HE WAS CHICAGO’S COLDEST BILLIONAIRE UNDERWORLD BOSS UNTIL THEY TOUCHED HIS INNOCENT SECRETARY—NOW HE WILL BURN THE ENTIRE CITY TO ASHES TO KEEP HER ALIVE

Morning brought cold sunlight and a sudden crisis.

By 8:00 AM, Dante’s chief of security, Marcus Cole, entered the penthouse looking grim. He carried a leather dossier and stood at attention near the study entrance where Dante and I were reviewing company logistics.

I had insisted on sitting at the desk, refusing to stay in bed like an invalid. Dressed in one of Dante’s oversized cashmere sweaters that draped down to my mid-thigh, I felt surprisingly protected within the fortress of his office.

“Speak, Marcus,” Dante commanded without looking up from his tablet.

“The Vance syndicate didn’t find Harper’s car by chance,” Marcus said, his voice clipped. “Someone inside our corporate headquarters fed them her exact dinner reservation at Aria, the license plate of her sedan, and the time she stepped out to the valet.”

The room dropped several degrees.

I froze, the pen slipping from my fingers. “That’s impossible. Only three people had access to my personal calendar.”

Dante looked up slowly. His eyes were like polished flint.

“Names, Harper.”

“Julian Pierce from Corporate Finance, Elena Ramos from Legal, and Richard Sterling, the Senior Vice President of Maritime Logistics.”

Dante stood up, buttoning his jacket. “Richard Sterling was brought into the firm five years ago by my late father. He has always believed he deserved the CEO seat instead of me.”

“Richard wouldn't risk treason,” I protested, trying to think logically. “He holds seven percent of the company’s non-voting equity. If the company falls into a gang war, his shares become worthless.”

“Unless,” Marcus chimed in, opening the dossier, “the Vance syndicate offered him thirty percent of the newly privatized Gary shipping terminal in exchange for handing over our internal security passcodes and Dante’s daily travel routes.”

Dante walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the ant-like traffic crawling along Michigan Avenue.

“He thought Harper was my weak point,” Dante said, his voice dangerously even. “He believed that by brutalizing my secretary, he could rattle my focus and force me to concede the Gary terminal before the quarterly shareholder vote on Friday.”

“What is the play, Boss?” Marcus asked.

Dante turned around, a chilling, calculated smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“We don't fire him. We don't confront him. We feed him what he wants.”

I frowned, looking between the two men. “You’re going to give him fake manifests?”

“No,” Dante said, walking over to stand behind my chair. He placed both hands on the high leather backrest, his presence enveloping me completely. “We are going to let Richard believe his plan succeeded. We will host the emergency board meeting tomorrow morning right here in this tower. And when he moves to seize control, we will pull the rug out from beneath his feet and expose every single traitor in this city.”