Chapter 1 - The Weight of a Name
Javier’s boots crunched on the gravel of the alley, his eyes fixed on Khloe with the calculated coldness of a man who measured life in threats neutralized.
“A complication,” Javier repeated, his gaze cutting back to Victor. “The charity gala was locked down from the service level to the penthouses. No one gets past the primary checkpoints with a dress from a department store rack and wet hair unless they were escorted, or unless someone inside wanted them there.”
Khloe flinched, pulling the soaked fabric of her green dress tighter across her collarbone. The sleet was turning into a heavy, freezing rain, soaking through her clothes and plastering her dark curls to her temples.
“I didn’t ask to be here,” she snapped, her voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and sudden, biting fury. “I was working the catering prep downstairs until three hours ago. Someone locked me in a supply closet, stole my bag, and left this dress hanging on the hook with a note saying if I didn’t walk through the Gold Room by nine o’clock, they’d burn down my brother’s apartment building.”
Victor didn’t move. His face remained carved in stone, but his mind was racing, cataloging every detail, every inflection of her voice. Lying or telling the truth, the mechanics were the same: she was bait.
“Who?” Victor asked.
“I don’t know!” Khloe cried out, stamping her foot against the frozen pavement, though the gesture was more tragic than intimidating. “A man with a scar across his neck. He called himself Marcus. He said if I wanted to see my brother alive, I had to deliver a message.”
“And the message was a bullet through my ribs?” Victor’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
“The message was supposed to be a package dropped at Table Four!” Khloe’s breath hitched, a sob finally breaking through her defiance. “I panicked when I saw those men by the coat check. I didn't know you were a mob boss, okay? I just saw a wall of a human being who looked like he could stop a truck, and I reacted!”
Javier cocked his head, his hand still resting near the suppressed weapon beneath his coat. “Boss, Marcus works for the O’Neill syndicate. They’ve been trying to muscle into the West Loop docks for six months. If they’re using civilian mules to plant packages, this whole charity event was a diversion to get an explosive or a wire onto your person.”
Victor reached down, his fingers gripping Khloe’s chin and forcing her face up toward his. Her eyes were wide, dark, and filled with a raw, unfiltered terror that could not be faked.
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“You’re a terrible spy, Khloe Bennett,” Victor said softly, letting go of her face. He turned to Javier. “Get the black SUV. We’re not going back to the estate. Take her to the safehouse on Dearborn. And make sure our friends from O’Neill know we’re coming.”
Before Javier could move toward the vehicle idling at the mouth of the alley, a sharp, metallic ping echoed off the brick wall a millimeter from Victor’s ear.
