Chapter 3 - Let Him Think You’re Dead
By sunrise, every major lieutenant in Chicago believed Vivian Mercer had died in an apartment fire.
Dominic made certain of it.
The official story was simple.
An electrical fault.
One victim.
Identification delayed because of severe fire damage.
Leo called Dominic at 6:13 a.m.
“Hell of a thing.”
Dominic stood beside a window inside the private medical clinic.
“You sound upset.”
“I’m furious. Our money probably died with her.”
Dominic listened carefully.
Not a tremor.
Not a hesitation.
Leo had lied beside him for months and somehow remained convincing.
“I’ll handle the accounts,” Dominic said.
“You want me to find where she moved the money?”
“No.”
A pause.
“No?”
“I said I’ll handle it.”
Dominic disconnected.
Behind him, Vivian was asleep.
For once, she looked peaceful.
Dominic had already moved Dr. Kane’s staff downstairs and stationed four men outside the building—men loyal to Dominic personally rather than the organization.
None knew Vivian was inside.
At noon, she woke to find breakfast on the table.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
And a cup of decaffeinated coffee.
Vivian stared at it suspiciously.
“You made this?”
Dominic looked offended.
“I have people.”
“That makes more sense.”
It was the first ordinary conversation they had ever shared.
For a few seconds, neither was a syndicate boss nor a frightened accountant.
They were simply two exhausted people inside a quiet room.
Then Dominic placed the encrypted drive on the table.
“I need your help.”
Vivian’s smile disappeared.
“You need the accounts.”
“I need Leo.”
She looked at him.
“If we recover the money too, I won’t complain.”
Despite herself, Vivian laughed.
It hurt her split lip.
She winced.
Dominic’s expression darkened.
“Sorry.”
“You didn't hit me.”
“I allowed the man who did to stand beside me for ten years.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“To me it is.”
Vivian studied him.
Perhaps that was the first moment she saw something behind Dominic Russo’s reputation.
Not goodness exactly.
But responsibility.
It mattered.
They opened the shadow ledger.
Leo had not stolen $2.5 million.
He had stolen $38 million.
The smaller transfer had been designed to frame Vivian before an internal audit exposed the larger theft.
The money funded something worse.
Leo was paying members of Dominic’s organization.
Captains.
Drivers.
Security officers.
A police commander.
Two customs officials.
“He’s buying your empire,” Vivian said.
Dominic examined the names.
“He already bought part of it.”
Near the bottom was another transaction.
Vivian enlarged it.
Seven payments to a shell corporation called Hawthorne Medical Consulting.
Dominic recognized the address.
His face changed.
“What?”
“That corporation didn't exist six months ago.”
“I know the building.”
He stood.
“My father died there.”
Vivian stared at him.
Three years earlier, Salvatore Russo had suffered what doctors described as a massive heart attack during a routine examination.
Dominic had accepted it.
Now Vivian searched the transactions.
Hawthorne Medical had paid one person repeatedly.
Dr. Peter Lang.
The cardiologist who had signed Salvatore Russo’s death certificate.
Dominic said nothing.
He simply walked out.
Vivian found him ten minutes later in the corridor.
His hands were against the wall.
Not punching it.
Not breaking anything.
Just holding himself upright.
“Dominic.”
“My father knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Leo was stealing.”
He remembered their final argument.
Salvatore had told Dominic, You trust the wrong brother.
Dominic assumed he meant one of his cousins.
Now he understood.
Leo.
“I dismissed him.”
Vivian stood beside him.
“You didn't have this evidence then.”
“I should have listened.”
“You can spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for not knowing something you couldn't know.”
Dominic turned.
“You do that often?”
Her expression changed.
Vivian understood exactly what he meant.
She blamed herself for Daniel and his wife dying while she lived.
For agreeing to carry their embryo.
For failing to create the safe life she imagined for their daughter.
Perhaps even for Leo choosing her as his victim.
“No,” she admitted. “But apparently I give excellent advice I don't follow.”
Dominic looked at her.
Then he laughed.
A real laugh.
Quiet and rusty, as though he had forgotten how.
Vivian stared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I've never heard you laugh.”
“Don't tell anyone.”
“Your terrifying reputation?”
“Ruined.”
For one impossible minute, the world outside disappeared.
Then Vivian’s computer chimed.
A hidden account had become active.
Leo was moving money.
Not out of Chicago.
Into Chicago.
Twelve million dollars.
Weapons.
Vehicles.
Safe houses.
Vivian’s face went pale.
“He isn't preparing to run.”
Dominic understood at the same moment.
“He’s preparing for war.”
Another alert appeared.
Someone attempted to access Vivian’s shadow ledger remotely.
Only three people knew the encryption architecture.
Vivian.
Dominic.
And—
“No.”
Vivian whispered.
Dominic leaned closer.
“What?”
She stared at the screen.
The login credentials belonged to a man who had supposedly been dead for three years.
May you like
Daniel Mercer.
Her brother.
