Chapter 7 - THE ARCHITECT OF THE WRECK
"You..." Aurora breathed, her voice trembling so violently the words could barely form. "It wasn't an accident."
Owen remained on his knees, his broad shoulders slumped, staring at the floor between them where the cleaning solution pool was expanding. The imposing mafia boss looked utterly broken, caught in the grip of a secret that had resurfaced to claim him.
"It was an execution order," Owen admitted quietly, his dark eyes rising to meet hers. "November fourteen, three years ago. I signed off on a hit meant for a rogue informant traveling down Route 41 in a blue sedan."
Aurora pushed herself further back against the steel shelves, tears of rage and horror spilling over her lashes. "I was twenty-one! I was driving home from my late shift at the diner! I had nothing to do with your syndicate!"
"My men tracked the wrong car," Owen said, his voice flat, devoid of self-defense. "They reported the blue Honda went off the embankment into the freezing river. They confirmed the driver died on impact. The contract was marked closed."
He looked down at her exposed, scarred limb—at the missing leg that had been crushed under the weight of his ordered assault.
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"I paid the clean-up crews," Owen continued softly. "I buried the police reports. I moved on. And three months ago, when my housekeeper hired a new girl to clean the west wing... I never looked at your face. I never looked at your name."
"You destroyed my life!" Aurora screamed, her hands clutching the carbon-fiber leg so tightly her knuckles turned blue. "You stole my leg! You left me to freeze in that car!"
