the way other people memorize grocery lists.
But I’m not fast enough.
“Hey there, Mrs. Moretti.”
The voice comes from behind me, and everything in my body goes cold.
I turn slowly. The man from the bar, dark hair, dark coat, eyes that miss nothing, is standing at the mouth of the alley, blocking my exit. He’s smiling, and it’s the kind of smile that makes my skin crawl.
“I think you have the wrong person,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “My name is Maria.”
“Sure it is.” He takes a step closer. “And that dye job is real convincing, I gotta say. Took me a while to figure it out. But then I remembered: the boss showed us all your picture, back when you first went missing. Made us memorize your face.” Another step.
“Said there’d be a reward for whoever found you. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do.” He’s close enough now that I can smell him, cigarettes and cheap cologne and something sour underneath. “Question is, what kind of reward am I gonna collect?”
I back up, calculating. The service road behind me is empty, dark, no witnesses. My phone is in my bag. The knife I started carrying three weeks ago is in my pocket, but I’d have to reach for it, and he’s watching my hands.
“The boss wants you back,” he continues, conversational, like we’re discussing the weather. “But he didn’t say what condition you had to be in when I delivered you.”
“Stay away from me.”
“Or what?” He laughs. “You gonna scream? Nobody out here to hear you. You gonna fight?” His eyes drop to my midsection, and I realize with horror that my coat has come unbuttoned in my rush through the alley. “Looks like you’re in no condition to fight much of anything.”
I go for the knife.
He’s faster.
His hand closes around my wrist, twisting, and the knife clatters to the ground. I bring my knee up, aiming for his groin, but he anticipates it, shifts his weight, and suddenly I’m slammed against the wall with his forearm across my throat.
“Feisty,” he says, breath hot on my face. “I like that. The boss’s wife, all alone, all desperate. You know how long I’ve been watching you? Waiting for the right moment?”
“Let me go.”
“In a minute.” His free hand comes up, touching my face, and I want to vomit. “First I want to-”
The sound is wet. Final.
The man’s eyes go wide, his grip loosening, and then he’s crumpling to the ground with a knife buried in the back of his neck.
Behind him, stepping out of the shadows like a ghost, is Nico Greco.
“Are you hurt?”
I can’t answer. I’m pressed against the wall, shaking so hard my teeth are chattering, staring at the body on the ground.
“Cat.” Nico’s voice is sharp. “Are you hurt?”
“No. I don’t, no.”
He moves quickly, efficiently, checking the body, retrieving his knife, wiping it clean on the dead man’s coat. I watch him work and feel nothing. Shock, probably. I’ll fall apart later.
“We need to move,” he says. “There might be others.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Saving your life, apparently.” He straightens, finally looking at me properly, and then his eyes drop to where my coat hangs open.
To my stomach.
To the undeniable swell of pregnancy that no oversized apron can hide anymore.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.
“Nico-”
“You’re pregnant.”
“I can explain-”
“You’re pregnant.” He says it like he can’t quite believe the word. “Does Max know? Of course he doesn’t know, because if he knew-”
“He doesn’t get to know.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t get to know.” I pull my coat closed, hands still trembling. “That’s not your information to share.”
“Cat, this changes everything. He’s been tearing the world apart looking for you, and you’re-”
“Stop.” My voice comes out harder than I intended. “Just stop. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then tell me.” He steps closer, and I flinch before I can help it. He stops immediately, hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you. You know that, right? I would never-”
“I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Cat-”
“Why are you here, Nico? How did you find me?”
“We’ve been tracking sightings for months.
Every lead, every rumor, every woman who might be you.
This town came up three days ago: a bartender matching your description, pays cash, no history.
” He glances at the body on the ground. “Gianelli got here before me. Low-rank soldier, mostly muscle, not much brain. He was supposed to report back, not make a move on his own.”
“He recognized me.”
“He wanted the glory.” Nico’s jaw tightens. “And apparently something else.”
I don’t respond to that. Can’t.
“We need to get off the street,” he says. “There’s a safehouse about twenty minutes from here. Off-books, not connected to any of the family properties. You’ll be safe there while I-”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Cat-”
“Why should I trust you? Your father, your sister-” My voice cracks. “They’re the reason I ran.”
“Ask him. Ask Marcella. They’re the ones planning to kill me.” The words come out in a rush, all the fear and rage I’ve been carrying for months finally finding a target. “Probably you too, if you get in their way. So leave me the fuck alone, or you’ll regret it.”
Nico stares at me like I’ve sprouted a second head.
“My father leads a faction. I know that,” he says slowly. “And I know from your farewell that you feared Max. But Marcella? What did Marcella do?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“I’m not playing anything. Cat, I know there’s tension in the family.
I know my father has ambitions. But Max has been desperate since you left.
I have never in my life seen him look like this.
He doesn’t sleep. He barely eats. He’s got every resource we have focused on finding you, and the only thing he talks about is getting you back safely. ”
“Safely.” I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to me. “That’s rich.”
“Why would he want to hurt you? You’re his wife. He-”
“I heard him, Nico.”
That stops him. “Heard him what?”
“At the meeting. The one I wasn’t invited to, the one where Sergio and Marcella and everyone else sat around discussing whether I was worth keeping.
” My throat tightens, but I force the words out.
“I stood outside that door and I heard my husband tell his entire leadership that he didn’t know if he loved me enough to keep me as his wife.
That he couldn’t stand the marriage much longer. ”
Nico’s face does something complicated. “You were listening.”
“Yes, I was listening. Because nobody would tell me anything, because I was being shut out of everything, because my husband wouldn’t even look at me for months. So yes, I listened. And I heard exactly what I was worth to him.”
“Cat, that meeting-”
“I’m not finished.” I’m shaking again, but this time it’s anger, not fear. “After the meeting, after the attack in my bedroom that your people barely stopped in time, I found a note. In Max’s study. Marcella’s handwriting.”
“What note?”
I reach into my bag, pull out the worn piece of cream stationery that’s been my constant companion for four months. The proof I’ve carried everywhere, the evidence I couldn’t leave behind.
“Read it.”
He takes it carefully, unfolds it, and I watch his face as he reads.
Since the attack wasn’t fruitful, I’ll try something else soon. She won’t be with us much longer. M.
The color drains from his face.
“Where did you find this?”
“On his desk. Tucked under the blotter like they’d been passing notes back and forth about how to get rid of me.” My voice breaks on the last words. “So don’t you dare stand there and tell me Max is desperate to find me. He’s desperate to finish what he started.”
“Cat.” Nico’s voice is strange. Strangled. “Max has never seen this note.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I’ve been with him almost every day since you disappeared. If he’d found a note like this, I would know. He would have-” He stops, stares at the paper in his hand. “This is Marcella’s handwriting.”
“I know.”
“You think she and Max were planning together.”
“The evidence is right there in your hand.”
“And you think Max wanted you dead.”
“What else am I supposed to think?” My voice cracks on it.
Nico is quiet for a long moment. He folds the note, hands it back to me, and when he speaks again his voice is measured, like he’s choosing each word deliberately.
“Cat, there’s been a power struggle inside the family since Aldo died. My father’s faction, the old guard, they want the alliance dissolved, the old blood feuds back. You’re the symbol of everything they want to destroy.”
“And the note? Marcella planning my death, and Max just happened to miss that sitting on his own desk?”
“I think someone wanted you to find it. Wanted you to run.” He meets my eyes. “And I’ll say it again, since you didn’t believe me the first time: the man I left in that house is not a man who wants you dead. He can’t say your name without his voice going wrong.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he explain?”
“Because he’s an idiot.” Nico says it flatly, without affection. “Because he’s spent so long fighting wars by himself that he forgot how to let anyone in.”
I want to believe him. God help me, some pathetic part of me wants to believe every word.
But believing is how I ended up here in the first place.
“That note is Marcella planning my death.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I know my sister.” His voice is hard now. “I know what she’s capable of. And I know my father’s been encouraging her obsession with Max since she was a teenager. But Max doesn’t know about that note. He’s never seen it.”
“It was on his desk.”
“Think about it, Cat. If Max wanted you gone, why would he leave evidence sitting out where you could stumble across it?”
“Then who put it there?”
“I don’t know for certain. But Marcella has been circling Max for years.”
My legs feel unsteady. I lean against the wall, trying to process everything he’s saying.
“I can’t believe you,” I whisper. “Believing you is how I end up dead in a nice dress.”
“I know.” His voice softens. “I know you have no reason to trust me. But I’m asking you to let me help anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re pregnant with my best friend’s child, and there’s a dead body at our feet, and more soldiers are going to come looking when Gianelli doesn’t report in.” He glances down the alley. “We don’t have time for you to trust me. We barely have time to get you somewhere safe.”
“And then what?”
“And then I figure out how bad this has gotten. How many people know you’re here, how much time we have before word spreads.” He meets my eyes. “I’m not going to tell Max about the baby.”
“You’re not?”
“The pregnancy is yours to tell. The note is different. It names someone who can still reach you. I need to show Max a copy so he can close those doors.”
“He doesn’t deserve to know.”
“Not about the baby,” Nico says. “I gave you my word. Just the threat.”
I look at the paper between us, then at the dead man. “The note only. And you tell me what Max says.”
He nods. “I will.”
“Let’s get you out of this alley.” He holds out his hand. “Let me help you. Please.”
I stare at his hand, then at his face. Looking for the lie, the trap, the angle.
I don’t find one.
“If you betray me,” I say slowly, “if this is some kind of setup, I swear to God-”
“It’s not.”
“I will bring so much hell down on your family that the war my father fought will look like a friendly disagreement.”
“I believe you.”
I take his hand.
The safehouse is a converted building at the edge of town, three stories, narrow, wedged between a boarded-up pawn shop and a laundromat. Back alleys connect to side streets, and there’s a church about three blocks away.
“Off-books,” Nico explains as he pulls up to the curb. “I bought it years ago under a shell company. Somewhere to go if things ever got bad enough that I needed to disappear.”
“And you’re giving it to me?”
“I’m lending it to you.” He parks, kills the engine. “There are two men inside. Both mine, both loyal to me personally, not to my father or the family structure. They’ll guard you, keep you supplied, make sure nobody gets close.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”
Before we go inside, Nico photographs the note and sends it. He turns the screen toward me: just the paper, no mention of the baby. A reply comes almost at once. Max says he has never seen it. I read those words twice and still do not know whether I can believe them.
We sit in the car for a moment, neither of us moving.
“You really believe Max didn’t know,” I say finally. “About the note. About Marcella.”
“I really believe it.”
“Then why didn’t he fight harder? After the christening, after he dropped my hand to catch her when she faked that fainting spell, why didn’t he come after me? Why didn’t he try to explain?”
Nico is quiet for a moment. “Because by then he had made an excuse out of waiting,” he says.
“Because he’s been so focused on the war inside the family that he forgot to fight for his marriage.
Because protecting you from threats isn’t the same as being present for you, and he never figured out the difference. ”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No. It doesn’t.” He turns to look at me. “But it might make it survivable. If you can forgive him. Eventually.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“That’s fair.” He opens his door. “Come on. Let me introduce you to your guards.”
I follow him up to the house, one hand pressed against my belly where the baby has started to kick.
We have days at best. Maybe less, if Gianelli told someone where to look.
Days before more soldiers come. Days before word spreads that the don’s missing wife has been found. Days before everything I’ve built in this quiet town comes crashing down.
I should be terrified.
Instead, for the first time in four months, I feel something almost like hope.