Chapter 2 - THE WARNING
“Touch her again,” Dominic said, “and you’ll find out how little your father’s name protects you.”
For a moment, nobody seemed to understand whom he was addressing.
Then Dominic turned toward Vivien.
Her mouth fell open. Butter dripped from the ends of her platinum hair, and a streak of garlic sauce ran down her cheek. She looked less like Boston’s most photographed socialite than someone who had fallen face-first into a kitchen accident.
“You can’t be serious.” She pointed at Khloe. “She attacked me!”
“You struck her first.”
“She ruined my dress!”
“And you put your hands on her.”
Dominic’s voice never rose. That made it worse. His four bodyguards lowered their weapons only after Matteo, the lead guard, gave them a barely perceptible nod.
Khloe stood frozen beside the table.
She had expected a bullet, an arrest, or Lorenzo dragging her through the kitchen while begging Dominic to forgive the restaurant. She had not expected the most dangerous man in Boston to defend her.
“Mr. Costello,” Lorenzo stammered, hurrying forward, “I deeply apologize for this unacceptable incident. Khloe is finished here. I’ll have her escorted out immediately.”
“No,” Dominic said.
Lorenzo stopped.
“No?”
“You heard me.”
Dominic took a folded white handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Khloe.
She stared at it.
“Your lip is bleeding.”
Only then did she realize she was still tasting blood. She accepted the handkerchief with trembling fingers.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me yet.”
His gaze shifted toward the restaurant’s security cameras.
“Matteo, secure the footage from every camera covering this dining room. Nobody deletes anything. Nobody copies anything without my authorization.”
Vivien scrambled to her feet.
“Dominic, stop humiliating me! My father will—”
“Your father can call me in the morning.”
“He’s a state senator!”
“And I own the building where his campaign headquarters rents three floors.”
The room went silent.
Dominic looked at Lorenzo.
“Bring me the original incident report. Not a version rewritten to protect your business.”
Lorenzo’s face drained of color.
Khloe noticed.
It was a tiny reaction, but it was unmistakable. The restaurant owner looked more frightened by that request than he had by four guns pointed across his dining room.
Dominic noticed her noticing.
“You know something about him?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you looking at him like that?”
“Because he looks like a man who knows something he doesn't want you to find out.”
A faint smile touched Dominic’s mouth.
For the first time that evening, Khloe saw something human behind his intimidating composure.
Vivien did not.
“You're enjoying this,” she snapped at Khloe. “You think he wants you? Look at yourself!”
Khloe's fingers tightened around the handkerchief.
“I don't think he wants anything from me.”
“Good. Because a man like Dominic doesn't choose women like you.”
Dominic stepped between them.
“That's enough.”
Vivien recoiled as though he had slapped her.
“You're defending a waitress over your own fiancée?”
“I’m reconsidering why you're my fiancée.”
The words struck harder than any insult.
Several diners lifted their heads above the tables. One man near the bar discreetly lowered his phone when Matteo looked in his direction.
Dominic turned back to Khloe.
“What’s your full name?”
“Khloe Bennett.”
His expression changed.
Not dramatically. Not enough for most people to notice. But Khloe saw his jaw tighten, and his eyes flick toward Lorenzo.
“Bennett,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Was your father Daniel Bennett?”
Khloe felt the blood drain from her face.
“How do you know my father?”
Dominic didn't answer immediately.
Lorenzo moved toward the kitchen exit.
Matteo intercepted him.
“Where are you going?” the bodyguard asked.
“To get the report.”
“You can wait.”
Dominic held Khloe's gaze.
“Your father worked for my uncle.”
“My father was an accountant.”
“Among other things.”
“He died twelve years ago.”
“I know.”
The casual certainty of those two words frightened her more than the guns had.
Dominic reached into his jacket and removed a small, worn photograph. He studied it for a moment before placing it on the table.
Khloe recognized her father instantly.
Daniel Bennett stood beside a younger Dominic Costello and an older man she had never seen before. Her father looked tense, his arm wrapped around a leather briefcase.
On the back, someone had written a date.
April 17, 2014.
Three weeks before Daniel died in a car crash.
“Where did you get that?” Khloe whispered.
“My uncle kept it in his private office.”
“Why?”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“Because your father disappeared with something that could destroy my family.”
Khloe shook her head.
“My father never stole anything.”
“I didn't say he did.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Before Dominic could answer, a sharp crash came from the kitchen.
Matteo drew his weapon and moved toward the sound.
Lorenzo was gone.
On the table beside Khloe's untouched water glass lay a torn piece of paper.
Dominic picked it up.
Only six words had been written on it.
SHE KNOWS WHERE THE LEDGER IS.
He looked at Khloe.
She had never seen the message before.
But as she read it, one terrible memory surfaced: her mother, feverish and frightened in a hospital bed, gripping Khloe's wrist and whispering that if anyone ever came asking about her father, she must never reveal what was hidden behind the loose brick.
Khloe had been sixteen.
She had promised.
Now Dominic Costello was looking at her as though her father's death had just become a living problem.
“Tell me something, Khloe,” he said quietly. “What did your father leave you?”
She swallowed.
“Nothing.”
Dominic glanced at the note again.
“Then somebody is willing to kill you for something you don't know you have.”
Outside, a car engine roared to life.
Matteo rushed to the window.
A black sedan tore away from the curb.
Dominic watched it disappear into the Boston night.
“Find Lorenzo,” he ordered. “And nobody lets her leave alone.”
Khloe stepped back.
“I don't need your protection.”
Dominic turned toward her.
“Tonight, four men pointed guns at your chest because you stood up for yourself. The next people who come looking for you may not give you time to stand.”
He held out his hand.
“Come with me.”
Khloe stared at it.
Then she looked at the photograph of her father.
For twelve years, she'd believed his death was a tragedy.
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Now she wondered whether it had been a murder.
And whether the man offering to protect her was the only person who knew why.
