CHAPTER ONE

NICK WALKER©

The silence in the bar was so loud. It was the opposite of the club above us, everything here was quieter.

Laughter and chatter was subtle, like everyone had agreed to keep their secrets in their glass. I stood behind the counter, polishing cups, sliding drinks across the counter and forcing a smile to the people.

This was my life everyday. I work night after night working part-time to keep food on the table for myself and my little sister, Mira.

Parents? None. My mother left us the day Mira was born, and my father had already died years earlier.

“Nick.“ My colleague, Shawn dragged me out of my thoughts.

“Could you take this to the VIP room? I really need to use the restroom. Thanks.” He shoved a paper into my hand and darted away before I could say a word.

I sighed as I took a look at the paper in my hand.

I've always avoided going to the VIP room. Politicians, men with bodyguards, rich strangers who thought touching staff was their right. People like that turned this bar into something I wanted no part of.

I loaded the tray and muttered the number. “Room nineteen.” My voice was steady, but my palms were damp.

When I opened the door, I froze.

“What the hell happened here?“ I muttered.

I met with tables overturned, chairs smashed, glass shards glittering across the floor. In the center was a man, calm and silent, holding a knife to another man’s throat. The victim’s face was swollen and bloodied, his arms wrenched behind his back.

The attacker’s expression didn’t shift when our eyes met. He wasn’t angry or smiling, just cold, steady, as if my presence didn’t matter.

I quickly dropped the tray and stammered an apology before bolting out of the room. This is one of the reasons I hated the VIPs room.

“You didn’t see anything, Nick,” I whispered to myself in the hallway, chest heaving.

“You didn’t see a thing.” My heart thudded so fast it hurt.

∆∆

EARLY NEXT MORNING

“Let go of my hair! I can fix it myself. I’m not three,” Mira snapped, trying to twist out of my grip.

“I won’t. Now sit still or you’ll be late for school.”

“We’ll be late, not just me,” she muttered, but turned her head so I could braid her hair.

She does this all of the time, acting older than her age and always refusing to depend on me. She's also good at hiding her affection behind her sass.

“Well, you’ll be the only one late today,” I said. “I don’t have class this morning. Remember? Our Italian lecturer passed away a couple of weeks ago.”

Her voice softened a little. “Wow, Lucky you.”

“Lucky? Someone died, Mira.”

She shrugged. “Still, you get a free morning.”

Before I could reply, my phone buzzed again. Avery.

“Ugh, can you pick Avery's call, it's disturbing”She groaned.

“Perhaps she might want to confess her feelings for you at last.“ She joked.

I laughed, ruffling her hair. “Avery doesn’t like me like that.” I chuckled at her words as I packed my books.

“You messed up my hair again!” she yelped, trying to fix it herself.

“I didn’t,” I said with a grin.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

I dropped Mira at school, then picked up Avery’s call on the way out.

“Hello…”

“Nick, I'll advise you to get here now,” she cut me off. “Our new Italian lecturer is about to take attendance. You have five minutes.“

“What?” My stomach dropped.

“Move. Or you’ll be marked absent.”

The line went dead. She hung up the call already.

I cursed under my breath. College was forty minutes away on foot, twenty if I caught the bus. Missing class meant losing points, and as a scholarship kid, I couldn’t afford that.

By the time the bus screeched to a stop near campus, I was already running. I barreled into the building, panting, catching everyone's attention. I quietly slipped into my usual seat beside Avery.

“Did he call attendance yet?” I whispered.

“About to.” She pressed a tissue into my hand. “You reek of sweat.”

The professor read through the names with calm authority.

“Avery Campbell.”

“Here, sir,” she answered.

Then minutes later, came my name. “Nick Walker.”

I raised my hand, still catching my breath, but froze the second my eyes lifted.

Him.

The man from the VIP room. The one who’d held the knife.

He stood at the front of the class, expression unreadable, as he introduced himself as Professor Enzo Grayson.

My blood turned to ice.

What the hell was he doing here?

Our new lecturer?

I sat stiff in my chair, pretending to take notes, but every nerve in my body screamed.

My chest tightened, the memory of last night and the victim flashed over and over.

How could fate be this cruel?