Chloe woke at seven fourteen the next morning with a pounding headache and the uncomfortable realization that she was wearing Dominic Russo's shirt.
She sat upright so quickly the room spun.
The guest bedroom was larger than her entire apartment.
Gray morning light filtered through sheer curtains. Her ruined clothes had disappeared, and a folded note waited beside a glass of water.
Your clothes are being cleaned. The shirt was Teresa's idea. Breakfast downstairs. — D
Chloe stared at the note.
Dominic Russo had signed something with a single letter.
It felt bizarrely intimate.
She looked down at the white dress shirt hanging almost to her knees.
Then buried her face in her hands.
“Fantastic.”
Downstairs, Dominic was already working.
Of course he was.
He sat at the marble kitchen island reading documents while drinking espresso. He wore dark trousers and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back.
He looked as if he had slept eight hours.
Chloe suspected he hadn't slept at all.
A silver-haired woman stood at the stove.
She turned and smiled.
“You must be Chloe.”
Chloe froze.
Dominic looked up.
“Teresa, don't interrogate her.”
“I haven't asked anything.”
“You're about to.”
Teresa ignored him.
“Eggs?”
“Please.”
The domestic normality was almost more disorienting than the previous night's danger.
“You live here?” Chloe asked.
Teresa laughed.
“No, sweetheart. I've worked for this family since Dominic was shorter than that refrigerator.”
Dominic frowned.
“I was never shorter than the refrigerator.”
“You were born six feet tall?”
“Probably.”
Teresa placed eggs and toast in front of Chloe.
Then she squeezed Chloe's shoulder gently.
“You're safe here.”
The kindness nearly broke her.
Chloe concentrated fiercely on her toast.
Dominic closed his folder.
“We need to discuss today.”
The warmth disappeared.
Chloe looked at him.
“I should go home and change.”
“No.”
“Dominic.”
He seemed to notice the name.
His eyes lingered on her face before moving away.
“Your apartment was searched at approximately four twenty this morning.”
Chloe stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Nothing appears stolen.”
“How do you know?”
“I sent people.”
“You sent people into my apartment?”
“I sent people to secure it after someone broke in.”
“That's still my home.”
“And currently a crime scene.”
She pushed her plate away.
“You can't just take control of my entire life.”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“I'm trying to keep you alive.”
“And I'm grateful. But you can't make every decision for me.”
He leaned back.
“Fine.”
Chloe blinked.
“Fine?”
“What would you like to do?”
She had not expected the question.
“I want to see my apartment.”
“No.”
“That's not how choices work.”
Dominic stared at her.
Teresa hid a smile behind the coffeepot.
Finally he exhaled.
“I'll take you.”
“I don't need—”
“That's the compromise.”
Chloe considered arguing.
Then remembered the photographs.
“All right.”
Her apartment looked normal.
That was the frightening part.
The lock had been expertly bypassed. Nothing was broken. Nothing obvious was missing.
But someone had moved through her private life.
A drawer left slightly open.
Books returned in the wrong order.
A framed photograph of Chloe and her late mother tilted half an inch.
Chloe stood in the middle of the living room and felt violated in a way she couldn't describe.
Dominic waited near the door.
He didn't touch anything.
He didn't rush her.
For once, he didn't give orders.
“They looked through everything,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“My bedroom?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes closed.
Dominic stepped closer.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at him.
He seemed angrier than she felt.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I spent years making this place mine.”
Dominic's gaze moved around the tiny apartment.
The thrift-store furniture.
The plants on the windowsill.
A chipped blue mug beside the sink.
“You did a good job.”
The unexpected compliment made her laugh weakly.
“You're terrible at comforting people.”
“I've been told.”
“By whom?”
“No one who said it twice.”
Chloe stared at him.
Then laughed for real.
Dominic's mouth curved.
There it was.
The rarest thing in Chicago.
Dominic Russo smiling.
It vanished almost immediately.
Marco emerged from the bedroom.
“Found something.”
He held up a tiny black device sealed inside an evidence bag.
Chloe frowned.
“What is that?”
“Audio transmitter.”
Her stomach turned.
“Where?”
“Under your bedside table.”
The room suddenly felt contaminated.
Dominic's face changed.
“Everyone out.”
Marco nodded.
Chloe looked at Dominic.
“What?”
“Now.”
She grabbed her coat.
In the hallway, Dominic called someone.
“Shut down her company email. Replace her phone. Scan her workstation, home, vehicle history, everything.”
Chloe stared.
“Dominic.”
He covered the phone.
“Yes?”
“I don't have a vehicle.”
“I know.”
Something about that irritated her.
“You know too much about me.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I know enough to protect you.”
“That's exactly the problem.”
He ended the call.
“What do you want me to do, Chloe? Pretend someone didn't put a microphone beside your bed?”
“No. I want you to tell me what's happening.”
“I have.”
“No, you haven't.”
He went still.
“You keep giving me pieces. Adrian Cole. Harbor Point. Stolen money. But you know more.”
Dominic said nothing.
Chloe stepped closer.
“If someone is coming after me because I work for you, then I deserve the whole truth.”
The hallway felt suddenly too small.
Dominic looked toward Marco.
“Give us a minute.”
Marco left.
Dominic lowered his voice.
“Harbor Point wasn't just theft.”
“What was it?”
“A laundering operation.”
Chloe's pulse quickened.
“For whom?”
“A rival organization.”
The words landed heavily.
She had always known what Dominic was.
Knowing and hearing were different things.
“Crime.”
“Yes.”
“Your crime?”
His eyes sharpened.
“No.”
She folded her arms.
“But you run the Russo syndicate.”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
Chloe waited for fear.
It came.
But not in the way she expected.
She wasn't suddenly afraid Dominic would hurt her.
She was afraid because he had stopped pretending.
“What does that mean?”
“It means my family controls businesses that don't appear on quarterly reports.”
“Illegal businesses?”
“Some.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
“Trafficking?”
His expression hardened with disgust.
“Never.”
“Then what?”
“Gambling. Protection. Certain import channels.”
Chloe looked away.
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“You're telling me this because…?”
“Because you asked for the truth.”
“And because I'm already involved.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“What does Adrian have to do with it?”
“He has been moving money through Russo properties for someone else.”
“Who?”
“We're trying to identify them.”
“And whoever that is thinks I found something.”
“Yes.”
Chloe pressed her fingers against her temples.
Then she remembered something.
A spreadsheet.
A number.
One irregular vendor.
“Wait.”
Dominic watched her.
“The Harbor Point report. There were payments to Northstar Urban Consulting.”
“Yes.”
“I looked them up.”
Dominic's expression changed.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“They had no website. It seemed odd.”
“What did you find?”
“Almost nothing. But their registered address matched another company.”
“What company?”
She tried to remember.
“Lakefront Structural.”
Dominic went completely still.
Chloe noticed.
“You know it.”
He didn't answer.
“Dominic.”
His voice lowered.
“It belonged to my brother.”
“Belonged?”
“He's dead.”
Chloe's anger disappeared.
“I'm sorry.”
“He died four years ago.”
“What does that have to do with—”
“My brother was accused of betraying the family.”
Dominic's gaze became distant.
“He denied it. I believed him.”
“And now someone is using his company?”
“Yes.”
Chloe's skin prickled.
“Does that mean he was involved?”
“No.”
Dominic turned toward the window.
“It means someone wants me to believe he was.”
A car door slammed downstairs.
Marco returned quickly.
“We have a problem.”
Dominic looked at him.
“What?”
“Adrian Cole is dead.”
Chloe gripped the railing.
“How?”
“Car explosion. Forty minutes ago.”
Dominic cursed under his breath.
Marco continued.
“There's more. Police found a phone in the vehicle.”
“Whose?”
Marco looked at Chloe.
“Registered to Chloe Bennett.”
The silence was absolute.
Chloe stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“We know.”
“I have my phone.”
“Your old number was cloned.”
Dominic stepped between her and Marco almost instinctively.
“What was on it?”
“Messages arranging a meeting with Cole last night. Several payments. Enough to make it look like Chloe was involved in the Harbor Point laundering.”
Chloe felt the blood leave her face.
“They're framing me.”
“Yes.”
Sirens sounded somewhere in the distance.
Dominic's eyes went toward the window.
Marco checked his phone.
“Chicago PD is already asking questions.”
Chloe's breathing became shallow.
“Am I going to be arrested?”
Dominic looked at her.
“No.”
“You don't know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
His expression became terrifyingly calm.
“Because they're going to have to get through me first.”
“Dominic, you can't fight the police.”
“No.”
He picked up his coat.
“But I can fight the people who sent them.”
For the first time, Chloe understood the danger of being protected by Dominic Russo.
Protection from a powerful man wasn't a shield.
It was a declaration.
And declarations created enemies.
---