Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Wouldn’t Beg
Blood on concrete was one thing.
Blood on a handmade Persian rug was merely an expensive inconvenience.
Frankie Bellomo did not care about the rug.
She did not care about the two men near the steel doors at the rear of Gabriel Costa’s office, or about the rolled tarp they had quietly dragged out of sight before she entered.
She cared about Gabriel.
More specifically, she cared about the fact that he was standing less than a foot from her, looking at her as though she had just become the first interesting thing to happen to him in years.
Five minutes earlier, Francesca Bellomo had called one of the most feared men in Chicago a dead octopus without a soul.
In Sicilian.
She had cursed his ancestors, his pride, his money, and possibly three generations of his bloodline.
She had expected anger.
Instead, Gabriel Costa had laughed.
Now his dark eyes remained fixed on hers.
“My grandmother used to call me that,” he said.
Frankie folded her arms.
“Then your grandmother and I would’ve gotten along.”
One of the bodyguards behind her made a sound suspiciously close to a cough.
Gabriel’s mouth twitched.
“Most people who stand on this rug beg, Francesca.”
“Frankie.”
His expression shifted.
“What?”
“My name is Frankie.”
“Your birth certificate says Francesca.”
“You read my birth certificate?”
“I read everything before someone enters this office.”
“That’s not disturbing at all.”
Another silence.
Then Gabriel smiled.
Not warmly.
Not safely.
But genuinely.
Frankie hated that it changed his face.
Until then, he had looked like exactly what she had expected—a polished criminal in a charcoal suit who could destroy a family without raising his voice.
The smile made him look human.
She preferred the monster.
Gabriel returned behind the desk.
“Sit.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I wasn’t asking.”
“I wasn’t confused.”
The bald guard glanced at Gabriel.
Gabriel ignored him.
“You came here because your brother owes me three hundred thousand dollars.”
“My brother owes you.”
“Correct.”
“So talk to Leo.”
“I did.”
Frankie remembered Leo’s swollen eye.
Her stomach tightened.
Gabriel noticed.
“I didn’t do that.”
She laughed once.
“You expect me to believe you?”
“I don’t care what you believe. But if I had ordered your brother beaten, he would not have walked into your garage afterward.”
The calm certainty in his voice unsettled her more than a threat would have.
“Then who did?”
Gabriel leaned back.
“That is an interesting question.”
Frankie stared at him.
“You don’t know?”
“I know my people did not touch him.”
“So some random citizen broke his face immediately after he lost money in one of your games?”
“My games?”
“That’s what he said.”
Something changed behind Gabriel’s eyes.
It lasted less than a second.
Frankie caught it.
“You didn’t know about the game.”
“I know about every operation attached to my name.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
Frankie felt the first small shift in the room.
For the first time since she arrived, she did not feel as though Gabriel had all the information.
She stepped toward the desk.
“My brother said he lost three hundred thousand at a private game run by your people. Then someone told him you wanted our garage.”
Gabriel said nothing.
“He said you wanted the land for a routing facility.”
“That part is true.”
“So you were already interested in the property.”
“Yes.”
“And then conveniently, my idiot brother ends up owing exactly enough money to force us to sell.”
Gabriel’s stare became colder.
“You are suggesting someone engineered his debt.”
“I’m saying if it smells like gasoline and burns like gasoline, I don’t call it perfume.”
A long pause followed.
Rain struck the glass behind Gabriel.
Finally, he opened a drawer and removed a thin black folder.
He placed it on the desk.
“Your brother signed these.”
Frankie did not sit, but she stepped closer.
The first page carried Leo’s signature.
The second.
The third.
Promissory notes.
Extensions.
Interest agreements.
Every number made her angrier.
But halfway through the documents, she stopped.
She knew Leo’s handwriting.
His signature was messy, with an exaggerated loop through the B in Bellomo.
The first three signatures looked right.
The fourth did not.
Neither did the fifth.
Frankie looked up.
“These are fake.”
The bodyguards straightened.
Gabriel did not move.
“Careful.”
“I’ve watched Leo sign his name since I was six. These two aren’t his.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
Gabriel held out his hand.
Frankie shoved the papers toward him.
He compared them.
His expression became unreadable.
Then he pressed a button on his desk.
“Matteo.”
A voice answered.
“Yes?”
“Bring me Rinaldi’s file on the Bellomo account.”
There was a pause.
“Now.”
Frankie watched Gabriel.
“Who’s Rinaldi?”
“My finance director.”
“And he arranged the game?”
“He oversees private credit.”
“That sounds like a respectable phrase for loan shark.”
“Most successful businesses improve their vocabulary before they improve their ethics.”
Frankie almost smiled.
She stopped herself.
“You’re admitting it?”
“I’m explaining capitalism.”
The office door opened.
A thin man in his fifties entered carrying a tablet.
Silver hair. Expensive navy suit. Calm face.
“Mr. Costa.”
Gabriel held up the disputed documents.
“Where did these come from?”
Rinaldi glanced at Frankie.
“Standard account processing.”
“These signatures.”
A pause.
“What about them?”
“Ms. Bellomo says they’re forged.”
Rinaldi’s expression barely changed.
“Debtors often make such accusations.”
“I didn’t sign anything,” Frankie said.
“Your brother did.”
“Not those.”
Rinaldi looked at Gabriel.
“With respect, the woman is a mechanic, not a handwriting analyst.”
Frankie leaned toward him.
“And with respect, you look like a funeral director who charges by the relative.”
The bald bodyguard looked at the floor.
Gabriel’s mouth twitched again.
Rinaldi did not appreciate the joke.
Gabriel tapped the folder.
“Pull the video from the game.”
Rinaldi hesitated.
Frankie saw it.
So did Gabriel.
“Is there a problem?”
“The cameras in that room were undergoing maintenance.”
Gabriel became very still.
“When?”
“That evening.”
“All cameras?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Approximately four hours.”
“The exact four hours Bellomo was there?”
Rinaldi adjusted his cuff.
“Unfortunately.”
Gabriel stood.
The room seemed to shrink.
“Leave.”
“Gabriel—”
“I said leave.”
Rinaldi went.
The door closed.
Frankie stared after him.
“He’s lying.”
Gabriel looked toward the rain.
“Yes.”
The admission surprised her.
“Then the debt—”
“Your brother still borrowed money.”
“But maybe not three hundred thousand.”
“Possibly.”
“And you were going to take my garage based on documents you didn’t verify?”
Gabriel turned.
“I believed they had been verified.”
“That’s convenient.”
“No. It’s unacceptable.”
Something about his tone changed.
For the first time, Frankie heard anger.
Not at her.
At himself.
He picked up the black folder.
“The transfer is suspended.”
Frankie blinked.
“What?”
“No deed changes until I know exactly what happened.”
“And Leo?”
“His debt collection is suspended too.”
Her shoulders loosened before she could stop them.
“For how long?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
“That’s it?”
“In my world, forty-eight hours is generous.”
“In mine, it’s Thursday.”
Gabriel stared.
Then he laughed again.
Frankie hated that she liked the sound.
She turned toward the elevator.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“No.”
Frankie looked over her shoulder.
“There’s that word again.”
“If Rinaldi manipulated the debt, then someone wanted me focused on your garage.”
“So?”
“So I want to know why.”
“I already told you. Land.”
Gabriel shook his head.
“I wanted that property six months ago. I made two offers through legitimate development companies. Your father’s estate rejected both.”
Frankie frowned.
“I never saw any offers.”
“Exactly.”
Cold moved through her.
Gabriel continued.
“Someone intercepted them.”
Frankie’s pulse quickened.
“Why?”
“I intend to find out.”
“And that means what for me?”
“It means you do not go back to that garage alone.”
She laughed.
“Absolutely not.”
“Francesca.”
“Frankie.”
“Frankie.” He stepped closer. “Your brother was beaten by someone who wanted him frightened. Documents were forged. Surveillance was disabled. Someone inside my organization is involved.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“It became yours when they used Leo.”
“My garage is still mine.”
“I am aware.”
“And I don’t need protection.”
Gabriel looked at her for several seconds.
“Everyone needs protection from something.”
“I’ve survived twenty-nine years without a mafia babysitter.”
“You have also survived twenty-nine years without becoming useful to whoever is stealing from me.”
That stopped her.
“Stealing?”
“The difference between Leo’s real debt and the amount recorded has to go somewhere.”
Frankie slowly turned back.
“You think this is bigger than us.”
“I know it is.”
Gabriel reached for his jacket.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you home.”
She stared.
“No.”
“Then my men will.”
“No.”
“Then I will have them follow you without telling you.”
“You just told me.”
“I’m having an unusually transparent evening.”
She opened her mouth.
His phone rang.
Gabriel glanced at the screen.
His expression changed instantly.
He answered.
“What?”
Silence.
Then:
“When?”
Another pause.
His eyes moved to Frankie.
“Is anyone inside?”
Frankie felt a chill before he said another word.
Gabriel slowly lowered the phone.
“What happened?”
He did not answer immediately.
“What happened, Gabriel?”
His voice was quiet.
“Your garage alarm triggered three minutes ago.”
Frankie grabbed her jacket.
“Someone broke in?”
Gabriel reached for her arm.
She jerked away.
“I’m going.”
“So am I.”
They were already moving toward the elevator when his phone sounded again.
He stopped.
A photograph had appeared on the screen.
Frankie saw it over his shoulder.
The front window of Bellomo Auto had been smashed.
The office was destroyed.
Drawers overturned.
Files scattered.
But whoever entered had not touched the cash register.
They had not stolen the tools.
They had not taken the diagnostic computers.
They had gone directly to the old framed photograph hanging beside her father’s desk.
And beneath the empty space where that photograph used to hang, someone had spray-painted six words across the wall.
Frankie read them twice.
Then a third time.
Her blood went cold.
WE KNOW WHAT YOUR FATHER HID.
Gabriel stared at the photograph.
Frankie whispered, “My father’s been dead for five years.”
Gabriel’s face lost every trace of amusement.
“I know.”
She looked at him.
And for the first time that night, Gabriel Costa looked afraid.
Not for himself.
May you like
For her.
---
