Chapter 1 - THE PHONE IN HER POCKET
Dante Varga looked at the ruined napkin as if it had offended him personally.
Khloe stood dripping beside the table.
“I can pay for it.”
Dante took another sip of bourbon.
“No.”
Her stomach tightened.
“I’m sorry?”
“You cannot afford that napkin.”
Heat climbed into her face.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Then one corner of his mouth moved.
Barely.
“I’m joking.”
Khloe stared.
People like Dante Varga were not supposed to joke.
At least not according to every whispered story she had ever heard.
She glanced toward the curtain.
“Can I go?”
Dante’s expression changed.
Not threatening.
Interested.
“You can.”
Relief hit first.
Then:
“But you shouldn’t.”
Khloe stopped.
“Why?”
Dante placed his glass down.
“Because the man who came in here looking for you wasn’t improvising.”
“What does that mean?”
“He knew which restaurant you entered.”
“He followed me.”
“Yes.”
“He always follows me.”
“No.”
Dante shook his head once.
“He knew the service entrance.”
Khloe said nothing.
Dante continued.
“He told the valet which alley you used. He described the kitchen door before going inside.”
She felt cold despite the heat.
“How would you know that?”
“Because I know what happens in my restaurants.”
His restaurants.
Of course.
Then a man in a black suit entered.
Paulie.
Large.
Silent.
The bodyguard who had dropped Jared without Dante leaving his chair.
“He’s gone,” Paulie said.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunate.”
Khloe stared.
Dante glanced at her.
“Another joke.”
She wasn’t sure.
Paulie’s eyes moved toward her coat.
Then narrowed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“The phone.”
Khloe instinctively reached into her pocket.
Her own phone was there.
But Paulie was looking at the second device.
A black phone she had never seen before.
Half sticking from the ripped lining of her trench coat.
Khloe froze.
“What is that?”
Dante’s face lost every trace of humor.
“Take it out.”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“Take it out.”
She did.
Cheap burner.
Cracked corner.
No case.
No passcode prompt.
The screen lit immediately.
One unread message.
TRANSFER COMPLETE.
Khloe stared.
“I swear that isn’t mine.”
Dante held out his hand.
She hesitated.
Paulie moved slightly.
Not toward her.
Still enough.
Khloe handed Dante the phone.
He opened the message.
His eyes hardened.
Then he scrolled.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“What?”
Khloe’s voice came out smaller than she wanted.
Dante looked at her.
“Where did Jared touch you tonight?”
The question confused her.
“My arm. My coat.”
“When?”
“In the parking garage.”
“How?”
“He grabbed me.”
“Which side?”
She swallowed.
“Left.”
Dante looked at the torn lining on the left side of her coat.
Then back at the phone.
“He put this on you.”
Khloe’s stomach dropped.
“Why?”
Paulie answered.
“Because somebody expected you to walk out of here carrying it.”
Dante’s thumb moved over the screen.
Then he stopped.
For the first time, his expression changed into something colder than anger.
Recognition.
Khloe whispered:
“What is it?”
Dante turned the phone so she could see.
A photograph filled the screen.
Shipping containers stacked beneath sodium lights.
One container number circled in red.
She knew nothing about freight.
But Dante did.
His jaw locked.
“That container belongs to me.”
Khloe looked at him.
“So?”
“It disappeared six years ago.”
Silence.
Then Dante added:
“The night my brother was killed.”
May you like
And suddenly Jared’s obsession with finding Khloe did not look like obsession anymore.
It looked like a delivery.
