THE MAFIA BOSS KISSED HER IN FRONT OF 300 PEOPLE—THEN WHISPERED, “LET HIM SEE WHAT HE LOST,” BEFORE SHE WALKED AWAY

Part 1

Lena Marlo wore a silver dress that cost more than her first car, and underneath it she was counting bruises.

One on her shoulder blade.

Two along her ribs.

A fresh one blooming under the elegant pressure of Derek Hail’s hand, where his fingers rested at the small of her back like a warning.

To everyone else in the grand ballroom of the Peninsula Hotel, Derek looked like a devoted fiancé guiding his beautiful woman through a charity gala. He smiled, introduced her as “my wife,” touched her face like she was precious, and laughed with men who wrote checks big enough to make bad behavior disappear.

But Lena knew the truth.

One wrong laugh. One wrong glance. One wrong answer.

And Derek would make her pay before the valet even brought the car around.

“Smile, baby,” he murmured near her ear.

His voice was warm enough for anyone standing nearby to mistake it for affection.

His thumb pressed into the hinge of her jaw.

Lena smiled.

“That’s better,” he said.

Across the ballroom, a man in a black suit looked at her.

Not at the dress.

Not at her legs.

Not at the diamond bracelet Derek had snapped around her wrist like a leash.

At her.

Lena felt the look before she understood it. It slipped through the noise of the room, through the clink of champagne glasses and the string quartet playing near the marble columns. It touched the place in her chest where she had hidden the last remaining part of herself.

She turned.

The man stood near the tall windows overlooking Michigan Avenue, holding a glass of water like he had all night to decide whether to drink it. He had black hair, sharp cheekbones, and a stillness that made the rich men around him seem loud and temporary. Two men stood behind him, quiet and watchful.

His eyes were gray.

Not kind, exactly.

Worse.

Aware.

Lena looked away first.

“Who is he?” Derek asked.

Her breath caught.

“Who?”

Derek’s hand tightened at her waist.

“The man you were just staring at.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Don’t lie to me in public.”

She swallowed. “I don’t know him.”

Derek smiled at Tom Brennan, a red-faced developer who had been telling a drunk story about a judge in Springfield. To Tom, Derek looked amused. To Lena, he felt like a storm gathering itself.

“I’ve never seen him before,” she whispered.

Derek leaned closer. “That is Victor Salvatore.”

The name meant nothing to Lena.

But Derek’s fear did.

It passed through his body like cold water. She felt it in his hand, in the stiffness of his smile, in the way his eyes sharpened without moving.

“Derek, I didn’t know.”

“You expect me to believe Victor Salvatore just happened to be looking at you?”

“I don’t know why he was.”

“I do.”

His hand dug harder into her side.

Lena kept smiling because people were watching. That was the terrible genius of men like Derek. They knew how to hurt you in ways that looked like intimacy.

“I need some air,” he said.

Her stomach dropped.

“No,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Derek’s smile brightened.

“Excuse us,” he told Tom. “Lena’s feeling a little faint.”

He guided her toward a side door leading to the closed terrace. Outside, October wind came off Lake Michigan with teeth. No guests were out there. No cameras. No witnesses.

Lena walked because resisting would make it worse.

They were five feet from the door when a voice behind them said, “Miss Marlo.”

Derek stopped.

So did Lena.

Victor Salvatore stood there, glass gone now, hands relaxed at his sides. Up close, he looked less handsome than dangerous. Not because he was loud or big, but because he seemed like a man who did not need permission from the room.

Derek turned with his social smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do we know each other?”

(I know you’re all very curious about the next part, so if you want to read more, please leave a “GRIPPING” comment below!