Chapter 2 - Eighteen Million Dollars
Roman did not react the way Chloe expected.
He didn’t curse.
He didn’t grab her.
He didn’t demand names while reaching for a gun.
He simply looked at the flash drive.
Then at her.
“Come upstairs.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Fair.”
That answer surprised her.
Roman removed his phone.
“Marco.”
A voice answered immediately.
“Boss.”
“Bring Mara downstairs. Laptop disconnected from every network.”
A pause.
“How disconnected?”
Roman looked at Chloe.
“Completely.”
Ten minutes later, Chloe was sitting inside a private conference room beneath what appeared to be an ordinary luxury apartment tower.
A giant man named Marco stood near the door.
He had gray at his temples, a broken-looking nose, and the exhausted expression of somebody accustomed to Roman causing complications after midnight.
Mara Levin arrived wearing sweatpants beneath a camel coat.
She looked at Chloe.
Then Roman.
Then Chloe’s face again.
“What happened?”
Roman handed her the drive.
“Tell me whether this is real.”
Mara did not touch it.
“What does she say it is?”
“Evidence somebody stole eighteen million dollars from me.”
Mara stared at Chloe.
“Who are you?”
“Someone who wants a bus ticket.”
Roman almost smiled.
Mara didn’t.
They used a sealed laptop.
Chloe entered the encryption password herself.
Folders appeared.
Invoices.
Vendor records.
Bank transfers.
Payroll files.
Shipping manifests.
Mara’s sarcasm disappeared.
Roman stood behind her.
Chloe stayed near the opposite wall.
Mara opened one spreadsheet.
Then another.
“Jesus.”
Roman leaned closer.
“What?”
“Ghost vendors.”
Chloe spoke.
“Twenty-seven.”
Mara looked at her.
“You counted?”
“I reconciled their invoices.”
“For Kessler?”
“For his logistics office.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“You worked for Vincent?”
“No. Tommy got me a temporary bookkeeping job.”
“How convenient.”
“It wasn’t.”
Chloe folded her arms tightly.
“I thought he was helping me.”
She hated saying it.
Roman’s expression shifted.
“He wanted access through you.”
“Yes.”
Mara clicked through the records.
“These vendors receive payments from legitimate DeLuca shipping contracts. Money moves through two intermediaries and disappears into private investment vehicles.”
“How much?” Roman asked.
“Seventeen point eight million here.”
Chloe stepped closer.
“There are three more accounts.”
Mara opened them.
The total crossed twenty-three million.
Marco swore quietly.
Roman remained still.
“Vincent knows?”
“I don’t know,” Chloe said.
“Thomas?”
“He definitely knows.”
“How?”
“I confronted him.”
Roman looked at her cheek.
Chloe looked away.
Mara stopped scrolling.
“Roman.”
Something in her tone changed.
A transaction appeared.
$350,000.
Recipient hidden beneath a numbered account.
Description:
CONSULTING / BLACK HARBOR
Roman’s face went blank.
Marco stepped closer.
“What?”
Roman answered without looking away.
“Black Harbor was the name attached to the shooter at Pier Nine.”
Chloe’s stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Somebody tried to kill you?”
Marco gave her a look.
“Several somebodies.”
Roman ignored him.
“Can you trace the recipient?”
Chloe nodded.
“I already did part of it.”
Three men stared at her.
She continued.
“Tommy kept his laptop unlocked when he drank.”
Marco’s mouth twitched.
“You went through it?”
“I lived with him.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Yes.”
Mara almost smiled.
Chloe pointed toward another file.
“The payment went to a security contractor in Newark.”
Roman read the name.
His expression changed.
Marco saw it too.
“That's ours.”
Chloe looked between them.
“What?”
Roman’s voice became cold.
“DeLuca Protective Services.”
Mara slowly closed the laptop.
“Someone paid one of your own security companies to arrange your murder.”
Silence.
Roman turned toward the windows.
Chloe watched his reflection.
There was something different about him now.
Not fear.
Betrayal.
She recognized it because she had worn the same expression the first time she discovered Tommy had used her credit without asking.
Roman turned.
“You cannot leave Manhattan tonight.”
Her spine straightened.
“No.”
“Chloe.”
“You said I wasn't your prisoner.”
“You aren't.”
“Then I'm leaving.”
“Thomas is searching for you.”
“I know.”
“And somebody inside my organization ordered my death.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
Marco choked on what might have been laughter.
Roman gave him one look.
Marco became professionally blank again.
Roman looked back at Chloe.
“It became yours when you copied those files.”
“I didn't know what they meant.”
“They know you copied them.”
“I'll go somewhere else.”
“They found you in an industrial alley within an hour.”
Chloe’s confidence wavered.
Roman saw it.
“I can put you somewhere secure.”
“No.”
“Not here.”
“No.”
“You can choose the hotel.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
Chloe almost expected the Mafia Boss to appear.
Instead he asked:
“What would make you feel safe?”
The question stunned her.
Nobody had asked that in years.
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Roman waited.
“A door I can lock myself.”
“Done.”
“No men standing inside.”
“Done.”
“My phone stays with me.”
“Yes.”
“And nobody tells Tommy where I am.”
Roman’s expression turned dangerous.
“That was never going to happen.”
Chloe studied him.
“Why are you helping me?”
He looked toward the flash drive.
“Partly because you handed me evidence.”
“Partly?”
His eyes returned to the bruise.
“Because Thomas put his hands on you.”
Chloe’s throat tightened.
“You don't know me.”
“No.”
“You hurt people.”
Roman did not pretend otherwise.
“Yes.”
She appreciated that more than denial.
“So why do you care what he did?”
Roman was silent for a moment.
“Because strength doesn't give a man ownership over somebody weaker.”
His voice remained quiet.
“It gives him responsibility for what he chooses to do with it.”
Chloe looked away.
That was too close to something she had once believed.
Something Tommy had trained out of her.
Roman moved toward the door.
“You'll stay in the apartment above this floor.”
“What about you?”
“I live elsewhere.”
Good.
Then he added, “Usually.”
Not good.
Marco walked Chloe upstairs.
The apartment was beautiful without appearing staged.
Warm lamps.
Books.
A cream sofa.
A kitchen with actual food.
She locked the bedroom door herself.
Then checked it four times.
At 3:40 a.m., she woke from a nightmare.
Someone was pounding.
Chloe shot upright.
The pounding came again.
Not the bedroom.
The apartment door.
She crept into the hallway.
Roman stood near the entrance wearing black pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
A pistol was visible in his hand.
He glanced back.
“Stay there.”
A voice came from outside.
“Chloe!”
Her blood froze.
Tommy.
“How did he find me?”
Roman’s face changed.
That was clearly the question he was asking too.
Tommy hit the door again.
“Chloe! Open it!”
Roman touched the security panel.
The hallway camera appeared.
Tommy stood alone.
Wet.
Wild-eyed.
Holding something.
A photograph.
Roman enlarged the image.
Chloe stopped breathing.
The photograph showed her asleep.
Taken inside Roman’s apartment less than an hour earlier.
Roman went very still.
Tommy looked directly at the camera.
Then smiled.
“Tell DeLuca the woman he rescued isn't his problem.”
He raised the photograph.
“She belongs to people already inside his house.”
Roman looked toward Marco.
Marco’s face went gray.
Someone had entered a secured DeLuca property.
Photographed Chloe.
And left without triggering an alarm.
Tommy wasn't the real threat.
He was only the messenger.
Roman locked eyes with Chloe.
“Pack a bag.”
Her voice shook.
“Where are we going?”
May you like
Roman checked the weapon in his hand.
“Somewhere nobody in my family knows exists.”
