Chapter 1 - THE NAME THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING
“Who did this to you?”
Vincent Russo's voice was barely louder than the rain.
I looked at his outstretched hand.
Then at the black car waiting behind him.
I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.
But my ribs were burning, my head felt dangerously light, and I was too exhausted to invent another lie.
“Graham,” I whispered.
Vincent didn't move.
“Graham who?”
“Graham Doyle.”
The man beside the car went rigid.
For one terrible second, the alley seemed to fall completely silent.
Then Vincent slowly lowered his hand.
“Graham Doyle,” he repeated.
I nodded.
“He owns the Regency. He's my boss.”
Vincent's expression didn't change.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
“Sal.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Call Dr. Bell.”
“Right away.”
“And tell Nico the meeting tomorrow is postponed.”
Sal hesitated.
“The Doyles won't like that.”
Vincent turned his head.
“Did I ask what they'd like?”
“No, boss.”
Sal disappeared into the car.
Vincent looked back at me.
“Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
“Don't force it.”
I pressed my palm against the wet brick wall and tried to rise.
Pain shot through my side.
I gasped.
My knees folded.
Vincent moved instinctively, then stopped himself before touching me.
“May I help you?”
The question stunned me.
An hour earlier, Graham Doyle hadn't asked permission before grabbing my hair.
Now the most feared man in Chicago was asking whether he could help me stand.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Vincent carefully supported my elbow.
I managed one step.
Then another.
When we reached the car, Sal opened the rear door.
Warm air rushed over my face.
I almost cried.
Vincent helped me onto the leather seat.
Then removed his coat and placed it beside me.
“You can use that if you're cold.”
I stared at him.
“Aren't you?”
“No.”
He sat opposite me.
The car began moving.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Vincent asked, “What happened at the Regency?”
I stared at my hands.
My fingernails were broken.
There was blood beneath one of them.
“I work in guest relations,” I whispered. “Tonight Graham called me into his private office.”
Vincent waited.
“He said a client wanted someone to accompany him to a private dinner.”
My throat tightened.
“I told him that wasn't my job.”
Vincent's jaw shifted.
“He said I owed him.”
“For what?”
“For hiring me when nobody else would.”
I swallowed.
“Then he locked the office door.”
Vincent became very still.
I couldn't make myself look at him.
“He grabbed me. I told him no. He tried to kiss me, and I pushed him away.”
My voice broke.
“He hit me.”
Nobody spoke.
“He kept telling me I was ungrateful.”
I stared at the blood on my hands.
“I got away when someone knocked on the door. I ran through the service entrance.”
Vincent looked toward the dark window.
Then asked, “Did he sexually assault you?”
I shook my head.
“He tried. I got away before he could.”
Vincent nodded.
“Thank you for telling me.”
I looked up.
That wasn't the response I'd expected.
No accusation.
No question about what I'd worn.
No suggestion that I must have misunderstood.
Just four quiet words.
Thank you for telling me.
Something inside my chest began to crack.
“I don't know why I'm telling you this.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Neither do I.”
For the first time, I noticed how tired he looked.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
As though he'd spent years carrying responsibilities that never became lighter.
He leaned forward.
“But I'm glad you did.”
I stared.
Then whispered, “What's going to happen to me?”
Vincent's expression softened.
“First, a doctor will examine your injuries. Then you'll decide what you want to do.”
“And Graham?”
A dangerous silence settled between us.
Vincent looked toward Sal.
Then back at me.
“Graham Doyle is going to discover that some decisions have consequences.”
I shivered.
“Are you going to kill him?”
Vincent held my gaze.
“No.”
I searched his face.
“Promise?”
He hesitated.
Then said, “I promise I won't use what happened to you as an excuse to start a war.”
I didn't know whether to believe him.
But something about the way he said it made me want to.
Outside, Chicago disappeared behind curtains of freezing rain.
May you like
And somewhere across the city, Graham Doyle was probably pouring himself another drink.
He had no idea that the woman he'd beaten had just entered the car of the one man his family feared most.
