Chapter 1 - The Kiss That Started a War
The Onyx Lounge opened at eight and by midnight it was the only room in Chicago that mattered.
Vivian Hayes stood near the service bar with one finger pressed to her earpiece and counted the room the way she counted everything — the caterers, the champagne flutes, the placement of the amber uplights along the walnut panels.
Twenty-six years old.
Lead coordinator for the most exclusive hospitality firm in the city.
Three hours of sleep and a black dress that had cost her two weeks of groceries.
She had not sat down since six.
The guest list was a volatile thing.
Two aldermen who should not have been in the same photograph.
A hedge fund man who had been indicted twice and convicted never.
A European investor whose name appeared in more financial investigations than actual business reports.
And beneath all of it, dressed in the same bespoke wool as everyone else, the men who owned the city's underground and came to openings to be seen being seen.
“Caterer's holding the sea bass,” her second said in her ear.
“Tell them to hold it nine minutes. Alderman Pierce is doing a toast.”
“Copy.”
Everything was going smoothly.
That was her first mistake — believing in a flawless night.
Vivian had learned early that flawless nights were lies people with money told themselves.
Behind every perfect table setting was somebody sweating in a hallway.
Behind every champagne tower was a server carrying six glasses at once.
Behind every glamorous guest list was a collection of compromises nobody wrote down.
She was good at managing those compromises.
Maybe too good.
People called her calm.
Organized.
Unflappable.
What they didn't know was that Vivian controlled rooms because uncertainty terrified her.
Her father had disappeared when she was nineteen.
Her mother had died two years later.
Since then, she had built her life around predictability.
Schedules.
Checklists.
Contracts.
Keys.
Passwords.
Doors that locked.
That was why the corridor behind Suite Four bothered her.
At 12:40 she slipped into the private corridor that connected the VIP suites to the service elevators.
Strictly off limits.
Heavily guarded.
But she had the master key card on a lanyard under her dress because the firm had given her a key to everything, which is what you do with a person you intend to work until she breaks.
She wanted nine minutes of quiet to check the schedule.
As she rounded the corner near Suite Four, she heard a muffled struggle.
Then a sickening crunch that made her blood run cold.
Vivian froze with her back flat against the damask wallpaper.
Through a door left open two inches, a low gravelly voice came out into the hallway.
“You tell the Rossi family the docks belong to me now.”
She knew that voice instantly.
Everyone in her industry knew it.
Dominic Luces.
The most feared enforcer in Chicago.
“And if they try to move another shipment of pharmaceuticals through the South Side, I won't send a message.”
A pause.
“I'll send heads in boxes.”
A wet gasping sound followed.
Then the unmistakable metallic click of a suppressed pistol.
A soft thud.
Like a bag of laundry set down.
Vivian clamped both hands over her mouth to hold in the scream.
Her heart beat against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She took one step backward toward the ballroom.
Her heel caught the edge of a thick Persian rug.
She stumbled.
Her shoulder slammed into a heavy brass sconce on the wall.
The sound went down the quiet corridor like a gunshot.
Inside the suite, the voices stopped dead.
“Check the hall.”
Panic took her.
She kicked off her heels, abandoned them on the carpet, and ran.
Behind her, footsteps thundered.
Heavy.
Fast.
Trained.
She reached the intersection that opened onto the main foyer, glanced back, and saw two enormous men in tailored suits round the corner with their hands already inside their jackets.
She turned.
Sprint.
Three steps.
Then she hit a solid, unyielding wall of muscle and bespoke Italian wool.
The impact knocked the air out of her lungs.
She would have gone down onto the marble if two large hands had not clamped around her waist and held her upright.
Vivian looked up.
The man holding her was striking in a way that frightened her more than the men behind her.
Sharp aristocratic features.
Eyes the color of a stormy Atlantic.
A jaw carved out of granite.
He smelled of tobacco and vanilla and, underneath it, something cold and metallic, like a gun that had been carried against a warm body all day.
He was not a guest she recognized.
The authority coming off him was suffocating.
“Hey — stop right there!”
The footsteps were six feet away.
She had no time to think.
No time to weigh the danger radiating off the stranger.
Survival overrode everything.
She grabbed the lapels of his immaculate suit, pulled his tall frame down to her level, and kissed him.
For a fraction of a second the man went completely rigid.
Behind him, four armed guards came out of the shadows with their weapons half-drawn — a chorus of safety mechanisms clicking off all at once.
The man raised one hand.
His fingers spread.
The guards stopped where they stood, and the weapons went back under the jackets without a sound.
Vivian kissed him desperately, one hand buried in the dark hair at the nape of his neck, turning her face into his shoulder as Luces's enforcers jogged past the alcove and kept going.
Her eyes were squeezed shut.
Her heart was going to break her ribs.
And then, to her absolute shock, the man did not push her away.
His hands slid from her waist to her lower back and pulled her flush against his chest.
His mouth opened over hers, and the frantic staged thing she had started stopped being staged.
It turned possessive.
Deliberate.
Devastating.
He tasted of expensive scotch and raw power.
It was not a kiss.
It was a claim.
And it made her knees give.
The footsteps faded down the corridor and were gone.
Vivian pulled back, gasping.
Her lips were swollen.
Her chest heaved.
She stared up at him, hands still trembling flat against his chest.
He did not look angry.
He looked fascinated.
A slow, predatory smile curved his mouth.
His storm-colored eyes locked onto her terrified amber ones.
He leaned down until his breath moved against the shell of her ear.
“You have no idea what you just started, piccola,” he whispered.
Then he straightened and turned on his heel.
“Bring her.”
“I — let me go.”
The guards closed around her.
“You don't understand, I work here. I'm the event coordinator.”
Nobody listened.
They walked her out through the service corridor to the underground loading dock, where a sleek armored Mercedes-Maybach sat waiting with its engine running.
They put her in the back seat.
The doors locked with a heavy, final thud.
For the first time in her life, Vivian Hayes had no idea what happened next.
She hated that feeling.
Especially when she was beginning to suspect the stranger sitting across from her might be the man whose name had been whispered through half the city.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
He watched her from the shadows.
“You know.”
“I don't.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Then say it.”
His mouth tilted.
“Adrian DeLuca.”
The name hit her like a blow.
Everyone in Chicago knew Adrian DeLuca.
He was thirty-two.
He owned luxury hotels, trucking companies, private security firms, restaurants, and enough waterfront property to influence half the city's development projects.
His legitimate businesses were admired.
His private operations were feared.
He had inherited a criminal empire after his father was assassinated five years earlier.
Rumor said Adrian had expanded it four times since then.
Rumor also said he had never once lost a war.
Vivian swallowed.
“You're him.”
“Yes.”
“And those men?”
“My men.”
“And the man I saw in Suite Four?”
Adrian's expression changed.
“Dominic Luces.”
“He killed someone.”
“Yes.”
Her voice dropped.
“And you just kidnapped me.”
“I rescued you.”
“You put me in a locked car.”
“To keep you alive.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
“No.”
His gaze held hers.
“You kissed me before you could.”
She felt heat rush into her face.
“That was survival.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you smiling?”
“Because survival has never looked quite like that before.”
She glared.
He smiled wider.
Then the car turned into a private underground garage.
As the doors opened, Adrian leaned forward.
“Tonight you witnessed something you were never supposed to see.”
“I can forget.”
“No.”
“You can't tell me what I can remember.”
“I can tell you what will happen if you walk out of here with those memories.”
His expression became colder.
“They'll kill you.”
Vivian went silent.
He reached across and opened the door himself.
“Come upstairs.”
“I'd rather face them.”
“No.”
He stepped out.
“Because they won't be the only people waiting.”
She stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
May you like
Adrian looked back.
“The man Dominic killed tonight was carrying your name.”
