Chapter 1 - The Wrong Room And The Perfect Alibi
The Palmer House Hilton in downtown Chicago was a beacon of historic luxury. To Khloe Henderson, at 2:40 in the morning, it was a gilded cage of exhaustion.
She had spent the last forty-eight hours running on black coffee and adrenaline as senior coordinator for the Opulent Winds of Change charity gala. When the final guest had stumbled out of the grand ballroom at 2:30, her entire body had felt like lead.
Her company had comped her a room for the night. Room 414.
Toby, the night manager, handed her the magnetic key card through a yawn he did not bother to hide. His eyes were as bloodshot as hers. Neither of them noticed the slight printing error on the small cardboard sleeve.
She dragged her heels across the plush patterned carpet of the fourth floor and barely glanced at the brass numbers.
She swiped the card against the lock of room 412.
The light flashed green. The heavy oak door clicked open.
The suite was suffocatingly dark and smelled faintly of expensive sandalwood and sharp whiskey.
Khloe did not bother turning on the lights. She kicked off her heels, unzipped her black pencil skirt, and let it pool on the floor. Clad only in her silk slip, she crawled into the massive king-sized bed, pulled the heavy duvet over her head, and instantly lost consciousness.
She did not feel the sudden dip in the mattress an hour later.
She did not hear the hushed, urgent voices in the hallway, or the subtle click of a customized Glock 19 being set on the mahogany nightstand.
When Khloe woke up, it was not to the sound of her alarm.
It was the sensation of cold, unforgiving steel pressed firmly beneath her chin.
Her eyes snapped open. The morning light filtering through the heavy drapes illuminated a nightmare: straddling her waist, pinning her down with terrifying ease, was a man who looked like he had stepped out of a fashion magazine and into a war zone.
Sharp aristocratic features. Piercing gray eyes. Dark hair falling over a bruised brow. A crisp tailored white dress shirt, collar unbuttoned, tie missing.
"Don't scream," the man said.
His voice was a low, raspy baritone that sent a shockwave of terror straight down her spine.
"If you make a sound, the cleaning staff will be scrubbing you out of this Egyptian cotton."
Khloe could not speak. Her vocal cords were paralyzed. She gave a frantic, jerky nod.
He studied her face, his gaze calculating and cold.
"Who sent you?"
"I—"
"Was it the Morettis? Tell me how you got past Dante."
"I don't know who Dante is."
It came out choked. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran into her ear.
"I'm Khloe. Khloe Henderson. I'm an event planner. I'm supposed to be in room 414."
The man paused.
He glanced over his shoulder.
"Dante."
The bathroom door swung open and a towering man in a dark suit stepped out. He held Khloe's discarded key card sleeve in his massive scarred hand.
"She's telling the truth, boss. Sleeve says 414. Card is coded for 412. Front desk made a mistake."
The man holding the gun slowly lowered it, though he did not move off her. He let out a harsh, cynical laugh.
"A mistake. A civilian sleeps in my bed, and it's a clerical error."
He finally stepped off the bed and holstered his weapon beneath his jacket.
Khloe scrambled backward, pulling the duvet up to her chin, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Get dressed, Khloe Henderson," the man ordered, adjusting his cuffs.
"Please." Her voice trembled. "I won't say anything. I don't even know who you are."
Dante snorted from the corner of the room.
"You really don't read the papers, do you, sweetheart?"
The man shot Dante a silencing look before turning his piercing gray eyes back to her.
"My name is Dominic Castile. And as much as I'd love to let you walk out that door, you've complicated my morning."
Khloe's blood ran cold.
Dominic Castile. She did not read the Financial Times, but living in Chicago, everyone knew the Castile name. Officially, real estate moguls, owning half the property on the Magnificent Mile. Unofficially, the whispers painted them as the modern-day mafia — untouchable, ruthless, and absolutely lethal.
Before she could beg for her life, a sharp, rhythmic pounding echoed against the suite door.
"Chicago PD. Open up."
Dominic's jaw clenched. Dante moved toward his weapon, but Dominic held up a hand.
He looked at the door, then back at Khloe, trembling against the headboard. A dark, dangerous idea sparked in his eyes.
"Dante. Adjoining room."
Dominic stepped toward the bed and took her bare shoulders in a surprisingly gentle but firm grip.
"Listen to me very carefully, Khloe. Two floors down, Vincent Moretti was found with a bullet in his head at exactly 3:15 this morning. The police are here to arrest me for it."
Khloe gasped.
"Did you—"
"It doesn't matter."
He cut her off, his face inches from hers.
"What matters is that at 3:15 a.m. you were in this bed. Which means I was in this bed with you."
"No." Khloe panicked. "No, I can't lie to the police. I can't be involved in this—"
"You are involved."
His voice dropped to a terrifying whisper.
"You are my alibi, Khloe. You are going to tell them that we spent the entire night together. You're going to tell them it was passionate. It was loud. And I never left your sight."
"They'll never believe that."
The pounding on the door grew louder.
"Mr. Castile, open this door or we will breach it."
Dominic leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.
"They will if we make them believe it. Play along and you walk out of here alive. Cross me, and a wrong room key will be the least of your problems."
Khloe stared at him.
Her mind raced through every possible escape.
None existed.
"How am I supposed to do that?"
Dominic pulled away.
"Leave the talking to me. You just look embarrassed."
"I am embarrassed."
"Good. That part will come naturally."
She wanted to hate him.
Instead, she was too terrified.
Dominic opened the door.
Two officers stood outside.
One was a broad-shouldered man with silver hair.
The other was a younger detective holding a tablet.
"Mr. Castile."
Dominic smiled without warmth.
"Detective Avery."
Avery's eyes moved toward Khloe.
"Who is she?"
Dominic didn't hesitate.
"My guest."
Khloe's face burned.
"Your guest?"
Dominic glanced at her.
"Don't be shy now."
She almost strangled him.
Avery stepped inside.
"We need to ask some questions."
"Of course."
The detective looked at the bed.
Then the clothes on the floor.
Then at Khloe.
"What happened here?"
Khloe opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Dominic calmly answered.
"We met at the gala."
Avery frowned.
"At the charity event?"
"Yes."
"Why was she here?"
Dominic looked at Khloe.
"She came up with me."
Khloe swallowed.
Avery's expression turned skeptical.
"And you were together at 3:15?"
Dominic answered immediately.
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Hours."
"Can she verify that?"
Khloe forced herself to nod.
"Yes."
Her own voice sounded foreign.
Avery studied her.
"Ms. Henderson, are you aware that Mr. Castile is being investigated in connection with Vincent Moretti's death?"
She looked at Dominic.
For the first time, she noticed the bruise near his brow.
And a thin line of dried blood at the edge of his cuff.
Maybe he had killed Vincent.
Maybe he hadn't.
But she couldn't tell.
"I was in this room," she whispered.
Avery's eyes narrowed.
"All night?"
"Yes."
Dominic watched her carefully.
"She never left."
The younger detective asked, "Did you see anything unusual?"
Khloe hesitated.
Dominic's gaze held hers.
She remembered his warning.
Cross me, and a wrong room key will be the least of your problems.
She looked down.
"No."
The detectives stayed another five minutes.
They asked about the gala.
About the elevator.
About how she got into room 412.
Toby was eventually called.
The mistake was confirmed.
When the officers finally left, Khloe exhaled so hard she nearly collapsed.
Dominic locked the door.
Silence.
Then she exploded.
"You threatened me."
He turned.
"You lied to them."
"You made me lie."
"Yes."
"That isn't an apology."
"No."
Khloe grabbed her clothes.
"I am leaving."
"You can."
She stopped.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
She looked suspiciously at him.
"Why?"
"Because you're innocent."
"You don't act like it matters."
"It matters very much."
Dominic walked toward the window.
"That's why I need you alive."
Her skin prickled.
"Who else knows about me?"
"Several people."
"Why?"
"Because the police weren't the only ones looking for me last night."
Khloe slowly lowered her clothes.
"What do you mean?"
Dominic looked at her.
"Vincent Moretti was going to expose one of my companies."
"And you killed him?"
"No."
"Then who did?"
"I don't know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"No."
He reached for the phone.
"Dante."
Dante entered a moment later.
"Boss?"
"Show her."
Dante placed a tablet on the table.
Security footage.
The lobby.
1:48 a.m.
A man entered.
Khloe recognized him.
He had been at the gala.
Not as a guest.
As security.
Dante fast-forwarded.
The man went upstairs.
Room 414.
Then he waited.
At 2:31, Khloe arrived.
The footage showed her swiping the key.
But the man was gone before she reached the room.
Dante continued.
At 3:04, the same man entered room 412 using a different key.
Then he left at 3:11.
At 3:15, Vincent was found dead.
Khloe stared.
"Why was he in my room?"
"We don't know."
Dominic spoke quietly.
"But we know what he was looking for."
"What?"
Dante answered.
"A black notebook."
Khloe frowned.
"I don't have one."
Dominic studied her.
"We know."
"Then why me?"
He turned off the tablet.
"Because the notebook was originally supposed to be in your possession."
Khloe blinked.
"How?"
"Your company handled the gala auction."
"So?"
"One of the donated properties belonged to Vincent Moretti."
She nodded slowly.
"Yes."
"The deed was inside the auction packet."
"I delivered it to the legal team."
"No."
Dominic's voice sharpened.
"Someone replaced the deed."
Khloe remembered the documents.
The black leather folio.
The strange man who had asked her to sign for a package.
The late-night delivery she had accepted.
She looked up.
"Someone may have given me something."
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
Khloe went to her purse.
She pulled out a small black USB drive.
"I thought this was the guest registration backup."
Dante stepped forward.
Dominic stopped him.
"Don't touch it."
He looked at Khloe.
"Where did you get that?"
"From a courier."
"What courier?"
"I don't know."
Dominic looked at Dante.
Dante's face hardened.
"That's the notebook."
Khloe stared at the tiny device.
"What?"
"Digital copy."
Dominic walked toward her.
Khloe instinctively stepped backward.
He stopped.
"I need that."
She tightened her grip.
"Then answer one question."
"What?"
"What happens to me if I give it to you?"
Dominic looked directly into her eyes.
"You stop being a witness."
"And become what?"
His expression changed.
"A target."
Khloe stared at the USB drive.
Then at the door.
Then at the man who had forced her into the most dangerous lie of her life.
"I want protection."
Dominic nodded.
"You'll have it."
"Not from your men."
"Then who?"
"Me."
The answer came so quietly that she almost missed it.
May you like
Dominic stepped closer.
"I'll protect you myself."
