Five Minutes to Midnight

The basement room fell silent, save for the hum of an industrial refrigerator unit humming down the hall.

Lorenzo pulled up a second metal chair and sat down directly across from Evelyn, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes locked onto hers.

“You’re smart, Evelyn,” Lorenzo said, his tone conversational, which somehow made it more intimidating. “And observant. Two traits that don't usually last very long in your line of work.”

“I’m just trying to survive, Mr. Moretti,” she replied, keeping her hands flat on her lap so he wouldn't see them shake. “I don't want your money. I don't want your war. I just want to go back upstairs, grab my coat, and pretend I never walked into your section tonight.”

“Unfortunately, that’s no longer an option,” Lorenzo said smoothly.

Evelyn’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“The men who shot up The Obsidian tonight aren't going to vanish just because their first attempt failed. They know someone tipped me off. They saw you leave my table right before the glass shattered.” Lorenzo leaned forward. “As far as Marcus Vane’s hit squad is concerned, you’re my inside accomplice.”

The blood drained entirely from Evelyn’s face. “That’s insane! I’m just a waitress!”

“Tell that to a sniper with a Remington rifle,” Lorenzo replied flatly. “You walked out of that restaurant tonight a marked woman, Evelyn. If you step foot back into your Cicero apartment, you won't live to see sunrise.”

The horrific reality of his words settled over her like a lead blanket.

Her Cicero apartment. The clanking radiator. The broken front door lock. Everything she had worked herself to the bone for over the last nine months had just evaporated in a hail of gunfire.

“So what are my choices?” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “Die here, or die outside?”

“Option three,” Lorenzo said, standing up and extending a hand toward her. “You work for me.”

Evelyn stared at his hand. The tailored cuff. The heavy gold signet ring on his finger bearing the Moretti family crest.

“Work for you doing what? Serving champagne to murderers?”

“No,” Lorenzo said, a dangerous, sharp glint in his dark eyes. “My organization is leaking information from the top down. Someone inside my inner circle sold me out to the Vane family. I need someone who can move through my establishments, my hotels, and my casinos completely unnoticed. Someone smart enough to read a room, and bold enough to hand me a warning when everyone else is too terrified to speak.”

Evelyn looked at the hand outstretched before her.

She thought of her empty refrigerator. Her overdue electric bill. The landlord who threatened eviction every month. And now, a contract killer with her name on a bullet.

Survival didn't give you good choices.

It gave you two bad ones, and waited to see which consequence you could afford.

Slowly, Evelyn lifted her hand and placed it in Lorenzo Moretti’s palm.