Page 6 of Hunted to the Altar (Caputo Crime Family #3)

CHAPTER FOUR

N ina

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the smell—faint, but unmistakable.

Smoke. Not the sharp, acrid stench of something burning, but the lingering, cloying aroma of cigarette smoke.

It clung to the air, to the blankets wrapped around me, even to the pillow beneath my head.

There was a strange taste in my mouth. Maybe I was getting sick.

My brow furrowed as I sat up, glancing around the dimly lit room.

Something was off. I went to my dresser to take my bonnet off and throw my hair up into a messy bun.

Where the fuck was my hair tie?

It wasn’t like this was the only hair tie I had in the house. It was just the oldest, so it stretched out the most, which made it easier to throw my shoulder length curls into a big bun on top of my head.

I locked the windows last night. I always did.

And yet, the scent was there, wrapping around me like a warning.

Tobacco mixed with a hint of manliness. Since I didn’t smoke, I knew something was wrong.

My stomach churned as I slid out of bed, the hardwood floor cool against my bare feet.

The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Every creak of the floorboards under my weight amplified in the stillness.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I stepped into the living room.

It looked the same as I’d left it the night before: the throw blanket folded neatly over the arm of the couch, my book on the coffee table, spine up to mark the page I’d stopped at.

But as I moved closer, I realized something was different.

The blanket wasn’t folded the way I usually did it.

The edges weren’t lined up perfectly. And the book… the book had been closed.

My pulse quickened, my hands trembling as I reached for the book. It was a small thing, easy to dismiss as forgetfulness. Maybe I closed it last night without thinking. Maybe I hadn’t folded the blanket as neatly as I thought. But the doubt lingered, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

The air in the room felt wrong, heavy and charged, as though someone had been here—someone who didn’t belong.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the paranoia creeping in. This was just the aftermath of a nightmare. That had to be it. My mind was playing tricks on me again, dredging up ghosts from the past to haunt my present.

Still, as I moved to the kitchen, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

My gaze darted to the window, half-expecting to see a shadow lingering there, but there was nothing—just the faint gray light of early morning filtering through the curtains.

There was a strange taste in the back of my mouth, eye crust on my cheeks, I must’ve slept harder than I thought.

I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap.

I drank quickly, keeping an eye out. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I left the glass in the sink and headed back to my room. This paranoia needed to go.

By the time I was dressed and ready to leave, the unease had settled deep in my chest, refusing to budge.

I double-checked the locks on the door before stepping out, my bag slung over my shoulder.

The corridor outside my apartment was quiet, but I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder as I made my way down the stairs.

It wasn’t just the apartment. It was me. I didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore.

The shelter was busy, as it always was. The hum of activity should have been comforting, a reminder that I wasn’t alone. But today, it only heightened my anxiety. Every sound seemed louder, every movement sharper. I felt eyes on me constantly, even when I was sure no one was looking.

“Nina? Are you okay?”

I flinched at the sound of Karen’s voice, turning to see her watching me with concern. She was one of the shelter’s coordinators, a kind woman with a no-nonsense attitude and a sharp eye for detail. I forced a smile, trying to hide the unease that was threatening to swallow me whole.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

She frowned, her gaze flicking over me as though searching for cracks in the facade. “If you need to take a break, let me know. We’ve got plenty of people here to cover for you.”

“Thanks,” I said, already turning away. “But I’m fine.”

Fine. That was the lie I told everyone, including myself. I was anything but fine. Every step I took felt like I was walking on a tightrope, teetering on the edge of some unseen abyss. And the worst part was, I didn’t even know what I was afraid of.

Most of my day at the shelter was spent doing what I always did: mundane, ordinary tasks that made me feel like I was doing something good in the world.

I sorted through boxes of donated clothes, separating the wearable items from those that needed to be recycled.

I prepared meals in the small kitchen, putting them on trays for the families who came here seeking a haven.

And I listened. More than anything, I listened.

People came here to escape their own nightmares, to find a moment of peace in a world that had been unkind to them.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. And for a long time, it had been enough for me, too.

There was a quiet comfort in the routine, in knowing that I was helping, even in the smallest ways.

“Hey, Nina,” Lisa called from across the room, waving me over. She was one of the newer volunteers, her bright smile and easygoing demeanor a welcome presence on even the hardest days. “Can you help me with this?”

I nodded, crossing the room to join her. She was struggling to lift a heavy box onto one shelf in the storage room. Together, we hoisted it into place, the effort leaving us both a little breathless.

“Thanks,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’ve been a lifesaver today.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” I said, forcing a smile.

But Lisa wasn’t fooled. She tilted her head, her gaze narrowing as she studied me. “You’ve been zoning out a lot today. Is everything okay?”

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. “I’m just tired,” I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended. “It’s been a long week.”

“Tired or distracted?” she pressed, her tone light but probing. “You’re usually so on top of things, but today… I don’t know. You seem…” She trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Off?” I offered, forcing a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been feeling that way, too. Just one of those days, I guess.”

Lisa hesitated, her brow furrowing as she studied me. “You know, if you ever need to talk… ”

“Thanks,” I said quickly, cutting her off before she could finish. “But I’m fine. Really.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, turning her attention back to the box. I could feel her glancing at me every so often, her concern lingering like a shadow.

The day wasn’t without its quiet triumphs, though.

As I worked my shift, I helped a young mother find clothes for her children, guiding her through the small donation closet.

Her smile when she found a warm winter coat for her son was what usually filled me with hope.

Today, it barely made a dent in the unease that clung to me like a second skin.

Karen pulled me aside after lunch, her face drawn with worry. “I’m not trying to pry, Nina,” she breathed. “But you seem…preoccupied. You’re usually one of the most dependable people here, but today it feels like your head is somewhere else.”

“I’m just tired,” I said again, my default excuse. “Really. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she gave a slight nod. “Okay. But if you ever need to talk, or even take a day off, you know we’re here for you.”

I nodded, giving her another forced smile. “Thanks, Karen. I appreciate it.”

By mid-afternoon, I was working in the kitchen, preparing sandwiches for the evening meal.

The rhythmic motion of spreading peanut butter and jelly on slices of bread should have been soothing, but my hands trembled with every pass of the knife.

It was as though my body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to fight or flee, caught in a constant state of hypervigilance.

One of the shelter’s regulars, an older man named George, shuffled into the kitchen as I worked. He gave me a kind smile, his weathered face creased with lines that spoke of a hard life. “How’re you holding up, Nina?” he asked, his voice warm and rough around the edges .

“I’m fine,” I said automatically, my smile faltering under his scrutiny.

“You’ve got that look,” he said, tapping his temple. “Like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Don’t let it crush you, kid.”

His words stayed with me long after he left, a quiet reminder that even here, in this place of safety and refuge, I couldn’t escape the weight pressing down on me.

Even the clients at the shelter seemed to notice my unease. One woman, a soft-spoken survivor of domestic violence, placed a hand on my arm as I handed her a stack of clean clothes. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

I forced a smile, nodding quickly. “I’m fine,” I said. “Just a long day.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. Still, her kindness only made the weight in my chest feel heavier. These people came here to feel safe, to rebuild their lives. How could I help them when I couldn’t even feel safe myself?

When I finally stepped outside, the sun was already setting, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink. The air was crisp, a welcome contrast to the stuffy warmth of the shelter. I took a deep breath, trying to ground myself, but the unease only grew stronger as I made my way home.

The streets felt emptier than usual, the sounds of the city muted as though the world itself was holding its breath.

My footsteps echoed against the pavement, each one a reminder that I was alone.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t.

Every time I glanced over my shoulder, I saw nothing but shadows.

But that didn’t mean someone wasn’t there.

By the time I reached my apartment building, my hands were shaking.

I fumbled with the keys, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps as I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The scent of smoke hit me again, stronger this time, and my stomach churned.

I’d aired out the apartment this morning.

There was no reason for it to smell. Right?

A thought made my heart race, my mind spiraling into a thousand possibilities. Someone had been here. Someone had been in my home.

I dropped my bag by the door exhausted from helping at the shelter, my gaze darting around the room. Everything looked the same as it had this morning, but the feeling of wrongness was stronger now, pressing against me like a physical weight.

I froze as I entered the bedroom, my gaze locking on the dresser. The drawer was open—just a crack, but enough to make my blood run cold. I hadn’t left it like that. I was sure of it.

My breathing grew faster, my chest tightening as panic set in.

The walls seemed to close in around me, the room spinning as I backed away.

“Who’s there?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of my breathing.

The silence that followed was deafening, every creak of the apartment amplified in the stillness.

And then I saw him.

He stepped out of the shadows, flicking his cigarette to the ground, like he’d always belonged there, his presence filling the room with an oppressive weight. My heart stopped as I took him in, his sharp blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole the air from my lungs.

“Hello, Nina,” he said, his voice low and even. “We need to talk.”

I stumbled back, my hands grasping for something—anything—to defend myself with. “How the hell did you get into my apartment?” I demanded, my voice shaking but defiant. “What do you want from me?”

He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. It was like he was carved from stone, every line of his face sharp and unyielding. “My name is Samuel,” he said. “And I’m here to keep you safe.”

He was familiar and I already knew his name, although I couldn’t recall from where. Safe? The word felt like a slap, mocking in its simplicity. “Safe from what?” I demanded, my voice rising. “From you?”

A flicker of something crossed his face, too quick for me to catch. Regret? Amusement? I couldn’t tell. “From the people who want to hurt you,” he said. “The ones who took you. The ones who are still looking for you.”

My stomach twisted at his words, my mind racing to make sense of them. “You know nothing about me,” I said, my voice trembling. I couldn’t help feeling like he could see through all my walls.

“Oh, but I do,” he said, stepping closer. “I know everything about you, Nina. Where you live. Where you work. What you’re afraid of.”

I backed away, my pulse pounding in my ears. “You’re insane,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Get out.”

“I can’t do that,” he said, his tone almost tender. “You’re mine now. And I’m not going anywhere.”