Chapter 1 - THE MANSION WHERE KINDNESS HAD A PRICE
The moment Delaney Whitfield stepped out of the black SUV, she realized the mansion was not simply a rich man's home.
It was a fortress.
Security cameras followed every movement. Armed guards stood beneath the stone archways. Behind the enormous windows, crystal chandeliers illuminated rooms larger than Delaney's entire apartment building.
And somewhere inside that mansion, a man was waiting who could change her life with a single sentence.
"Stay close to me, sweetheart," Mrs. Bianchi whispered, gripping Delaney's hand.
Frank escorted them through enormous oak doors.
The entrance hall smelled of polished wood, expensive flowers, and something Delaney couldn't identify.
Power.
A grand staircase curved toward the second floor.
Above the fireplace hung a portrait of a handsome dark-haired man with cold gray eyes.
Delaney barely glanced at it.
Then a voice came from the staircase.
"Mother."
One word.
Deep.
Controlled.
Dangerously quiet.
Everyone in the entrance hall immediately stopped moving.
Delaney looked up.
A man in a black dress shirt descended the stairs.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and strikingly handsome, with dark hair, sharp features, and eyes that seemed capable of discovering every secret a person had ever kept.
Damon Bianchi.
Thirty-six years old.
Owner of Bianchi Holdings, a legitimate empire of hotels, construction companies, and international shipping.
And, according to rumors whispered throughout Chicago, the undisputed ruler of the city's most feared criminal organization.
He ignored everyone except his mother.
"Where have you been?"
Mrs. Bianchi smiled weakly.
"Damon, darling."
He reached her in three strides.
For one brief moment, his carefully controlled expression broke.
His hands trembled as he examined her face.
"Do you have any idea what happened tonight?"
"I was hungry."
"You disappeared for six hours."
"I know."
"We searched half of Chicago."
She touched his cheek.
"But I'm home now."
Damon closed his eyes.
Then he noticed Delaney.
His expression instantly hardened.
"Who is she?"
Frank stepped forward.
"Delaney Whitfield. She found your mother behind a restaurant in River North."
Damon looked at Delaney's inexpensive sweater, exhausted eyes, and snow-soaked shoes.
"Why did you bring her here?"
"Your mother insisted."
Delaney straightened.
"I didn't ask to come."
Damon studied her.
"Did you recognize my mother?"
"No."
"Did you know who I was?"
"No."
"Then why did you help her?"
Delaney frowned.
"Because she was freezing."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have."
The room became unnaturally quiet.
Damon stepped closer.
"People don't usually help strangers without expecting something."
Delaney met his eyes.
"Maybe you're surrounded by the wrong people."
Frank looked toward the floor.
Mrs. Bianchi actually laughed.
Damon didn't.
Instead, he removed a leather checkbook from his pocket.
"Name your price."
Delaney stared.
"Excuse me?"
"Whatever you want. Money. Employment. A new apartment."
She shook her head.
"I don't want anything."
"Everyone wants something."
"Then let me go home."
For the first time, Damon appeared genuinely surprised.
He closed the checkbook.
Before he could respond, an elegant woman entered from the hallway.
She wore an ivory silk dress, diamond earrings, and a smile that vanished when she saw Mrs. Bianchi holding Delaney's hand.
"Damon, darling. Thank God."
She rushed toward him.
"I'm so relieved your mother is safe."
Then she looked Delaney up and down.
"And who is this?"
"Someone who helped my mother."
The woman's smile returned.
How generous."
Mrs. Bianchi tightened her grip on Delaney.
And suddenly, the older woman's face filled with unmistakable terror.
She leaned close to Delaney's ear.
"Don't trust the woman in white."
Delaney went still.
May you like
Mrs. Bianchi's next words were barely audible.
"She's the reason I ran away."
