Chapter 1 - The Midnight Phone Call That Made the Most Feared Man in Chicago Realize His Secretary Was Being HuntedThe private phone beside Dominic Romano’s bed rang at 2:03 in the morning, and before he heard a single word, he knew something had gone terribly wrong.
Only three people had the number.
Two of them were dead.
Dominic sat upright in the dark bedroom of his Chicago penthouse, one hand already reaching for the receiver while the other swept instinctively toward the nightstand drawer where he kept a weapon.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, rain blurred the city into streaks of silver and amber.
He had spent twenty years learning not to panic.
Panic made men careless, and careless men did not survive long in his world.
“Yeah.”
For several seconds, no one answered.
Then he heard hospital sounds through the line—rubber soles squeaking across polished flooring, a distant intercom, the rhythmic electronic pulse of a monitor.
And breathing.
Uneven.
Shaking.
“Mr. Romano?”
Dominic froze.
Clara Bennett had worked for him for five years, and he had never heard fear in her voice.
She could negotiate with furious contractors without raising hers.
She could find six million missing dollars in a stack of financial reports before breakfast.
She remembered birthdays Dominic had forgotten, meetings he had never written down, and the names of the wives of men who would have considered forgetting an insult unforgivable.
Clara did not panic.
Clara solved panic for other people.
But now her voice sounded thin enough to break.
“Where are you?”
“I’m sorry to call the private line.”
“Clara.”
“I lost my phone.”
“Where are you?”
A small pause.
“Lakeview Medical Center. Emergency department.”
Dominic was already out of bed.
“What happened?”
Another pause, longer this time.
“I think somebody tried to kill me.”
He stopped with one arm inside a black dress shirt.
The room seemed to shrink around him.
“Say that again.”
“I was driving home over Halsted Bridge. A black SUV came off the entrance ramp behind me. It hit my rear quarter panel three times. The third impact put me through the guardrail.”
Dominic buttoned his shirt with deliberate hands.
“Did you see the driver?”
“No.”
“Did they stop?”
“They stopped long enough to watch my car go down the embankment.”
Her voice broke on the final word.
That was all Dominic needed.
“I’m coming.”
“You don’t have to—”
He hung up.
Twelve minutes later, a dark Audi slid through rain outside Lakeview Medical Center and stopped beneath the emergency entrance.
Dominic left it where it was, ignoring an orderly shouting that he could not park there.
Inside, the emergency room was overflowing with the ordinary disasters of a large American city.
A college student held a towel to his bleeding forehead.
A mother rocked a feverish toddler.
Two paramedics pushed an elderly man past the triage station.
Dominic walked straight to the desk.
The nurse looked exhausted enough to argue with anyone.
Then she looked at him.
“Sir, you need to—”
“Clara Bennett.”
Something in his voice stopped her.
“She came in after a motor vehicle accident.”
The nurse checked her monitor.
“Are you family?”
Dominic did not hesitate.
“I’m the only family she has.”
It was a lie.
Technically.
But when the nurse pointed toward Bay Four, Dominic discovered that the lie did not feel like one.
He pulled the curtain aside and saw Clara sitting upright on the edge of a narrow hospital bed.
For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Dominic Romano forgot what he had intended to say.
Her ash-blond hair, always pinned neatly at the office, was tangled with rain and dried mud.
Butterfly closures covered a cut near her left temple.
Her beige coat was torn at the shoulder, and bruising spread across the pale skin above her collarbone.
She held a paper cup of water in both hands because one hand alone shook too badly.
When she saw him, her shoulders dropped.
Only slightly.
But Dominic noticed.
Then the professional mask returned.
“Mr. Romano. Again, I apologize for disturbing you. The quarterly reports are still in my car, assuming they can retrieve the vehicle. I already emailed the revised logistics numbers, and tomorrow’s eight-thirty meeting—”
“Stop.”
Clara stared at him.
Dominic stepped inside and closed the curtain.
“The business does not exist tonight.”
“But—”
“Clara.”
Her mouth closed.
He approached carefully.
Dominic had frightened thousands of people in his life, sometimes intentionally.
He had no desire to frighten her now.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
She looked down at the water.
“The SUV was waiting. I didn’t realize it until the second impact. The first time, I thought the driver had lost control. Then it hit me again.”
“Third impact?”
“Perfectly placed.”
Dominic’s jaw hardened.
Clara understood cars well enough to know what that meant.
Not rage.
Not recklessness.
Technique.
“They pushed the rear of my sedan sideways,” she continued. “I hit the guardrail and went through it. The car rolled down the embankment and stopped against some trees.”
“How did you get out?”
“I was trapped.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
“A passerby saw the crash.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. He broke the rear window.”
“Name?”
“He left before the ambulance arrived.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“Only for a few seconds.”
“What did he look like?”
Clara swallowed.
“Gray coat. Dark hat.”
“Anything else?”
She closed her eyes.
“His hands.”
“What about them?”
“He had a scar across one palm.”
Dominic became very still.
“Anything else?”
Clara hesitated.
Then whispered:
“A ring.”
“What kind?”
“A black stone.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“Did you see the hand wearing it?”
“Yes.”
“Left or right?”
“Right.”
He looked at the bruises on her wrists.
“Clara.”
She looked at him.
“Were you followed before tonight?”
“I don't know.”
“Think.”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“About a week.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because I wasn't sure.”
Dominic's voice dropped.
“You should have told me anyway.”
She gave a bitter little smile.
“You don't exactly make people feel comfortable bringing you ordinary problems.”
“That wasn't an ordinary problem.”
She looked away.
“No.”
The curtain opened.
A doctor stepped in.
“She has a fractured wrist, two cracked ribs, and a mild concussion. No internal bleeding.”
Dominic nodded.
“Can she leave?”
The doctor looked at Clara.
“Technically. But she needs supervision.”
“I'll provide it.”
Clara immediately objected.
“No.”
Both men looked at her.
“I can go home.”
Dominic frowned.
“Absolutely not.”
“You don't get to decide.”
“You almost died.”
“So did hundreds of people you know.”
His expression hardened.
“This isn't about them.”
Clara looked at him.
“Then who is it about?”
He had no answer.
Not one he was prepared to say.
The truth was simple.
He had never considered her part of his world.
She was his secretary.
Efficient.
Reliable.
Professional.
She handled the parts of his life he considered too tedious to manage personally.
He knew she liked black coffee.
He knew she hated mint tea.
He knew she worked late without being asked.
He knew she sent flowers to the widows of men who worked for him.
But he did not know where she lived.
He did not know who she loved.
He did not know who she feared.
He had never asked.
That suddenly felt unforgivable.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
Clara stared.
“Why?”
“I need the address.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“My home is private.”
“You were attacked.”
“Exactly.”
Dominic paused.
She was right.
The person who attacked her might know where she lived.
He looked at the doctor.
“How long does she need observation?”
“Six hours.”
Dominic nodded.
“I'll wait.”
Clara stared.
“You don't have to.”
“I know.”
He pulled a chair beside the bed.
She looked at him as though he had become a different person.
“Your office is probably full of people.”
“It can wait.”
“Your meeting tomorrow—”
“Can wait.”
“The shipment from Detroit—”
“Can wait.”
She stared.
“You really are staying.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dominic looked at her.
“Because someone tried to kill you.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is tonight.”
She said nothing.
After a while, exhaustion took her.
Her eyes closed.
Dominic sat beside her.
Hours passed.
At 4:17, his chief of security, Marco, arrived.
Dominic stood.
“Report.”
“The vehicle was stolen twelve hours before the attack.”
“Plates?”
“Also stolen.”
“Driver?”
“Unknown.”
“Cameras?”
“Compromised.”
Dominic's face hardened.
“How many?”
“Six.”
“Inside knowledge.”
“Yes.”
“Who had access to Clara's schedule?”
Marco hesitated.
“Almost everyone in the executive office.”
Dominic looked at Clara asleep behind the curtain.
“Not anymore.”
“What do you want?”
“Freeze every internal account. Pull every badge log from the last six months. And quietly investigate every person who has had access to her calendar.”
Marco nodded.
Then he stopped.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“There is something else.”
“Say it.”
“We found her car.”
“And?”
“There was a note on the windshield.”
Marco handed him a plastic evidence sleeve.
Dominic opened it.
Five words.
YOU MISSED HER THE FIRST TIME.
He stared.
“What's that mean?”
Marco shook his head.
“No idea.”
Dominic looked at Clara.
A memory surfaced.
Five years earlier.
The first day she had interviewed for the job.
She had brought the wrong resume.
Apologized.
Then somehow remembered every number on the page after reading it once.
Dominic had hired her on the spot.
She had never asked about his reputation.
Never asked about his money.
Never looked at him with fear.
She had simply done the work.
At the time, he thought that was unusual.
Now he realized something else.
She had never acted like a woman who was unaware of danger.
She had acted like a woman who was very good at surviving it.
At 5:33 a.m., Clara woke.
Dominic was still there.
“You stayed.”
“Yes.”
“You look terrible.”
“I get told that often.”
She smiled faintly.
Then she saw the evidence bag in his hand.
“What is that?”
“Someone left a message.”
She read the note.
Her face changed.
“You know what it means.”
Dominic watched her.
“No.”
She looked away.
“You're lying.”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know if I should frighten you.”
She looked at him.
“I think someone has been frightening me for months.”
That was the moment Dominic understood.
Clara wasn't merely a target.
She was hiding something.
And if he wanted to keep her alive, he needed to learn what it was before the people hunting her reached her again.
At sunrise, Dominic made one decision.
He canceled every meeting.
He closed every route.
He ordered surveillance on every person in his organization.
And he took Clara to his private residence.
She protested all the way there.
But she had no idea that while she slept in the car, Dominic was already beginning a war.
Not against the people who attacked her.
Against the people who had been watching her for years.
And somewhere across the city, an old man looked at a photograph of Clara.
Beside it was a second photograph.
A little girl.
Taken twenty-three years earlier.
The same eyes.
The same smile.
The same woman.
The only difference was the name written underneath.
May you like
Elena Romano.
The name of Dominic's dead sister.
Related Stories
