Chapter 1 - THE ACCIDENTAL PRICE
Dominic Russo didn’t move. His winter-sky eyes remained fixed on Harper, cold and calculating. The heavy leather door of the Escalade sealed them off from the freezing Chicago rain, turning the vehicle into an impenetrable sanctuary—or a rolling cage.
“What do I want, Miss Hayes?” Dominic repeated, his voice smooth as aged Scotch, yet edged with an unmistakable razor-sharp authority. He closed the folder containing the complete anatomy of her modest life and set it aside. “You made a bold play at the Waldorf Astoria. You used me as a meat shield against a pathetic pest. In my line of work, people pay exorbitant sums for my protection. You took it for free. And then, you ran.”
Harper gripped her handbag so tightly her knuckles turned stark white. “I apologized. I didn't know who you were! Braden was harassing me, and I panicked.”
“Ignorance is not a currency I accept,” Dominic said, leaning forward slightly. The dim interior lighting caught the silver scar along his jawline, giving him a sinister, sculpted perfection. “Braden Vance is currently on a one-way flight to London with a crushed collarbone and a sudden career pivot. That was a courtesy to clean up the mess you dragged to my doorstep. But now, we talk about your debt.”
Harper’s breath hitched. “Debt? I don’t owe you anything!”
“You crossed my perimeter. You placed your hands on my person. You kissed me in front of my men and a rival syndicate’s informant who happened to be watching that corridor,” Dominic stated calmly. “In Chicago, perception is survival. If the street believes a random woman can grab Dominic Russo without consequences, I look weak. And weak men end up six feet beneath the docks.”
“So what are you going to do? Kill me?” Harper demanded, defiance flaring through her panic.
A ghost of a smirk played at the corner of Dominic’s lips. It wasn't warm; it was dangerous. “Death is wasteful, Miss Hayes. You are a junior auditor. Exceptional with numbers. Painstakingly detail-oriented. And entirely uncorrupted.” He reached into his coat, pulling out a thick, black leather-bound ledger, tossing it into her lap. “My organization, the Russo Syndicate, is currently undergoing a massive internal audit. Someone inside my inner circle is skimming millions—and feeding intelligence to the Commission in Palermo.”
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Harper stared at the ledger as if it were a coiled viper. “You want me to audit the mafia?”
“I want you to track the blood money,” Dominic corrected, his gaze locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. “You have two weeks. Find my rat, or I hand you over to my underboss, who believes you were a spy sent to assassinate me. The clock starts tonight, tesoro.”
