Chapter 2: Innocence (Luca Moretti POV)

I grab a wet rag, damp, smells like stale beer, and wipe the bar counter, dragging it back and forth over the sticky wood, smearing rings of spilled drinks. My mind's stuck on Nico, his rough hands fisting my shirt, yanking me close, the way he kissed me hard in the backroom, all heat and grit. I'm 25, life's been quiet 'til now, small towns, dead-end jobs, nothing to write home about. Then I rolled into Chicago a month ago, started slinging drinks at The Black Rose, and there he was. Nico's tough, scarred knuckles, quiet growl, but with me, he's softer, cracks open a little. I didn't mean to fall for a mafia guy this fast, didn't mean to fall at all, but it hit me like a truck, and now I'm in deep.

I drop the rag in a bucket, it splashes a little, I grab a dry cloth, fold it over my hand, creasing it slow. My humming kicks in, a little tune, habit when my head's spinning too much. I'm thinking about Nico, stupid stuff, a future maybe, a tiny place somewhere, no guns, no blood, just us. Dumb dream, but it's nice, warms me up inside. The bar's loud tonight, guys hollering over a card game, bottles clinking sharp on tables, voices bouncing off the walls. I step around the counter, grab the broom, bristles worn, sweep peanut shells into a crunchy pile, kicking 'em with my toe.

Gia strolls over, sits on a stool right where I'm cleaning, legs dangling. She's Nico's sister, 27, dark hair yanked back tight, all sharp lines. She leans on the bar, chin in her hand, staring at me. "You don't belong here," she says, smooth, teasing, but it stings a little. I laugh, short, forced, push the broom past her feet, keeping my hands busy. She doesn't budge, just taps her fingers on the wood, watching me close, too close. I don't like it, I turn away, grab a tray of dirty glasses, sticky, smudged, haul it to the sink. She follows halfway, steps light, then stops, hovering. I rinse a glass under the tap, water's cold, pretend she's not there, eyes on the suds.

Later, I'm back at the counter, drying glasses, towel's rough, frayed, stacking 'em on the shelf, one by one, clinking soft. Two regulars by the jukebox, big guys, loud, beards a mess, start talking, voices cutting through the hum. I lean over, grab a bottle cap off the floor, fingers brushing grit, and catch it. "Fifty grand's gone from the Valenti safe," one says, cracking his knuckles loud. "Someone's head's gonna roll, Nico's got an ultimatum to get it back." I straighten fast, cap clatters on the bar, my stomach twists, tight and sour. Fifty grand? That's heavy, real heavy, and Nico's stuck cleaning it up? I tuck a loose curl behind my ear, nervous tick, glance at the clock. It's late, Nico's still at the compound, probably neck-deep in it. I wanna warn him, tell him to watch his back, but he's not here, and I'm stuck.

I finish the glasses, grab a sponge, wipe the sink, scrubbing hard at the grime. The bar's winding down, guys stumbling out, chairs scraping rough as they go. I sweep again, slow now, broom dragging, thinking about Nico, his tight jaw, the way he looked at me before Gia showed up. The last guy shuffles out, coat pulled tight against the cold, door bangs shut. I check my phone, 11:47 p.m., shove it back in my pocket, screen smudged. The bar's empty now, just me, the neon sign buzzing overhead, flickering red and blue.

I grab my keys from under the counter, they jingle loud in the quiet, head for the door, shoes sticking a little. I step up to lock it, key slides into the deadbolt, cold metal, when I spot it, a scrap of paper, shoved under the frame, edges curling. I bend down, knees creak, pick it up, unfold it slow with both hands. Messy ink scratches out: "Stay away from him, or you'll both pay." I read it twice, words sink in, crumple it tight, balling it in my fist. Someone knows, about me, about Nico, about us. I look up fast, peer through the glass, street's dark, just a streetlight flickering weak down the block. I turn the key hard, lock clicks, grab my jacket off the hook, leather creaking.

I pull it on, zip it to my chin, hands shaky, flip the bar's lights off, switch snapping loud. The room goes black, red exit sign glows, faint and eerie. I push the door open, cold rushes in, lock it behind me, key scraping. The wind hits, sharp, biting, blows through my hair, tugging curls loose. I tug my hood up, strings tight, start walking, sneakers crunching gravel scattered on the sidewalk. A bird flaps overhead, pigeon maybe, wings loud, cutting the quiet. I shove my hands in my pockets, note's still there, wrinkled, pressing against my fingers.

The street's dead, parked cars line it, a stray cat darts across, tail flicking. I kick a pebble, it bounces into the gutter, clinks soft. Nico's worth it, I tell myself that, over and over, pull my hood tighter, wind whistling. I don't care who's pissed about us, I'm not running, not ditching him. But the note's there, nagging, someone's watching. I keep glancing around, shadows stretch under streetlights, shifting. A guy walks by across the street, head down, hands buried in his coat, doesn't look up, just keeps moving. It makes me walk faster, pulse ticking up.

I turn a corner, wind picks up, rattling a loose sign on a pole, metal clanging. I hum again, soft, under my breath, trying to settle my nerves, tune shaky. Then I stop, dead. Something moves, corner of my eye, by the bar's window, back the way I came. I spin around, stare at the dark glass. A shadow shifts, tall, still, like someone's standing there, staring right at me. I take a step back, keys slip in my sweaty hand, clink on the ground, squint hard, heart jumping. The figure ducks fast, slips into the alley beside the bar, gone.

I stand there, frozen, jacket flapping loud in the wind, hood snapping. The door's locked, bar's shut, should be fine, right? But I'm not, skin's crawling, chest tight. Someone's out there, watching, waiting, and I don't know who, don't know why. I pick up my keys, fingers tremble, clutch 'em tight, metal biting my palm, and keep walking, fast, eyes darting, humming louder to drown out the fear clawing up my throat.