A cold wave of dread washed over me, sharp and paralyzing. The thought of packing up, abandoning my life and every careful plan—again—made my chest tighten until it was hard to breathe. My hands curled into fists in my lap. Was there any corner of the map far enough from his reach?
“I could pick here,” I managed, voice small. “Vanderbilt offered me a residency spot.”
But Oliver shook his head, gnawing at his thumb in restless worry. “No, Savy. You need a real fresh start. Somewhere no one knows your face, your story, anything. Not here. Not anywhere familiar.”
“That’s going to be hard, Oli. My only other offer was at New Orleans Medical Center.” My voice trembled, reality sinking in.
“That’s perfect!” Oli tried to smile, searching for a silver lining. “Mardi Gras, delicious food, jazz music, and a party that never ends.”
I shook my head, anxiety spiking higher. “Wrong. The Bourbon Kings control half the city’s underworld, and their alliance with the Golden Skulls means no secret stays hidden for long. The Golden Skulls have eyes everywhere—they have deep connections. And it’s worse than that: the Bourbon Kings are close with the Sons of Hell and the Irish Mafia. Those groups practically own New Orleans between them. If I set foot there, I’ll be exposed before I even clock in.”
Oli let out a low whistle. “Jesus, woman. Do the Golden Skulls know everyone?”
Bullseye approached, curiosity etched on his face as he asked, “What’s going on?”
Turning to greet him, I forced a smile and explained, “Nothing. Oliver is trying to talk me into changing my residency program. He thinks Chicago will be too hard for me considering everything that’s happened.”
Bullseye didn’t hesitate. “What do you want?”
I sighed, my shoulders drooping beneath the weight of my dreams. “Chicago was my dream, Dylan. Has been from the start. I can’t imagine settling for anything less.”
With a defiant tone, Bullseye responded, “Then screw everything else and go there.”
Oliver’s voice rose in protest, unable to conceal his aggravation. “She can’t!” His words hung heavy in the air as Bullseye’s eyes narrowed, challenging the statement.
Bullseye spoke deliberately. “That’s where you’re wrong. My sister can do whatever the fuck she wants.”
Oliver challenged him. “I thought Jackson was her brother?”
I cringed at the exchange and was about to defend my friend when Bullseye placed his hand on mine, halting whatever I was about to say when he slowly smiled. “My sister belongs to everyone.”
Oliver retorted, “Well, she’s my best friend!”
I watched as Dylan’s eyes narrowed and he slowly rose to his feet, causing my best friend to back away. With fierce protectiveness, Dylan declared, “Look here, you little shit, I don’t give a flying fuck who the hell you are. No one, and I mean no fucking one, will ever make my sister do anything she doesn’t want to fucking do.”
“I agree.” The voice behind me sent a chill down my spine, the hairs at the nape of my neck prickling. I turned slowly and saw Massimo standing there, his glare fixed on Oliver. His brothers, Guilio and Aurelio, flanked him, while the rest of my family gathered close, forming a tight circle around us.
Stella stepped forward, but Oliver suddenly moved in behind me, his presence urgent and close. He hissed near my ear, “Come on, Miranda, you’ve outgrown these people. You don’t need them—especially Vitale. He’s just muscle for hire—he doesn’t care about you.”
His words made me pause. I turned around slowly to face my best friend, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Wait... I never told you my real name.”
Oliver blinked, raking a hand through his hair, looking uneasy. “It’s not a big deal. I figured it out a while ago. Can we just go, please?” He glanced nervously at the gathering crowd.
I held my ground, searching his face for the truth. “How do you know? Who told you?”
My brother Jackson appeared from the trees, machete in hand, and fixed Oliver with a hard stare. “Yeah, I’d like to know that too,” he said, his voice low and steady.
A flicker of uncertainty appeared on Oliver’s face, his silence stretching the moment taut. Unable to meet my eyes, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the tension in the air nearly suffocating as everyone waited for him to speak. My heart pounded so loudly in my chest it felt as though everyone could hear it. Suddenly, the situation exploded—Oliver roughly seized my arm, spinning me so my back pressed against his chest. Cold metal dug into my temple as a gun appeared in his hand, his desperation now undeniable.
Instantly, my family sprang into action. Massimo and his brothers, together with the rest of my relatives, all drew their weapons, each gun aimed unwaveringly at Oliver. The standoff was immediate and electric.
“Stay back!” Oliver commanded, his voice strained as he began to edge away, forcing me to move with him. “It didn’t have to come to this. You all could have just let her go with me. I would never have hurt her!” he pleaded, desperation seeping into his words as he tried to justify his actions to the group.
Stunned and terrified, I gasped. “Oli, what the hell are you doing?” My eyes darted frantically, searching for Massimo’s. None of this made sense. The Oliver I knew wasn’t violent—hewas always cheerful and kind. The man holding the gun felt like a stranger.
Massimo’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and steady. “Baby, just look at me,” he said, deliberately holstering his gun to show trust and diffuse the tension.
But Oliver’s grip only tightened, his fear twisting into anger. “Shut up, Vitale!” he spat bitterly. “She wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for you. Why couldn’t you just die like I planned?”
