Part 2: A Crime Boss Followed His Housekeeper to the Hospital and Discovered She Was Paying for His Worst Sin

Claire didn't stay the night.

After ensuring the technician left and tucking a blissful, exhausted Mateo into bed, she walked out of the hospital into the freezing drizzle. Her mind was a raging storm.

How long had he known? Was she a joke to him? Did he sit in his leather chair, drinking forty-year-old whiskey, laughing at the stupid little maid who cleaned his toilets while he secretly bought her life with pocket change?

She reached the third level of the parking garage where her beaten-up Ford was parked under a flickering fluorescent tube. She reached into her coat pocket, her trembling fingers searching for her car keys.

"Miss Reyes?"

A voice spoke from the shadows behind the concrete support pillar.

Claire spun around, her heart leaping into her throat.

Two men stepped into the dim light. They weren't dressed like hospital staff, and they certainly weren't Roman’s polished, silent bodyguards. They wore heavy leather jackets, scuffed work boots, and carried the rank stench of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne.

"Who are you?" Claire demanded, backing against the cold metal door of her car.

"Just friends of a guy named Patrick Doran," the taller man said, pulling a short lead pipe from his sleeve. "Our boss has been watching Roman Torrio’s new charity project. Funny thing is, Torrio doesn't do charity. He kills people. But yesterday, he dropped half a mil on a kid on the fourth floor, and tonight, you come walking out."

"I don't know who Roman Torrio is," Claire said, her voice shaking violently as she fumbled to unlock her car door. "My boss is Roman Vance! He’s a businessman—"

The two men laughed, a wet, ugly sound that echoed off the damp concrete ceiling.

"Vance, Torrio, whatever he calls himself this week," the second man sneered, pulling a switchblade from his pocket with a sharp *clack*. "You’re his girl, aren't you? The quiet little side piece he keeps tucked away in that big house. Doran wants to have a friendly conversation with Roman. And we figure if we bring you along, Roman will be very, very cooperative."

"Stay away from me!" Claire screamed, swinging her heavy lunch bag with all her might.

The canvas bag struck the shorter man across the cheek, but the taller one lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar of her jacket and slamming her hard against the driver-side window. The glass cracked under the impact. Pain exploded through Claire’s skull.

"Shut up, bitch!" the man hissed, raising a fist to silence her.

A sound cracked through the garage.