Chapter 1: Back From the Brink

I’m the mob boss’s right-hand guy. The one everyone in the city knows to keep their mouth shut around.

That’s not just a title—it’s how I live. I’m always a half-step behind the boss, eyes peeled, making sure nobody even thinks about getting too close. I can spot a setup in a packed bar, know exactly how he likes his whiskey, and which oldies station to put on when he’s in a mood. If you want to know who he trusts to drive him home at 3 a.m., you’re looking at him. Lucky me, right?

The night he was attacked, he personally shoved me onto the only lifeboat. I thought I was out. I thought I was safe... but I still didn’t make it out alive.

I can still feel his hand on my shoulder—rough, urgent—shoving me toward that escape. I remember the chaos. The gunfire. The smell of gasoline hanging heavy in the cold night air. Shouts echoing, the sickening crunch as the boat slammed into the waves. He made sure I was the one who got away. Or so he thought.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Alive. No pain. No blood. Just the world, waiting.

Everything felt wrong and right at once. My head was spinning, my chest heaving, but I could breathe. I had another shot. No way. The realization hit me like a freight train: I was alive again. I could feel the weight of that second chance pressing down, heavy as the city skyline outside the window.

The boss was burning up, face flushed. I gritted my teeth and shoved Jamie—the scheming little bastard—out of the way. My heart hammered. I could smell the sweat and fear in the air.

I didn’t hesitate. My instincts took over—protect the boss, no matter what. That slick bastard was hovering too close, and I wasn’t about to let him pull any tricks. "Back off, asshole," I muttered under my breath, hands trembling with adrenaline but my voice flat as steel as I shoved him aside.

"Get your hands off my boss—let me do it!" I barked, not even realizing I was shouting until the words echoed in my ears.

The words came out sharper than I meant, but there was no room for apologies. Everyone’s eyes burned into me. I could feel it, but I didn’t care. Let them stare. Loyalty comes first—always.

The boss, startled, kept backing away. For a guy who’s usually unflappable, he looked like he’d just seen a ghost. I watched his hands shake, his eyes darting around, searching for an exit.

His eyes darted, confused, like he couldn’t decide if I was friend or foe. I caught the flicker of panic on his face, the way he tensed, sliding toward the far end of the couch. Jesus, boss, trust me for once.

"What’s gotten into you? I don’t even like anyone taller than me!" he shot back, voice half a croak.

I almost laughed—leave it to him to crack a joke when he’s half-delirious. Even sweating bullets, he was still trying to stay in control, tossing out a line to throw me off. But I wasn’t letting up. Not now.

The next morning, I struggled to pry the boss off my chest. He was dead asleep, heavy as hell, wrapped around me like I was a life preserver. My arms were numb, but I didn’t dare move too quick. I just watched him for a second—face relaxed, breathing even, nothing like the chaos from the night before. I’d never seen him look so… peaceful. Huh. That was new.

"Boss, this is bad…" I whispered, the words barely there, and suddenly I was hyper-aware of the moment. The sunlight was creeping through the blinds, throwing stripes across the rumpled sheets. I could hear the city waking up outside—car horns, distant sirens, the hum of traffic. For a split second, I wished it could stay like this forever. But I knew better. Moments like this never last.

A sudden burst of noise snapped me awake. The door slammed open, voices flooding in like a tidal wave—sharp, panicked, overlapping. My heart leapt into my throat. There was no pain—just a jolt, confusion. I blinked, trying to figure out where I was, what day it was, if I was even alive. The world felt off-kilter, like I’d stepped into someone else’s dream.

There was no pain, and I didn’t feel like I was dying. I just felt… strange. My body felt light—almost floaty, like all the years of scars and weight had been stripped away. I flexed my hands, half-expecting blood, but there was nothing. Just me, standing here. Alive. Weird.

"Quick, go get Jamie Morales! The boss was drugged—he keeps calling for Jamie!" someone yelled, panic high in their voice. In the chaos, I heard Jamie’s name and felt my skin crawl, like ants under my shirt. That little weasel. The crew was in a full-blown panic, voices piling on top of each other, scrambling to fix a disaster they didn’t even understand.

"That bastard—he actually managed to drug the boss right under our noses!" someone spat, slamming their fist into the wall. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. I scanned faces—anger, fear, desperation—everyone looking for someone to blame. My old instincts kicked in: find the threat, protect the boss. Always.

One of the younger guys was yelling. I looked around and realized I was sprawled on some fancy leather couch, like I’d just woken up from a nap I never meant to take.

The room stank of cologne and whiskey, sunlight bouncing off polished wood and shiny chrome. It was the kind of place where secrets got buried and deals got made. My head throbbed, but I forced myself upright, trying to act like I belonged—like I hadn’t just crawled back from the grave.

Before I could even figure out which way was up, the crew had already dragged Jamie Morales over.

They were rough with him, shoving him forward like he was some kind of savior. Jamie looked flustered, but his eyes were sharp—always calculating, scanning the scene, taking it all in. He was a pro at this. Always had a mask ready for any crowd.

"Sis-in-law, hurry up and go in! The boss is burning up!" one of the younger guys barked, using that dumb nickname they always called Jamie. I cringed. The crew called him that behind his back, like he was already family or something. Jamie just adjusted his glasses and tried to look all concerned, but I could see right through him.

"Once you’re in there, just get real close to him!" someone else yelled, practically shoving Jamie at the door. Another guy whispered something filthy, and the rest snickered. Jamie’s lips twitched, but he kept up the wide-eyed, innocent act. Like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Something flickered in Jamie’s eyes, but he went all Bambi again, blinking up at the crew with that fake innocence.

He was a master at this. I’d seen him charm a room full of killers with nothing but a shy smile and a nervous laugh. But I wasn’t falling for it. Not this time. Not ever.

"What’s wrong with Alex Russo?" Jamie piped up, voice sweet as syrup. That snake was always sniffing out an angle, always playing both sides. I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to toss him out the window then and there.

Yeah, keep acting, you snake. My thoughts were so bitter I could taste them. I’d seen enough of Jamie’s tricks to last ten lifetimes. In my last life, he was the one who sold the boss out—tipped off the rival crew about the boss’s trip out to sea, got everyone on board killed. I’ll never forget it.

They say two tigers can’t share one mountain—at least, that’s how the old-timers put it. But after faking it with my boss, Jamie Morales went and joined the other side, like he was just waiting for his chance.

I’d always thought the boss and Jamie were like oil and water—never mixing, always circling each other. But after everything blew up, Jamie didn’t just walk away—he ran straight to the enemy, grinning all the way.

When the boss put a life jacket on me, he was still rambling. His hands shook, but his mouth kept moving, like he was trying to fill the silence so he wouldn’t lose his nerve. I hung on every word, knowing it could be the last time I heard his voice.

"If I’d known, I would’ve said yes when Uncle Pete tried to set you up with that girl. Now look at you—probably never even been with anyone, huh?" he joked, trying to sound casual, but his eyes were glassy. Fear was written all over his face, even if he’d never admit it. The words stung, but I managed a smile, trying to make it easier for him to let go.

He only got that one sentence out before shoving me onto the lifeboat. I barely had time to protest. His grip was iron, jaw locked. There was no talking him out of it—he’d made up his mind. Next thing I knew, I was adrift, gunfire fading behind me.

"Go back and check on Jamie for me. Don’t let anyone find him!" he ordered. Even as he sent me away, he was thinking about Jamie. My heart twisted, but I nodded. I’d have done anything he asked.

"The only two people I worry about are you and him." That admission cut deeper than any bullet. I wanted to tell him the truth, to warn him, but it was too late. The ocean swallowed my words, and then it was just me, alone with the waves.

But that Jamie Morales, the one the boss was thinking about before dying, was already wrapped around the enemy. He didn’t even look at me, didn’t flinch at my screams—just raised the gun and shot me.

I can still see his face—cold, unreadable—as he leveled the gun at me. The betrayal burned hotter than the bullet. I screamed for help, but Jamie never looked back. He was already gone, heart sold to the highest bidder.

That ocean was freezing. As I sank, I thought it would’ve been better to die with the boss.

The salt burned my eyes, the cold gnawed through my bones. I let myself sink, wishing I’d never left his side. If I had to go, I wanted to go with him. Anything would’ve been better than this.

My mind snapped back. Jamie was already reaching for the door handle. I lunged, shoving him aside with a force I didn’t know I had.

This time, I wasn’t hesitating. I barreled across the room, knocking Jamie off balance. He hit the floor, glasses askew, glaring up at me. The crew stared, jaws dropped. Didn’t matter. My only thought was getting to the boss. That was all that mattered.

"Get your hands off my boss—let me do it!" I shouted, louder this time, the words burning in my chest. Everything I’d lost was boiling up inside me. Nobody was getting near him—not now, not ever.

Jamie hit the floor, wincing hard. He looked like he’d just been tackled by a linebacker.

He scrambled up, muttering curses under his breath. I shot him a glare that said, "Try me. I dare you."