Chapter 2 - The Man Everyone Feared
The first thing Harper noticed was how calm Roman Vale remained.
Three black SUVs were coming down the concrete ramp toward them.
Roman's men moved immediately, opening doors, positioning themselves behind pillars, communicating with brief gestures Harper didn't understand.
Roman didn't even look over his shoulder.
His attention remained on her.
"Open the door."
Harper's fingers had gone numb.
"I don't know you."
"You know enough."
"I know people say you kill people."
One corner of Roman's mouth moved.
"This is a terrible time to investigate my reputation."
The lead SUV accelerated.
Roman's expression became flat.
"Harper."
Something in his voice finally broke through her panic.
She unlocked the door.
Roman opened it and extended his hand.
Harper stared at his palm.
Large.
Steady.
No tremor.
"Come with me."
A sharp crack echoed through the garage.
Harper screamed.
Roman grabbed her wrist and pulled her out.
"Down."
He turned his body between Harper and the incoming vehicles.
His driver, a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head, opened the rear door of Roman's sedan.
Roman shoved Harper toward it.
"Inside."
She stumbled into the seat.
Roman followed.
The car accelerated before the door had fully closed.
Harper slammed against leather.
"What is happening?"
"Seat belt."
"Roman—"
"Seat belt."
She grabbed it.
Behind them, another vehicle blocked the pursuing SUVs.
Harper heard shouting.
Then metal striking metal.
The sedan shot up the opposite garage exit.
Within seconds, they were speeding through downtown Chicago.
Harper stared through the rear window.
"Your men—"
"Know their jobs."
"Are they going to shoot those people?"
Roman looked at her.
"Would you prefer those people shoot you?"
Harper faced forward again.
"No."
"Then allow my employees some professional independence."
His tone was dry enough that Harper almost thought she had imagined it.
She turned toward him.
"You knew who I was."
"Yes."
"You knew Derek."
"Yes."
"You knew those men were coming."
"Approximately."
"Then start talking."
Roman's eyebrows lifted.
Harper's fear sharpened into anger.
"I just caught my fiancé sleeping with my best friend. Then I accidentally sent a stranger a photograph, except the stranger somehow knew my full name, knew Derek's name, knew about financial accounts attached to me, and knew someone was about to break into my apartment."
Her voice cracked.
She hated that.
Roman's expression softened slightly.
Harper continued.
"I deserve an explanation."
"You do."
"Then give me one."
Roman glanced toward the driver.
"Take the lower route."
The driver nodded.
Roman turned back.
"Derek Langdon is a financial consultant."
"I know what he does."
"You know what he told you he does."
Harper went still.
Roman folded his hands.
"Derek specializes in moving money."
"For clients."
"For criminals."
Harper stared.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Harper."
"He's annoying. He's controlling. Apparently he's a cheating bastard. But he's not—"
"A criminal?"
Roman held her gaze.
"People who commit financial crimes rarely introduce themselves that way."
Harper looked down at her hands.
"Derek told me he advises private investment groups."
"He does."
Roman paused.
"He just neglected to mention what those groups invest in."
Harper swallowed.
"And me?"
"Derek needed accounts without his name directly attached."
A sick feeling spread through her stomach.
"The mortgage paperwork."
"Possibly."
"He had me sign things."
"How many?"
"I don't know."
Roman's jaw tightened.
"Think."
"Maybe six? Eight?"
"Did you read them?"
Harper looked away.
Roman understood immediately.
"Why not?"
The question wasn't cruel.
That made it worse.
"Because he told me I was being difficult."
Silence filled the car.
Harper laughed bitterly.
"He said married people trust each other."
Roman stared out the window for several seconds.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"Derek chose you because you trusted him."
Harper closed her eyes.
The sentence landed harder than she expected.
Not because Roman was cruel.
Because it explained too much.
Derek's urgency about marriage.
The financial paperwork.
The insistence that Harper let him organize their accounts.
Even his habit of checking her mail.
"What money?" she whispered.
Roman's gaze returned.
"Mine."
Harper opened her eyes.
"How much?"
"Enough."
"That's not a number."
"Seventeen million dollars disappeared through a sequence of holding companies."
Harper stared.
"Seventeen million?"
"Yes."
"And my name is on them?"
"At least two."
Her chest constricted.
"I didn't take anything."
"I know."
"How?"
"Because someone stealing seventeen million dollars doesn't usually spend Tuesday afternoon comparing coupons for groceries."
Harper blinked.
"How do you know where I was?"
"My people were watching Derek."
The implication hit her.
"You were watching my apartment?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Three weeks."
Harper's face heated.
"You watched me?"
"My surveillance team watched entrances and exits."
"That's creepy."
"It kept you alive."
"That doesn't make it less creepy."
A faint spark appeared in Roman's eyes.
"Fair."
Harper folded her arms tightly.
"Why didn't you warn me earlier?"
"Because until today I wasn't certain whether you were involved."
She froze.
"You thought I helped him?"
"I consider every possibility."
"And now?"
"Now I don't."
"Because I sent you a photo of my fiancé cheating?"
"Because your first message wasn't about money."
Harper stared at him.
Roman continued.
"If you knew about Derek's operation, being surprised by infidelity would have been an impressive performance."
"Maybe I'm an impressive actress."
"You're not."
Harper glared.
Roman added, "Your hands are still shaking."
She immediately tucked them beneath her arms.
For the first time, Roman almost smiled.
Then Harper remembered Derek's call.
"Kinsley."
Roman's expression cooled again.
"What about her?"
"She was still upstairs."
"Yes."
"Those men found them."
"Likely."
"Are they alive?"
Roman didn't answer immediately.
Harper grabbed his sleeve.
"Roman."
His gaze dropped to her fingers on his arm.
Harper released him.
"Sorry."
He looked back at her face.
"I don't know."
Harper felt sick.
She hated Kinsley.
At least, she thought she did.
But hatred was one thing.
Wanting someone dead was another.
"What happens now?"
"We keep you somewhere safe."
"No."
Roman's brows lifted.
"I am not disappearing into some mafia dungeon."
His driver coughed.
Roman looked toward him.
The driver focused intensely on the road.
Roman returned his gaze to Harper.
"I don't have a dungeon."
"That sounds exactly like something a man with a dungeon would say."
This time the driver's shoulders visibly moved.
Harper realized he was trying not to laugh.
Roman's expression remained severe.
For three seconds.
Then a quiet breath escaped his nose.
"You're remarkably argumentative for someone I rescued twelve minutes ago."
"You kidnapped me."
"You got into my car willingly."
"After people shot at us."
"Technical distinction."
Harper stared.
"Where are you taking me?"
"My residence."
"Absolutely not."
"It's secure."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"I want police."
Roman's gaze hardened.
"I have people inside Chicago law enforcement. So do the men who attacked you."
Harper went quiet.
"Who are they?"
"An organization led by Viktor Saran."
The name meant nothing to Harper.
Roman continued.
"Until recently, Saran and I had a financial agreement. Derek was managing transfers between companies used by both sides."
"And he stole from both of you?"
"Apparently."
"That's unbelievably stupid."
Roman looked at her.
"On that subject, we agree."
Harper rubbed her forehead.
"Why would Derek put my name on anything?"
"Insurance."
"Against what?"
"Against everyone."
Roman leaned back.
"If the theft was discovered, records would point toward you. He could claim you controlled the accounts."
Harper couldn't breathe.
"He was going to blame me."
"Yes."
She thought of wedding invitations on her dining table.
Her mother's dress hanging at home.
The venue deposit.
The small notebook in which Harper had written possible first-dance songs.
Derek hadn't simply cheated.
He had built a trap around her.
Roman watched her face.
His voice became lower.
"Whatever happens next, understand something clearly."
Harper looked at him.
"You did not cause this."
Her throat tightened.
Roman continued.
"Derek chose you because you were useful to him. That makes him a predator. It does not make you foolish."
Harper stared at this dangerous stranger.
Her own fiancé had spent years convincing her that every flaw in their relationship belonged to her.
Yet Roman Vale, a man half Chicago feared, had known her less than an hour and spoken to her with more dignity than Derek had in months.
The sedan turned through iron gates beneath a high-rise on the river.
Security barriers rose.
Two guards checked the vehicle.
Then another set of reinforced doors opened.
Harper whispered, "What is this place?"
"My home."
The private elevator carried them directly to the forty-third floor.
When the doors opened, Harper expected dark marble, weapons, maybe some theatrical criminal palace.
Instead she found warm wood, floor-to-ceiling glass, pale stone, bookshelves, art, and Chicago glittering beneath the evening sky.
Roman removed his coat.
"Guest suite is upstairs."
"I'm not staying."
"You are tonight."
"Roman—"
A man entered rapidly from a side hallway.
Early thirties.
Dark suit.
Tablet in hand.
"Boss."
Roman turned.
"What?"
The man's eyes flicked to Harper.
"We confirmed the apartment."
Harper's stomach clenched.
"Derek?"
The man hesitated.
Roman's voice hardened.
"Speak."
"Derek's gone."
Harper blinked.
"Gone?"
"We found blood, but no body."
"And Kinsley?"
"Missing."
Roman's expression became unreadable.
The man continued.
"There's more."
He handed Roman the tablet.
Roman studied the screen.
Harper watched his jaw tighten.
"What?"
Roman didn't answer.
"Roman."
He looked at her.
"The account attached to your name moved money forty-three minutes ago."
Harper felt cold.
"I've been with you."
"I know."
"Then someone else accessed it."
"Yes."
"Who?"
Roman turned the tablet toward her.
A security photograph showed a person entering a bank office earlier that afternoon.
Baseball cap.
Dark glasses.
But Harper recognized the coat.
The posture.
The handbag.
Her heart stopped.
"No."
Roman's eyes stayed on her.
The woman in the photograph was the person Harper had trusted almost as much as Derek.
Kinsley.
And according to the timestamp, she had moved three million dollars through an account registered to Harper Quinn.
Thirty minutes before Harper caught her in bed with Derek.
Kinsley hadn't simply betrayed her.
She had been part of the plan.
Roman's phone buzzed.
He read the message.
Then every trace of warmth disappeared from his face.
"What?" Harper whispered.
Roman looked toward the windows.
"Security breach."
The lights went out.
The penthouse dropped into darkness.
And somewhere downstairs, glass shattered.
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Continue to Chapter 3…
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