CHAPTER 1

Chloe’s POV

“Here’s your change, sir,” I said, handing a crisp bill and a few coins to the businessman in front of me. He nodded in appreciation, gave me a polite smile, and walked out the door, the small bell chiming as he left.

I let out a quiet breath and glanced around the café. My mother’s café. It had become a sanctuary for me over the years, a place of peace, warmth, and comfort. The scent of roasted coffee beans filled the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of fresh pastries. The space was always full of life—customers engaged in lively conversation, the gentle clink of cups against saucers, and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine.

It had been ten years since I left Italy. Ten years since I made the decision to disappear, to bury my past, to start over. I had been so afraid back then, so broken. The memories of that night—of what I had witnessed, of what I had survived—still haunted me. It felt like I had been running from it all my life, hiding from the fear that one day, someone would find me.

But life had been kind here, in Russia. My mother’s café was thriving, and I had found a strange sense of peace in the routine of normalcy. Every day felt like a step further from the nightmare I had left behind.

The door opened again, and a man walked in, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “I’ll take a black coffee to go. No sugar.”

I nodded, my hands moving automatically as I filled the cup, steam swirling into the air. I handed it over, and the man paid before leaving, offering a brief “Thank you.” I gave him a polite smile and turned toward the clock above the counter. My shift was over.

Relief washed over me as I stepped into the back room, pulling off my apron and stretching my arms above my head. My body ached from the hours of standing, but the exhaustion was familiar. The café, my mother’s café, had become my safe place. It was my sanctuary, my haven.

“Finally,” I muttered under my breath, rolling the tension out of my shoulders.

Jenna, my coworker and my closest friend, peeked her head into the room. “You heading out?” she asked, her voice light.

“Yeah, my mom’s still here, so I don’t have to lock up,” I said, my voice filled with the quiet satisfaction that came with the end of a shift.

She grinned. “Lucky you. Meanwhile, I’ll be stuck here dealing with the late-night rush. You owe me one, you know.”

I chuckled softly. “I’ll bring you something sweet tomorrow, promise.”

Jenna rolled her eyes playfully but waved me off. I grabbed my purse, slung it over my shoulder, and stepped back into the café.

“Bye, Mom!” I called, waving as I skipped toward the door.

“Be safe, darling!” my mom replied, barely looking up from a new customer she was serving.

I smiled and turned back, ready to leave for the night—

And then it happened.

I wasn’t paying attention. I hadn’t been expecting it.

Suddenly, my body slammed into a hard chest, the impact jolting me back. My heart lurched in my chest as I stumbled, but before I could hit the ground, strong hands caught me, steadying me.

A shiver ran through me—not from the cold air outside, not from fear—but from something deeper, something raw, something I had spent years pushing down.

I pulled back quickly, my breath catching in my throat, and looked up.

My heart stopped.

There, standing before me, was a face I hadn’t seen in ten years. A face I thought I’d never have to see again.

His sharp jawline, his dark hair, and those eyes—blue-gray, intense, filled with something unreadable.

Nicholas.

The man who had once stood over a dead body in the streets of Italy. The man who had haunted my nightmares for so long. And now, here he was, standing in front of me, alive and… real.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t move.

For a split second, I saw it—confusion. It flickered in his eyes, almost imperceptible. It was like something in him recognized me. Like a distant memory, one he had long buried, clawed its way back to the surface.

And then, panic surged through me. A cold rush of fear, the kind that made my knees go weak.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted, my voice a strangled whisper. I yanked myself away from his grasp as if his touch had burned me. Without thinking, without processing the situation, I turned and bolted for the door.

I didn’t stop. I didn’t dare look back.

All I knew was that the past I had tried so desperately to outrun had just caught up to me.

Nicholas’ POV

“What do you mean you can’t locate the snitch?” I growled into the phone, my grip tightening around it. My frustration was boiling over, and the need to have this sorted out was starting to consume me.

Silence.

I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply, willing myself to calm down before I did something rash. I slammed my fist into the nearest wall, the sharp crack of my knuckles against the surface echoing in the empty room.

“I want that person found,” I continued, my voice dangerously low. “I don’t care if you have to tear down all of Italy—find the snitch.”

I hung up without waiting for a response, my anger still simmering beneath the surface. Ten years of planning. Ten years of waiting. The betrayal still burned like a fresh wound.

We had been unstoppable once. Untouchable. But then, someone had decided to play hero, and it had cost us everything.

Ten years behind bars.

Ten years of planning my revenge.

I didn’t care if it was a man or a woman. Whoever had ruined my life was going to pay. And when I found them, I wouldn’t show mercy.

“Hey, Nick,” Ken called from across the room, breaking me from my thoughts. “I just found the best coffee shop in town. Let’s check it out.”

I barely spared him a glance, my mind still consumed with rage. “It better be worth my time,” I muttered, grabbing my coat as we headed out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, we were outside a small café, its warm glow spilling onto the pavement. The smell of fresh coffee was thick in the air, but I hardly noticed it. My thoughts were too clouded.

Ken smirked at me. “Told you it was good.”

I didn’t answer, just pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The place was buzzing with customers, the clink of cups and laughter filling the air. I scanned the room lazily, my gaze moving over the faces, the chatter. But then, something caught my attention. A flash of movement near the exit.

A girl.

She collided with me.

My body stiffened as she bounced off my chest. Her eyes met mine—wide, filled with an emotion I couldn’t place. Fear. Raw, unfiltered fear. And then, before I could say a word, she yanked herself away and bolted for the door.

I froze.

Something wasn’t right.

“Did you see that?” I asked Ken, my voice dangerously low.

Ken raised an eyebrow. “See what?”

I turned toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest.

That girl…

Why did she run?

And more importantly—why did she look like she had seen a ghost?

I stood frozen, my arms still tingling from where I had touched her. The moment our eyes met, something shifted inside me. A connection. A pull. Something I couldn’t explain.

Ken nudged me. “You good, man?”

I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes at the door where she had disappeared. “Who was that?” I asked, the words coming out harsher than I intended.

Ken shrugged. “No idea. Some worker here, I guess. But dude, she ran like she knew you.”

I felt it too. She knew me. Or at least, she recognized me.

My mind raced. Was she just another woman intimidated by my presence? No. There was something more. That kind of fear—raw, uncontrollable—only came from someone with a secret.

I turned toward the counter, scanning the room for an employee who might know her. An older woman, probably in her fifties, was wiping down a table near the register. I walked over, my voice smooth but firm, masking the storm brewing inside me.

“Who was that girl that just left?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral but unmistakably commanding.

The woman looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Why do you ask?”

My temper flared, but I held it in check. People didn’t question me. They answered.

Ken, sensing the tension, stepped in. “She just bumped into my friend here and took off. We were just making sure she’s okay.”

The woman studied us for a moment, her gaze cautious. Then, with a resigned sigh, she answered. “That’s my daughter, Chloe.”

Chloe.

The name hit me like a bullet to the chest.

My muscles tensed, my thoughts racing. I had never known the name of the snitch who put me behind bars. That detail had been buried, carefully hidden. But now—Chloe. Her name.

Could it really be her?

I needed to be sure.

The name Chloe echoed in my mind like a heavy drumbeat, each syllable like a key unlocking something buried deep within me. The past I had spent years trying to outrun was suddenly right in front of me, and I couldn’t ignore it. The way her eyes had locked onto mine—wide, terrified—was a reaction I had seen before. A reaction only someone with a hidden past would have.

I forced my features into a neutral expression, masking the storm brewing inside. I couldn’t afford to let anyone see how much I was unraveling at the thought that the very person who had caused me ten years of torment could be standing right here in front of me—right under my nose.

Ken, noticing my sudden stillness, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on, man? That girl, Chloe… you know her?”

I didn’t respond immediately, my thoughts whirling. The silence between us stretched long before I forced myself to focus. I couldn’t let Ken see the cracks forming. Not yet.

“I’ll figure it out,” I said, my voice low, the edge of authority creeping in. “She’s not who she seems.”

Ken gave me a confused look, but wisely held his tongue. He knew when to push and when to back off. I needed time to process, to piece things together, to understand what the hell just happened.

“If it is her… I have unfinished business,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. “And I don’t leave things unfinished.”