Chapter 1 - The Office Mouse Gets Invited To The Lion's Den
He only invited her to be the punchline of a cruel joke.
The ruthless head of the city's underworld expected his stumbling, oversized-sweater-wearing secretary to embarrass herself. Instead, she stepped out of the black town car dripping in diamonds and secrets — and turned his entire empire upside down.
Dominic Russo ran the Chicago underworld from a corner office on the forty-fifth floor of the Willis Tower. To the public and the IRS, he was the CEO of Russo Global Logistics, a high-end freight and shipping empire.
To the syndicates, cartels, and corrupt politicians of the Midwest, he was judge, jury, and executioner of the city's illicit trade. He wore tailored Brioni suits, drank exclusively Macallan twenty-five, and did not tolerate incompetence — which was why everyone in his inner circle was thoroughly baffled by his executive assistant, Penelope Hayes.
Penelope was, by all accounts, a walking disaster. She hid her figure beneath oversized, mismatched beige and mustard-yellow cardigans. Her thick tortoiseshell glasses were perpetually sliding down the bridge of her nose. She walked with a nervous, hurried hunch, as if apologizing to the floor for stepping on it.
"I still don't understand why you haven't fired her," Mateo Valente muttered, swirling a glass of Blanton's bourbon. Mateo was Dominic's underboss — a man whose tailored suits barely hid the violence coiled in his muscles.
Dominic didn't look up from the manifest he was reviewing. "She types ninety words a minute, Mateo. She organizes my schedule with terrifying efficiency. And she is the only assistant who hasn't tried to sleep with me, steal from me, or wear perfume that gives me a migraine."
Right on cue, a loud crash echoed from the hallway. A moment later Penelope scurried into the office, face burning crimson, clutching a stack of files to her chest like a shield. A dark brown stain of fresh espresso was spreading across the front of her white blouse.
"I am so, so sorry, Mr. Russo." She pushed her slipping glasses back up her nose. "I tripped over the edge of the Persian rug. I'll have a replacement coffee for you in three minutes. Please don't dock my pay."
Mateo chuckled darkly from the leather armchair. "Careful, Penny. The boss might make you swim in Lake Michigan for that."
Penelope squeaked, her eyes widening in genuine terror.
"Enough, Mateo," Dominic said smoothly. He studied her flushed, panicked face. "Just leave the files, Penelope, and try to make it back to your desk without injuring yourself."
She practically sprinted to his desk, slammed the files down, knocked over a gold-plated pen holder, apologized profusely to the pens, and bolted.
Mateo burst into laughter the moment the door clicked shut. "She's incredible. I've never seen a human being so afraid of their own shadow. She doesn't belong here, Dom. She's a liability."
"She's harmless."
"Harmless?" Mateo leaned forward, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "She's a joke. In fact, I'll bet you my vintage 1967 Shelby GT500 that she couldn't survive one hour in our world."
Dominic paused.
"Take her to the Palmer House gala tomorrow night." The annual underground gala was an invitation-only dinner in the private, heavily guarded ballrooms of the historic hotel — a viper's nest of corrupt judges, syndicate heads, Russian oligarchs, and cartel liaisons. Wives and mistresses who attended were sharp, dangerous women draped in haute couture.
"Take Penelope to the Palmer House," Mateo repeated. "You bring the office mouse, let her wear one of her terrible sweaters. We watch her embarrass herself. We get a good laugh, and I keep my car." He grinned. "But if you don't do it — if you back out — you give me the keys to your Aston Martin."
Dominic looked toward the closed office door. He was a ruthless man, devoid of much empathy. The idea of using his terrified secretary as a prop for a high-stakes joke was cruel — but cruelty was the currency of his world. Besides, the tension with the local Russian factions had been mounting. A harmless distraction at the gala might lighten the mood among his men.
"Fine," Dominic said, setting his pen down. "Consider it a bet."
He pressed the intercom. "Penelope, come in here."
Seconds later the door creaked open. Penelope peeked in, her hair frizzing slightly at the temples.
"Yes, Mr. Russo. I'm getting the coffee right now."
"Forget the coffee." His voice was a low, authoritative rumble. "Sit down."
She scurried over and perched on the very edge of one of the velvet guest chairs, clutching her hands in her lap.
"There is an important corporate dinner tomorrow evening at the Palmer House Hilton," Dominic lied effortlessly. "My usual plus-one is unavailable. I need you to accompany me. Strictly business. You will take notes on the attendees and ensure my schedule is maintained."
Penelope blinked, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Me? A dinner? But Mr. Russo — my wardrobe isn't exactly suited for the Palmer House. And I'm not very good at small talk."
"You don't need to talk." Dominic's voice was cold. "You just need to be there. I'll have a car pick you up at your apartment at seven. Don't be late."
She swallowed hard, looking entirely defeated. "Yes, sir."
As she retreated, Mateo snickered. "This is going to be the easiest Shelby I've ever won. I can't wait to see what hideous cardigan she pairs with her sensible orthopedics."
Dominic didn't laugh. For a brief, fleeting fraction of a second, he felt a strange prickle of unease at the back of his neck.
He quickly dismissed it. It was a joke, nothing more.
By seven the next evening, Dominic had almost forgotten the bet.
His office had been busy all day. Two shipments had disappeared from a warehouse on the South Side. A courier connected to the Russo network had been found unconscious in an alley. The Russians had made another demand about territory near the river.
And then his phone buzzed.
The driver waiting downstairs had sent a message.
She's here.
Dominic looked up from his desk.
"Who?"
His driver replied with one sentence.
Ms. Hayes.
Something about the answer made Dominic stand.
He descended to the private garage with Mateo beside him.
"Ready to laugh?" Mateo asked.
"No."
"You look nervous."
"I'm not."
The black town car waited beneath the concrete ceiling.
The rear door opened.
Dominic looked at the woman stepping out.
And forgot the next word he intended to say.
The cardigan was gone.
So were the oversized glasses.
Penelope wore a midnight-blue gown that flowed from her shoulders to the floor with understated elegance. A strand of diamonds rested at her throat. Tiny diamond earrings caught the garage lights. Her dark hair was swept back, revealing a face Dominic had never really looked at before.
She wasn't transformed into someone else.
She was simply no longer hiding.
Mateo went silent.
Dominic stared.
Penelope stopped two feet away and folded her hands.
"Mr. Russo?"
His eyes moved over her once, then back to her face.
"Penelope."
"Yes."
"You..."
He stopped.
She looked embarrassed.
"I know. I don't normally dress like this."
"Apparently."
Her lips twitched.
"I didn't think it was necessary at work."
Mateo finally recovered enough to whistle.
"Damn."
Penelope looked at him.
"Is something wrong?"
Mateo grinned.
"Nothing at all, Penny."
Dominic's eyes remained on her.
"Who helped you choose this?"
"My grandmother."
"Your grandmother."
"Yes."
He couldn't explain why the answer irritated him.
They entered the ballroom.
For the first ten minutes, Dominic assumed the surprise would wear off.
It didn't.
Heads turned.
Conversations paused.
Men who normally ignored everyone but themselves watched Penelope walk past.
Then a waiter approached carrying a bouquet.
"Ms. Hayes?"
Penelope blinked.
"Yes?"
"These were delivered for you."
Dominic looked down.
White roses.
Twenty-four of them.
A silver card attached.
Penelope's face changed when she saw them.
Dominic noticed.
"Who sent those?"
She looked at the card.
"I... don't know."
He held out his hand.
"Give me that."
She hesitated.
"Mr. Russo—"
"Now."
She handed him the card.
No name.
Only six words.
YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL WHEN YOU STOP HIDING.
Dominic's jaw tightened.
Mateo laughed quietly.
"This just got interesting."
Dominic handed the card to his security man.
"Find out who sent them."
Penelope frowned.
"There's no need."
"Do not argue."
"But—"
He leaned closer.
"Who bought you those flowers?"
Her eyes lifted to his.
"I don't know."
For the first time all evening, there was a crack in her composure.
Fear.
Real fear.
Not of Dominic.
Of the flowers.
He noticed.
"Penelope."
She forced a smile.
"I'm fine."
He didn't believe her.
Before he could ask more, an elderly man approached.
"Ms. Hayes."
Penelope stiffened.
The man's smile was polite.
"Lucien Moretti."
Dominic immediately recognized him.
Moretti controlled half of the private gambling rooms in Chicago.
"What do you want?"
The older man smiled.
"Nothing from you."
His eyes moved to Penelope.
"I'm simply pleased to see the Hayes family represented again."
Penelope's face went white.
Dominic turned toward her.
"Hayes family?"
Lucien's smile disappeared when he realized his mistake.
Penelope recovered quickly.
"I think Mr. Moretti is mistaken."
"No," Lucien said quietly.
He looked at Dominic.
"Not mistaken."
Then he walked away.
Dominic's eyes followed him.
Mateo leaned close.
"Who the hell is she?"
Dominic didn't answer.
He was asking himself the same question.
Ten minutes later, the ballroom lights dimmed.
Music began.
Dominic held out a hand.
Penelope stared at it.
"Are you asking me to dance?"
"Yes."
"I thought I'm supposed to take notes."
"Forget the notes."
She placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers.
Warm.
Steady.
Surprisingly delicate.
They moved across the floor.
"You are very good at this," she whispered.
"I've had practice."
"You don't look nervous."
"I'm not."
"Then why are you holding me so tightly?"
Dominic looked down.
His hand had indeed tightened at her waist.
He loosened it.
"Sorry."
She smiled.
Then someone passed behind them.
A man whispered near Penelope's ear.
"Your father would have been proud."
Penelope froze.
Dominic saw it.
She pulled away.
"Excuse me."
She disappeared through a side door.
Dominic followed.
The hallway was empty.
He found a locked service door.
He tried the handle.
Nothing.
Then, from the other side, he heard Penelope's voice.
"Please."
A man's voice answered.
"You know why you're here."
Dominic's expression went cold.
He broke the lock.
The room inside was dark.
Penelope stood against the wall.
And a man Dominic had never seen held a knife against her throat.
Dominic's gun was in his hand before the man could turn.
"Drop it."
The man smiled.
"You're already too late, Russo."
"What?"
"She wasn't brought here to embarrass herself."
The man looked at Penelope.
"She was brought here because she's the last person alive who knows where the ledger is."
Then he disappeared through the emergency exit.
Dominic turned to Penelope.
"What ledger?"
She looked at him with tears in her eyes.
May you like
And for the first time since he had hired her, she stopped pretending to be harmless.
"Your father's ledger."
