I Told You To Run But You Didn't (Georgia) novel Chapter 2

Georgia’s POV

I found a quiet room in a downtown funeral parlor, a temporary home for my parents’ ashes before I could take them back to where they belonged.

The moment the door clicked shut, the dam of my composure broke. I pressed my forehead against the cool marble of the urn, my body shaking with silent, wracking sobs.

“Mom, Dad,” I whispered, my voice raw. “Wait just a little longer. I’ll take you home soon.” I clutched the urn tighter, making a vow. “And I will find Zane. I swear to you, I will find him, and together, we will pay our respects. He’s not gone. He can’t be.”

Zane. My elder brother. A ghost for the last seven years. He worked for the FBI, who vanished during a raid on the most powerful crime lord in the country. No body was ever found. And in my world, no body means no death.

After arranging for their stay, I stepped back outside into a world that had turned gray. A cold rain was falling, slicking the streets in a dark mirror. As I opened my umbrella, I caught the hushed, anxious whispers of well-dressed people huddled under the parlor’s awning.

“The entire street is blocked off. I’ve never seen so many black cars. Did a statesman pass away?”

“You haven’t heard? It’s for Alejandro Salvatore, the old Former military General, a living legend. His memorial service is about to begin.”

My blood ran cold. The Salvatore Family. The very name was a synonym for absolute power in Corvin City.

“God, to think he’s finally gone,” another voice whispered. “Who takes over the Salvatore family now?”

“Who else? That ruthless son of his. The lunatic.”

As if summoned by the words, a procession of armored sedans sliced through the rain, parting the crowd like the Red Sea. Men in sharp, black suits emerged, creating a silent, intimidating perimeter.

Then, the rear door of the lead car opened.

He stepped out, and the world seemed to hold its breath... While his father had been a respected General, this man was a mystery, a shadow spoken of only in fear.

My training kicked in. I wasn't just seeing a man; I was assessing a threat. The confident set of his shoulders, the way his eyes scanned the area with cold, possessive authority—he was the embodiment of immense power.

As if he could feel the weight of my stare, his head turned. His gaze cut through the downpour and locked directly onto mine. There was no warmth, no curiosity. It was the stark, unnerving recognition of one predator acknowledging another.

In that moment, I had the chilling certainty that I was looking at a man more dangerous than any enemy I had ever faced on the battlefield. The son of a hero, who moved like a king of the underworld.

His gaze was a physical force, but before it could fully lock onto me, I was already turning away. I slipped into my car, the image of Alejandro Salvatore's son—a powerful, unnerving enigma in a black suit—burned into my mind.

I didn't know who he was, but my training screamed that he was dangerous. And I was driving home to a man whose biggest problem was an urn.

When I walked into the mansion, Lucas was there, leaning against the doorway as if he’d been waiting. He put on a mask of gentle concern. "Hey," he said softly. "Are your parents’ ashes settled properly?"

I shoved him away, hard. "You're disgusting," I spat.

His expression darkened. "We'll pretend you didn't just say that—"

His phone rang, cutting him off. His face immediately softened with worry as he answered. "I'm on my way. Wait for me."

He hung up and walked out without another glance my way. He didn't even see it as a betrayal anymore. And I was finally done caring.

Three days later, I was summoned. Not to the family home, but to a meeting room in her lawyer's high-rise office. Fatima, my mother-in-law, sat across a vast mahogany desk, looking every bit the queen, addressing a peasant.

She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. A single check was pushed across the polished wood, stopping inches from my hand.

"One million dollars," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "For you to sign the divorce papers and disappear from my son's life."

I looked at the check, then back at her. A genuine smile spread across my face. "Deal," I said, my voice cheerful.

Fatima's mask of arrogant composure faltered. She blinked, clearly taken aback by the complete absence of the tears or arguments she had prepared for. "That's it? You're just… agreeing?"

I reached out, my fingers closing around the crisp paper. "You're offering me a million dollars to do something I was already planning to do for free?" I shrugged, tucking the check into my purse as I stood up. "Why on earth would I say no?"