Chapter 3 - The Ten-Minute Countdown**
Ten minutes. That was all the time the digital clock on her microwave offered her before the inevitable confrontation arrived. Mila paced her cramped living room, her mind spinning in frantic circles. What was she going to say to him? How could she possibly explain that a glass of cheap wine and a moment of profound weakness had driven her to summon the city’s most formidable underworld figure to her dreary, third-floor apartment? She rushed to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her flushed face, and stared at her reflection in the cracked vanity mirror. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, her oversized knit sweater swallowed her frame, and her bare feet felt terribly unequipped for whatever was about to happen. She wasn't dressed for a corporate meeting, nor was she prepared for a late-night rescue. She was just Mila—overworked, overwhelmed, and completely out of her depth.
At exactly nine minutes past her sent message, a low, guttural rumble echoed from the street below her window. Mila froze, her breath catching in her throat. She crept slowly to the glass, parting the cheap vertical blinds just enough to look down at the street. Parked directly beneath her building’s flickering streetlamp was a sleek, matte-black luxury sedan—unmarked, tinted, and unmistakably dangerous. The engine idled with a smooth, expensive purr that cut sharply through the quiet Dorchester night. The driver’s side door opened, and Luca stepped out onto the pavement. Even from three stories up, his presence was staggering. He wore a tailored charcoal overcoat thrown casually over a dark suit, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing silhouette against the neon glow of a corner bodega. He didn't look around nervously or check his phone; he simply locked his eyes on the entrance of her apartment building with absolute, unyielding focus. The sheer intensity of his gaze made her knees weak. He was here. Ten minutes flat. The reality of what she had done crashed down on her with the force of a tidal wave as a heavy, authoritative knock finally rattled the wood of her apartment door.
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