1083 The Senior Auditor Who Outsmarted the Syndicate Boss and Framed Her Corrupt Executive—Until He Offered Her a Place in His World

The interior of the armored Mercedes was a sanctuary of dark leather, soft amber lighting, and absolute silence.

Beatrice sat in the plush backseat, staring blankly out the tinted window as the vehicle glided effortlessly out of the underground garage and into the wet, neon-lit streets of Chicago.

Enzo sat beside her, though he kept a respectful distance, reviewing a thick dossier on a secured tablet.

She hadn't been kidnapped. That was the surreal part she kept turning over in her head.

When Enzo had offered her a ride, she could have refused, could have demanded to be let out at the nearest CTA station.

Instead, when he asked where she wanted to go, she had looked at him with hollow eyes and said, ‘Nowhere. I have nowhere left.’

Now, they were parked outside a private, high-security brownstone in the Gold Coast—a place that didn't exist on public property records.

"You're shivering," Enzo said without looking up from his screen.

"I'm fine," Beatrice lied, wrapping her arms tightly around her full waist. Her clothes were still damp from the October rain, and her mind was racing a million miles an hour. "Where are we?"

"My home. Or at least, the only place in the city where Derek Miller will never look for you again," Enzo replied calmly. He locked the tablet and set it aside, turning his full, piercing gaze onto her. "More importantly, we need to talk about why your ex-boyfriend was waiting for you on the 45th floor after hours."

Beatrice stiffened, a defensive prickle rising under her skin. "That has nothing to do with you. He was just... he couldn't accept that I left him."

"People like Miller don't track women across the city simply because they have bruised egos," Enzo said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying an absolute authority that brooked no argument. "Especially not using military-grade micro-tags embedded in designer handbags. Someone gave him that tracker, Beatrice. Or someone paid him to watch you."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Beatrice’s breath hitched. "What are you talking about?"

Enzo reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, printed financial summary, tossing it onto the leather console between them.

"I had my people run a preliminary check on your apartment, your phone, and your office terminal while we drove here," Enzo said quietly. "Three days ago, right before you walked out on Miller, a fifty-thousand-dollar wire transfer hit his dormant business account from an offshore shell company. A shell company that happens to be laundered through the exact portfolio you were assigned to audit for Deloitte."

Beatrice stared at the paper. The numbers blurred before her eyes, swimming in a sea of cruel irony.

For three years, Derek had belittled her intelligence, called her slow, told her she was lucky a successful real estate agent even deigned to look at her.

And all the while, he had been using her position at Deloitte—or trying to use it—to access financial data he had no business touching.

"He didn't just want me back," Beatrice whispered, the realization crashing over her with sickening clarity. "He thought I had downloaded the ledger files before I packed my bags."

"Did you?" Enzo asked, his eyes narrowing slightly, though there was no accusation in his tone—only cold, sharp curiosity.

"No," Beatrice said fiercely, turning her head to meet his gaze head-on. "I'm a senior auditor. I follow the rules. I didn't steal anything from the firm."

"I believe you," Enzo said after a long, measuring pause. He leaned back against the seat. "Which means Miller has a serious problem. The people who paid him fifty grand are going to want their deliverables. And if he can't give them the ledger, and he can't give them you..."

"They'll come after me," Beatrice finished, the ice in her veins returning, colder and sharper than before.

"Not while you're under my roof," Enzo said smoothly. "Which brings us to an arrangement. You want protection from whatever messy criminal underworld your charming ex stumbled into. And I want to know who is trying to hack my accounts through Deloitte."

Beatrice looked at the crime lord sitting beside her. He was offering her a lifeline, but it was woven from wire and razor blades.

"You want me to help you find them," she said.

"I want you to help yourself," Enzo corrected softly. "And in doing so, you're going to teach me everything you know about corporate balance sheets."

He reached out, his warm fingers brushing a stray lock of wet hair away from her forehead, an intimate gesture that completely conflicted with the dangerous reality of their situation.