Chapter 1 - The Alleyway Ambush, the Midnight Kiss of Desperation, and the Dangerous Truth Behind the Boy They Both Tried to SaveFreezing rain made the alley behind O’Halleran’s Pub shine black beneath the streetlamp.
At 12:16 a.m., I was carrying two trash bags toward the dumpster, wearing non-slip shoes, black work pants, and the thick brown cardigan I used whenever Chicago decided November should feel like February.
My name is Abigail Faith.
Twenty-six.
Night manager.
Sometimes bartender.
Sometimes baker when our morning cook called in sick.
And fat.
Not “curvy if photographed correctly.”
Fat.
Soft stomach, heavy thighs, round face, broad hips.
I had spent years learning how to exist without apologizing and even longer learning that other people could still make an apology out of my body whether I volunteered one or not.
That night, my body was the least frightening thing in the alley.
A young man knelt in a puddle ten yards away.
College sweatshirt.
Bleeding lip.
Terrified eyes.
Two men stood behind him.
And in front stood Nathaniel Rossi.
Everyone on the South Side knew that name.
Shipping.
Warehouses.
Restaurants.
Construction.
And enough whispered criminal business that nobody ever explained why his expensive town cars could park beside hydrants without tickets.
Nathaniel held a pistol.
The young man trembled.
“Please, Mr. Rossi.”
Nathaniel’s voice was quiet.
“You took a drive containing routing information worth twenty million dollars.”
“I didn’t know what it was.”
“Then ignorance has become expensive.”
The gun lifted.
Something inside me moved before judgment arrived.
I dropped the garbage.
“Let him go.”
Four men turned.
One of Nathaniel’s guards laughed.
“Boss, who’s this?”
“Quiet.”
Nathaniel looked directly at me.
Dark hair.
Charcoal overcoat.
A face so controlled it felt more dangerous than anger.
“This does not concern you.”
“He looks nineteen.”
“Twenty-one.”
“Wonderful. Practically elderly.”
The boy stared at me as though I were insane.
Fair.
Nathaniel took one step forward.
“Go inside.”
I should have.
Instead, I saw his finger shift.
My mind produced one stupid conclusion.
Distract him.
I had no weapon.
No training.
No sensible plan.
So I crossed the distance, grabbed Nathaniel’s coat, rose onto my toes—
and kissed him.
Every person in that alley stopped breathing.
Including me.
Nathaniel went rigid.
Rain ran down my face.
His mouth tasted faintly of whiskey and cold air.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then his free hand caught my waist instinctively.
Not romance.
Balance.
Shock.
Confusion.
It was enough.
Behind us, shoes splashed hard against pavement.
The young man ran.
Nathaniel tore his mouth away.
“Boss!”
His guard raised a weapon toward the alley exit.
Nathaniel lifted one hand.
“Don’t.”
The boy disappeared.
I released Nathaniel and immediately understood what I had done.
“I’m sorry.”
He wiped rain from his mouth.
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who that was?”
“No.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Unfortunately.”
One of his men made a choking sound.
Nathaniel ignored him.
“He stole encrypted routing data worth approximately twenty million dollars.”
My knees weakened.
“I don’t have twenty million dollars.”
“I assumed.”
“Then we’re done.”
“No.”
His eyes held mine.
“You bought Liam Henderson time.”
“I stopped you from killing him.”
“Same transaction from different moral departments.”
“That is not how debt works.”
A strange light entered his expression.
“You argue while terrified.”
“I multitask.”
For the first time, Nathaniel almost smiled.
Then he looked toward the alley where Liam had vanished.
“What’s your name?”
“Abigail Faith.”
“Well, Abigail Faith.”
His voice softened.
“You do not owe me twenty million dollars.”
Relief hit—
until he continued.
“But you have just become the only civilian Liam Sullivan will believe is unrelated to me.”
My blood went cold.
“Sullivan?”
Nathaniel’s eyes sharpened.
“Yes.”
“The boy you saved is Declan Sullivan’s nephew.”
He stepped closer.
“And I think he wanted you to save him.”
The weight of those words settled over me like wet cement. Declan Sullivan wasn’t just a name on the South Side; he was the apex predator of the opposing syndicate, a man whose territory bled directly into Nathaniel’s docks. If a Sullivan nephew had intentionally infiltrated Nathaniel’s holdings to steal twenty million in encrypted logistics data, and then used a clumsy, dramatic public distraction to escape, he hadn't panicked.
He had calculated.
And I had been the unwitting prop in a high-stakes underworld chess match.
“He planned it,” I whispered, the realization making my stomach churn. “He knew I took out the trash at midnight. He knew I’d step in. He used me.”
“He used a civilian as a human shield,” Nathaniel corrected coldly, his gaze dropping to my wet cardigan before flicking back to my eyes. “Which means his uncle’s crew won't hesitate to tie up loose ends. If they think you know what was on that drive, you aren't safe walking home tonight.”
“I walk home every night,” I snapped back, adrenaline overriding common sense as I tried to mask my rising panic. “I live three blocks away. I manage a pub, Mr. Rossi. I don't sign up for syndicate crossfire.”
“You kissed a mafia boss to stop an execution,” Nathaniel noted, a faint, dangerous shadow of humor playing across his hard features. “You crossed the threshold of ordinary life about two minutes ago, Abigail.”
Before I could formulate a sharp reply, the heavy iron gate at the mouth of the alley rattled violently. Shouts echoed from the street—rough, aggressive voices demanding to know which way the kid went. Sullivan’s enforcers. They were sweeping the block.
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Nathaniel didn't hesitate. He grabbed my arm, his grip firm, warm, and inescapable, and hauled me backward through the rear service entrance of O’Halleran’s Pub.
The heavy metal door slammed shut and locked behind us, plunging us into the warm, yeasty dark of the bakery prep room. But as I stood there in the dark with the city’s most feared man, I knew the grease and flour couldn't protect me anymore. The trap had closed, and the only way out was forward.
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