Chapter 1

She wanted out. She wanted air that didn’t taste like someone else’s day-old breath. But the door had barely closed behind her when she saw the woman.

She was standing by the curb, a phone pressed to her ear, wearing a black coat that looked too expensive for this part of the city. Her voice was low, clipped. River caught only a few words: “—no, tell him tomorrow. I’ll handle it.” Then she hung up and turned.

River’s breath caught. The woman’s eyes were pale grey, sharp and cool, but there was something else in them when they landed on River. A flicker of curiosity. River knew she should look away. Probation rules said no trouble, no attention. But she didn’t.

The woman’s lips curved slightly, and she stepped forward. “You look lost.”

River’s heart knocked against her ribs. “I’m not lost. I know exactly where I am.”

The woman laughed, a soft sound. “Confident. I like that.” She held out a hand. “Luna.”

River took it. The grip was firm, warm. “River.”

“River,” Luna repeated, as if tasting the name. “That suits you. Restless.”

Before River could respond, a man appeared at Luna’s elbow. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face like stone. Marco, River would later learn. He said something in a low voice, and Luna’s expression shifted, the warmth fading into something harder.

“I have to go,” Luna said, and she pulled a card from her pocket. “If you ever want a real job—something better than watching diner doors—call me.” She pressed the card into River’s palm, then walked away, Marco a shadow behind her.

River looked down. The card was cream-colored, with only a phone number printed in gold. No name. No business. Nothing but the line of digits.

Her fingers closed around it. She wasn’t supposed to take anything from strangers. Her probation officer had said that a dozen times. But the warmth of Luna’s hand still lingered on her skin, and the card felt heavier than paper had any right to be.

She shoved it into her pocket anyway. Then she walked, not toward her apartment, but toward the old bridge that crossed the river. She needed to think. The sun was low, painting the water orange and gold, and she stopped in the middle, leaning on the railing.

The wind was cold. She pulled her coat tighter.

Behind her, a car door opened. She didn’t turn, but she heard footsteps—deliberate, measured. A man’s voice said, “River Callahan?”

She turned slowly. A man in a gray coat stood a few feet away, a badge held up. Detective Sterling. She’d seen his face on the news, always talking about organized crime.

“What do you want?” she said, her voice flat.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just a conversation. About the woman you just met.”

River’s stomach dropped. She said nothing.

Sterling stepped closer. “She’s dangerous, River. You don’t want to get tangled up in her world.”

The card in her pocket seemed to burn. River met his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He studied her a moment, then nodded slowly. “Sure you don’t. But if you change your mind, call me.” He handed her a business card, then walked back to his car.

She didn’t watch him leave. She stared at the second card in her hand, then back at the river.

Two cards. Two choices. One life that was hers, and another that was waiting.

She tore both cards into pieces and let them scatter into the water. They drifted apart, sinking slowly.

But she had memorized Luna’s number before she tore it.