Chapter 6
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of exhausting grief and terrifying tension. Nina navigated the funeral arrangements in a daze, selecting a modest casket and a small plot in the local cemetery. Every time she stepped outside her mother’s house, she noticed the discreet, dark SUVs idling at the end of the block. Conrad’s men never approached her, but their constant, heavy presence was a stark reminder of the mafia war raging across the city.
The news had reported three unexplained explosions at warehouses owned by the Price syndicate, and several prominent businessmen had mysteriously vanished. The underworld was burning, and Nina knew she was the spark that had ignited the fire.
On the morning of the funeral, the sky was a bright, airy blue, casting a soft, luminous light over the modest graveyard. A small group of neighbors and distant relatives gathered around the open grave. Nina stood at the front, dressed in a simple, high-necked black dress, her hair still arranged in a polished low bun. Her delicate cheekbones were pale, her expressive brows drawn together in quiet sorrow.
As the minister began to read the final rites, the crunch of tires on gravel interrupted the solemn silence.
Three sleek, black, armored SUVs pulled through the cemetery gates, stopping a respectful distance away. The doors opened in unison, and a dozen heavily armed men in tailored suits stepped out, forming a protective perimeter around the burial site.
From the center vehicle, Conrad Bellamy emerged.
He was breathtakingly handsome in the morning light, his dark three-piece suit immaculately pressed. He held the hand of little Molly, who was dressed in a tiny black coat and dress shoes. They walked slowly toward the gathering.
The small crowd of mourners parted instantly, terrified by the sudden arrival of the notorious mafia boss. Nina’s breath caught in her throat. She had never expected him to come.
Conrad stopped beside her, his powerful, masculine frame casting a reassuring shadow over her. He looked down at the casket, then turned his cold, perceptive eyes to Nina.
"May we pay our respects?" Conrad asked, his deep voice a gentle, low rumble that carried over the wind.
"Yes," Nina whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Bellamy."
"Did you think I would let you face this day alone?" Conrad asked.
Molly stepped forward, reaching out to tug gently on Nina’s dress. "I brought a flower for your mommy," the three-year-old said, holding up a single, perfect cream rose—identical to the ones that had decorated the mansion's dining tables.
Nina knelt down, her graceful posture elegant even in her grief, and took the rose. She pulled Molly into a tight hug, burying her face in the child's shoulder for a brief, desperate moment of comfort.
When she stood back up, Conrad was watching her with an intensity that made her skin flush a rosy pink. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he rested them before him.
"Will you allow my men to escort you back to the mansion after the service?" Conrad asked.
Nina hesitated. "My home is here, sir. I have to pack up my mother's things."
"Is an empty house worth your life when Victor Price's men are currently hunting for you?" Conrad asked, his tone shifting back to the terrifying, calculating boss. "Did you know they attempted to breach your street last night?"
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Nina gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She hadn't heard a thing.
"Will you come home with us, Nina?" Conrad asked, extending his tattooed hand toward her.
