Chapter 1 Chapter One

Chapter 1.

Genevieve’s Point Of View.

The flour on my hands was the only clean thing left in my life.

I wiped my palms against my dark apron, leaving white dusty streaks on the heavy canvas. It was past right in the evening. The street outside the bakery window was quiet, slick with the cold autumn rain that had been falling over the Oakridge since noon. I liked the quiet. I liked the mindless routine of kneading dough, the smell of rising yeast and the simple fact that nobody here knew who I was.

To this town, I was Aveline. The quiet girl who worked the night shift at the bakery, lived in a studio apartment above a laundromat, and never talked about where she came from.

But as I reached up to flip the open sign to close, my skin prickled.

It was that feeling again. A cold, heavy pressure at the base of my neck, like eyes tracing the line of my spine. I stopped, my hand hovering over the plastic sign. I looked out into the rain washed street.

Nothing.

Just an empty sidewalk and the yellow glare of a flickering streetlamp.

I let out a slow, careful breath and turned the sign. Closed.

"You're late, sweetie." A voice said.

The lock on the front door didn't click. Three men walked into the bakery, their wet leather jackets smelling of cheap tobacco and stale grease. The first one- a stocky man with a faded spiderweb tattoo climbing up his throat stepped right into my space. The bell above the door let out a weak chime as the third man locked the door behind them.

"We are closed," I said in a flat tone, keeping my hands steady on the wooden counter. My heart was starting to thud, but I didn't let my eyes dart to the back of the door. That would show fear. "You will have to come back at six tomorrow."

"We aren't here for the bread, Aveline," the one with the tattoo said, a yellow toothed smile stretching his lips. He leaned over the counter, his breath hot and sour. "Or should I say.... Genevieve?"

The room went completely still. The name felt like a physical blow to my face, a phantom spike of adrenaline that made my lungs freeze.

Genevieve Drayne.

The dead heiress of the Drayne empire. The girl whose parents had been blown to pieces in their car five years ago.

"You have the wrong person," I said, my voice barely a whisper as I took a step back, my hand reaching behind me for the heavy metal rolling pin on the prep table.

"I don't think so," the second man said, stepping around the counter. He was taller, his face scarred, his hand reaching out to grab my arm. A spilt peak creak was inked behind his ear- small enough to miss if you weren't looking. "The Cross family paid a lot of money to make sure you stayed dead five years ago. But some of us have good memories. You look exactly like your mother before she went up in smoke-"

I didn't wait for him to touch me. I grabbed the rolling pin and swung it with everything I had. The heavy wood connected with his jaw with a sickening crack. He stumbled back, cursing, his hand flying to his bleeding mouth.

"Bitch!" The first man roared, lunging over the counter.

I turned and bolted for the back exit, throwing the heavy metal prep cart behind me to block the aisle. I burst through the back door into the narrow, dark alleyway.

The cold rain hit my face like a slap, but before I could take three steps toward the main street, a heavy hand caught the hood of my jacket, yanking me backward.

I hit the brick wall hard, the wind instantly knocked out of my lungs.

"You're coming with us, princess," The first one hissed, pinning my shoulders to the wall. He pulled out a thick roll of duct tape from his pocket. "We are going to see how much Nilo Cross is willing to pay to keep your little secret buried."

"Let go of me!" I gasped, kicking blindly at his shins, my nails clawing at his throat.

"Shut her up!" The scarred one growled, spitting blood onto the wet gravel.

Before the man could raise his hands, a heavy shadow stepped into the mouth of the alley.

The light from the streetlight was behind him, casting his silhouette in a long, terrifying stretch against the wet brick. He moved silently with a lethal fluidity.

"You're in the wrong alley, boys," a low gravelly voice rumbled through the rain.

The men froze, the one holding me, his grip loosened tightly. "Who the hell are you?" He spat. "Get lost if you don't want to die."

The shadow didn't answer with words. He closed the distance in a heartbeat. I didn't even see the weapon, just the flash of dark steel in the dim light. A wet, choking sound filled the alley as the first man who held me went down, his hands clawing at his throat.

The other two men lunged, but it was over before it began. One went down with a clean, brutal blow to the temple, his head hitting the brick with a hollow thunk. The scarred one tried to reach for his pocket, but his wrist was caught mid way a signet ring flashed when the shadow gripped the man's wrist engraved with a cross inside a circle. He twisted it until the bone snapped making the man fall to his knees, his face white with shock, before a heavy boot to his chest sent him sprawling into the mud, silent.

I stood pressed against the wall, my chest heaving, the rain washing the cold sweat from my face. My hands were shaking so badly I had to grip my own elbows to stay upright.

The man turned slowly.

He stepped into the weak yellow light of the alley. He was tall, his broad shoulders clad in a dark, wet trench coat. He had structures of a face that belonged in a high end corporate office- sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and eyes a piercing, icy gray that looked entirely devoid of warmth. There was a smear of dark blood on his cheek, but he didn't bother to wipe it.

He didn't look at the bodies. He stared up at the security camera above before turning his gaze back on me.

My shock turned into a twisted mix of anger and rage as the realization sank in.

I knew that face.

I had seen it on the news. In the courtrooms during the investigation of my parents death.

"Nilo." I breathed, standing upright.

Nilo Cross. The son of the rival mafia family responsible for destroying my life and killing my family.

The family I had blamed for everything.

He walked towards me, his boots clicking a slow heavy rhythm on the wet gravel. He stopped three feet away, his gaze sweeping over me.

"You still run too slow," he whispered, his voice a low dangerous purr that made the air in my lungs freeze. "Genevieve."