Chapter 3 - THE RECEIPT THAT WOULDN'T DISAPPEAR
By sunrise, Eden's name was everywhere.
A restaurant guest had recorded part of the attack.
The video showed a waitress warning Nico Ferraro moments before gunfire erupted.
It showed Nico pulling her to safety.
It showed the shattered mirror.
And it showed the moment he was shot.
The footage spread across social media overnight.
WAITRESS SAVES CHICAGO MOB BOSS.
FERRARO SHOOTING FOILED BY SERVER'S WARNING.
WHO IS EDEN WALSH?
Eden stared at her phone.
Her apartment suddenly felt too small.
She lived in a second-floor walk-up above a laundromat in Bridgeport.
The kitchen faucet leaked.
The windows rattled whenever trucks passed.
And the refrigerator contained half a carton of milk, mustard, and a container of leftover pasta.
Her mother had died eleven months earlier.
Since then, Eden had lived alone.
She had worked double shifts, sold her mother's jewelry, and negotiated payment plans with collection agencies.
She had become very good at surviving.
But she had never learned how to survive being famous.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She ignored it.
It rang again.
Then again.
Finally, a text appeared.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HIM DIE.
Eden stared.
A second message arrived.
ASK WHAT HAPPENED TO EVAN.
Her fingers went numb.
She called Detective Ortiz.
The detective answered immediately.
"Don't respond," Ortiz said after Eden explained. "Save everything. I'm sending an officer."
Eden looked toward her apartment door.
A shadow moved beneath it.
Someone was standing in the hallway.
She stopped breathing.
Then came three soft knocks.
"Eden?"
A man's voice.
Calm.
Familiar.
"It's Marco. Mr. Ferraro's driver."
She hesitated.
"How do I know it's you?"
"Because you told me last night that my boss was an idiot for wearing a four-thousand-dollar suit into a gunfight."
Despite herself, Eden almost smiled.
She opened the door with the chain still attached.
Marco stood outside.
He was broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, and looked as though he hadn't slept.
"Detective Ortiz asked me to stay downstairs until the patrol car arrives."
Eden frowned.
"How did you know where I live?"
His expression became uncomfortable.
"Mr. Ferraro asked us to make sure you got home safely."
She stared at him.
"That doesn't answer my question."
Marco nodded.
"You're right."
He stepped back.
"I shouldn't have come upstairs without asking. I'll wait outside."
Eden watched him go.
She closed the door.
For the first time since the shooting, she felt anger rise through the fear.
She had saved Nico Ferraro.
That didn't mean he owned her life.
Nico called that afternoon.
His voice sounded rough.
"Miss Walsh."
She sat at her kitchen table.
"Mr. Ferraro."
A pause.
"I hear you're angry."
"Did you send a man to my apartment?"
"Yes."
"Without asking me?"
Another pause.
"Yes."
"Then I'm not angry enough."
He exhaled.
"Fair."
Eden blinked.
She had expected an argument.
Instead, he said, "I'm sorry. I was worried."
"Being worried doesn't give you permission to investigate my address."
"You're right."
She looked at the wall.
"Are you always this agreeable after getting shot?"
"Only when the other person has a point."
Despite herself, she smiled.
Then remembered the messages.
"Nico."
His tone changed.
"What happened?"
She told him.
The texts.
Evan's name.
Raymond Pike.
Silence followed.
Then Nico said something she hadn't expected.
"Eden, I need to tell you something about your brother."
Her heart began pounding.
"What?"
"I met him."
She stared at the phone.
"When?"
"Three years ago."
"Before he died?"
"Yes."
Her throat tightened.
"Why?"
May you like
Nico hesitated.
"Because Evan came to me asking for protection."
