Chapter 1 - THE PRICE OF THE KISS
The armored SUV swallowed the noise of the city the second Dante's driver closed the door.
For the first time all night, I could hear my own breathing.
It was too fast.
My hands were still shaking.
Dante sat across from me instead of beside me, which somehow made the narrow space feel even more deliberate.
He had removed his jacket, but not the control from his expression.
Nothing about him looked hurried.
Nothing about him looked surprised.
That scared me more than if he had been angry.
I looked through the tinted glass and saw Nolan's car still parked across from the ballroom.
He had not left.
He had simply moved far enough away to pretend he had obeyed.
Dante followed my gaze.
"He wants you to see him waiting."
My stomach tightened.
"How do you know?"
"Because men like Nolan confuse being watched with being owned."
I looked at him.
"You know his name."
"I know more than his name."
The answer came too quickly.
A cold thread of suspicion slid down my spine.
I pressed my back against the leather seat.
"Then start talking."
Dante's eyes narrowed slightly, not because I had offended him, but because I had surprised him.
That gave me a strange flicker of courage.
I had spent two years measuring every word around Nolan.
I was done measuring.
"You said kissing you cost me something."
Dante looked toward the window again.
"It did."
"What?"
"Privacy."
I almost laughed because the answer sounded too small.
Then he continued.
"You kissed me in front of three judges, two aldermen, half the city's old money, and enough organized crime to make the guest list embarrassing."
My mouth went dry.
"I didn't know who was there."
"I know."
"I only knew Nolan was afraid of you."
"He is."
"Then why isn't this over?"
Dante leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees.
"Because everyone in that room saw me put my hand around your waist after you kissed me."
I said nothing.
"They saw me stand between you and Nolan."
His voice stayed low.
"They heard you say he hits you."
The memory burned through me.
I wished I could take back the weakness in my voice.
I wished I could say it again louder.
"And now?"
Dante's gaze settled on mine.
"Now every man who wants something from me knows your face."
I stopped breathing.
He did not soften the truth.
"You made yourself look like my weakness in a room full of men who have spent twenty years trying to find one."
The city lights moved across his face as the SUV turned onto Lake Shore Drive.
For several seconds, the only sound inside the car was the faint hum of the tires.
"I didn't ask for that."
"No."
"I didn't ask you to claim me."
"I didn't."
His answer came sharp enough to make me look up.
"Protection is not ownership."
Something in my chest loosened.
Only slightly.
"Nolan used to say the same thing."
Dante's jaw shifted.
"Then he lied."
I watched him carefully.
"And you don't?"
"Constantly."
That was not the answer I expected.
He leaned back.
"But not about this."
The SUV slowed at a light.
Outside, Chicago glittered like nothing ugly had ever happened in it.
"What's your name?"
I stared at him.
"You don't know?"
"I know what Nolan called you at the gala."
He paused.
"I want to hear what you call yourself."
It took me a moment to answer.
"Claire Sullivan."
Something changed in Dante's expression.
It lasted less than a second.
But I saw it.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That was not nothing."
His eyes stayed on mine.
"Your father was Michael Sullivan?"
Now it was my turn to go still.
"How do you know my father?"
Dante did not answer.
The car kept moving.
My pulse began to pound again, but this time Nolan had nothing to do with it.
"How do you know my father?"
"Claire."
"Don't do that."
My voice cracked.
"Don't say my name like you're trying to calm me down instead of answering me."
His expression hardened.
"Your father worked in forensic accounting."
"For banks."
"For anyone who paid him enough to find money that wanted to stay hidden."
I stared at him.
"He died six years ago."
"I know."
"In a car accident."
Dante looked away.
That was the moment my fear became anger.
"Stop the car."
The driver did not react.
"I said stop the car."
Dante lifted one hand.
The SUV pulled to the curb almost immediately.
He did not lock the doors.
He did not tell me I could not leave.
That mattered.
It also made the next thing he said worse.
"Your father's death was not an accident."
The whole city seemed to tilt outside the glass.
I laughed once because my body did not know what else to do.
"No."
Dante said nothing.
"No."
I reached for the door handle.
His voice stopped me.
"If you step onto that sidewalk alone, Nolan will have you before you make it to the next block."
I turned around.
"You knew my father."
"Yes."
"You knew he was murdered."
"Yes."
"And you were going to wait until when to tell me?"
For the first time, I saw something close to regret in Dante Moretti's face.
"Until you were safe enough to hate me without getting yourself killed."
That sentence landed harder than I wanted it to.
I opened my mouth, but my phone vibrated inside my clutch.
The sound made me jump.
I pulled it out.
Seventeen missed calls from Nolan.
Nine text messages.
Three voicemails.
Then one new image appeared.
It was a photograph of my apartment building.
Taken from across the street.
The time stamp showed it had been taken four minutes earlier.
Under the photo was a message.
YOU MADE ME LOOK WEAK.
A second message arrived.
COME HOME AND FIX IT.
A third followed before I could move.
OR I START TELLING PEOPLE WHAT YOU DID.
Dante watched my face.
"What does he mean?"
"I don't know."
Another message arrived.
THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE BEFORE THE POLICE HEAR ABOUT THE MONEY.
My throat closed.
Dante extended his hand.
"Let me see."
I hesitated.
Every instinct Nolan had trained into me screamed not to hand another man my phone.
Dante noticed.
He lowered his hand.
"Read it to me instead."
The difference was small.
It felt enormous.
I read the message aloud.
Dante's face became utterly blank.
"What money?"
"I don't know."
"Think."
"I am thinking."
"Bank accounts, transfers, signatures, tax forms, businesses Nolan asked you to help with."
My stomach dropped.
Six months earlier, Nolan had asked me to sign paperwork for a consulting company he claimed he was starting.
He had said my credit was better than his.
He had said it was temporary.
He had said couples helped each other.
I had signed because refusing Nolan always cost more than agreeing.
Dante saw the answer before I spoke.
"What did you sign?"
"I don't know exactly."
"Claire."
"He never let me read anything for long."
My cheeks burned with humiliation.
"He stood over me until I signed."
Dante's eyes went cold.
"Company name?"
I searched my memory.
"Northline Strategic Holdings."
The driver looked at Dante in the rearview mirror.
That tiny reaction told me the name mattered.
Dante swore under his breath.
"What is it?"
He took out his own phone and typed one message.
"Northline is a shell company."
"For what?"
"Moving money."
"Whose money?"
He looked at me.
"The Bellini family's."
I had heard that name before.
Everyone in Chicago had.
"And Nolan?"
"Works for them."
"You said you knew more than his name."
"I do."
"Then tell me everything."
Dante's phone rang.
He answered after one glance at the screen.
"Talk."
A man's voice spoke too quietly for me to understand.
Dante's expression did not change.
His eyes did.
They became dangerous.
"How much?"
More muffled words.
Dante looked directly at me.
"You're sure the account is hers?"
My blood turned cold.
He listened for another ten seconds.
Then he ended the call.
I could barely force the question out.
"What account?"
Dante set his phone down.
"An account opened in your name eight months ago."
"I don't have another account."
"You do on paper."
"How much is in it?"
He did not answer immediately.
That terrified me.
"How much?"
"Four point eight million dollars."
I stared at him.
Then I laughed again because the number was absurd.
"That's impossible."
"It was transferred three days ago."
"I didn't transfer anything."
"I believe you."
"The police won't."
"No."
I looked down at Nolan's message.
The words suddenly made sense.
COME HOME AND FIX IT.
OR I START TELLING PEOPLE WHAT YOU DID.
Dante's phone buzzed again.
This time he showed me the screen without touching mine.
It was a photograph sent by one of his men.
Two unmarked police cars were parked outside my apartment.
My mouth went numb.
"He already told them."
Dante's voice was quiet.
"Yes."
"So what happens now?"
He looked at me with an expression I could not read.
"Now we find out whether Nolan framed you because he wanted leverage."
"Or?"
"Because he needed someone to take the fall for something much bigger."
I tightened my hands around my phone.
Then a final message from Nolan appeared.
I KNOW WHAT YOUR FATHER LEFT YOU.
I read it twice.
My heart began to pound.
Dante leaned forward.
"What did he leave you?"
I looked up.
For six years, I had believed my father's last gift was a locked wooden music box I could never open.
May you like
It was still sitting in my apartment.
And Nolan was already outside.
