Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN WHO NEVER CALLED FOR HELP
Roman Kinsley had built his empire on one simple rule.
Never let anyone see what frightened you.
At forty-one, he controlled a network of shipping companies, private security firms, luxury properties, and waterfront businesses stretching from Manhattan to New Jersey. His name opened doors in boardrooms and silenced conversations in restaurants.
People feared him.
Some admired him.
Very few knew him.
But Narelli Flores had spent three years learning everything about the man behind the reputation.
She knew he drank black coffee after six in the evening, even though it kept him awake.
She knew he hated lilies because they reminded him of his mother's funeral.
She knew he never scheduled meetings on November 12.
And she knew that whenever Roman was truly furious, he stopped speaking altogether.
Narelli was twenty-nine, sharp-eyed, meticulous, and almost impossible to intimidate.
She had survived three years as Roman's executive secretary without raising her voice once.
Until tonight.
At 3:04 a.m., Roman's phone rang.
He expected a problem at the docks.
Instead, a police sergeant informed him that Narelli Flores was sitting in a holding cell at the Twelfth Precinct.
She had struck Mickey Wallace with a coffee mug.
Mickey worked collections for men connected to the Moretti organization.
And Narelli had refused to contact anyone except Roman.
By 3:37 a.m., Roman entered the precinct wearing dark jeans, boots, and a black cashmere sweater.
The desk sergeant looked up.
“Mr. Kinsley?”
“Yes.”
“Your employee's in the back.”
“Is she injured?”
“Bruised. Refused medical attention.”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“Take me to her.”
The sergeant hesitated.
“Your attorney isn't here yet.”
“Then I'll wait where I can see her.”
After a brief discussion, Roman was directed toward an interview room.
Through the glass, he saw Narelli sitting at a metal table.
Her dark hair had slipped loose from its usual knot.
Her cream blouse was stained with coffee.
A bruise darkened her cheek.
And her right hand was wrapped in a bloodstained paper towel.
Roman stopped.
For three years, he'd watched Narelli handle furious executives, threatening phone calls, and men who believed expensive suits entitled them to obedience.
He had never seen her look small.
Until now.
When she noticed him, her shoulders relaxed.
Only slightly.
But Roman saw it.
The officer opened the door.
“Narelli.”
She looked up.
“Mr. Kinsley.”
Roman pulled out the chair opposite her.
“What happened?”
She glanced toward the officer.
“Can we speak privately?”
The officer explained the limits of the conversation and stepped outside.
Roman leaned forward.
“Who hurt you?”
Narelli looked down.
“Mickey Wallace.”
“Why?”
“He wanted something.”
“What?”
She hesitated.
“A file.”
Roman went still.
“What file?”
“The one I copied from your office yesterday.”
Silence.
Roman studied her face.
“You copied a confidential file?”
“Yes.”
“Without asking me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Narelli looked directly into his eyes.
“Because someone inside your company is planning to kill you.”
Roman didn't move.
Outside, a telephone rang.
Footsteps passed the door.
Somewhere down the corridor, a man laughed.
Roman's voice dropped.
“Who?”
Narelli swallowed.
“Donovan Pierce.”
His security chief.
His oldest friend.
The man who had stood beside him at his father's funeral.
Roman stared at her.
“You'd better be very sure.”
“I am.”
“Where's the evidence?”
Narelli looked toward the observation window.
Then whispered:
“I didn't bring it here.”
“Where is it?”
She took a slow breath.
“In a place Donovan will never think to search.”
Roman leaned closer.
“Where?”
Narelli's eyes filled with tears.
“Your mother's grave.”
For the first time in twenty years, Roman Kinsley forgot how to breathe.
And then Narelli said something even worse.
“Roman, there's a reason Donovan wants you dead.”
He stared at her.
May you like
She whispered:
“Your mother didn't die the way you think she did.”
