Chapter 2 - The Arrival
At exactly 5:43 the following evening, Sadi stood in the narrow hallway of her cramped Pilsen apartment, staring into a cheap, cracked full-length mirror. She felt physically sick. Her stomach churned with a terrifying mix of blind dread and pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
She wore a deep emerald-green wrap dress. It cinched tightly beneath her bust, plunged modestly at the neckline, and fell in heavy, rich folds down to her calves. She had bought it six months ago on clearance, promising herself she would shed twenty pounds before ever daring to wear it in public. She hadn't lost a single ounce. Yet now, staring at her reflection, she saw that the dark forest green made her pale skin glow, and the clever drapery hugged her wide hips and full chest in a way that felt lush, powerful, and undeniably feminine.
Her hands trembled violently as she fastened a simple silver hoop into her earlobe. What was she doing? She was taking a notorious cartel boss to a suburban country club. She was going to wind up in a federal penitentiary—or worse, she would be utterly humiliated when Roman realized how ridiculous the entire arrangement was and left her standing alone in the parking lot.
A low, deep rumble shook the glass of her apartment window.
Sadi crept to the blinds and peeked out. A massive, matte-black armored SUV idled at the curb of her quiet street, looking like a military stealth vehicle dropped into a working-class neighborhood. The rear windows were tinted pitch-black.
Sadi grabbed her beaded clutch, took a deep, shuddering breath, and headed downstairs. Her high heels clicked sharply against the concrete steps. As she pushed through the heavy glass front door of her building, the SUV’s driver-side door opened.
Roman Rossi stepped out onto the cracked pavement.
The visual contrast was suffocating. He belonged in dark executive boardrooms, dimly lit steakhouses, and private jets. Under the pale orange rays of the suburban sunset, he looked impossibly dangerous. He wore a tailor-made charcoal three-piece suit without a tie, the top two buttons of his crisp black dress shirt undone to reveal the faint edge of a dark tattoo crawling up his neck. His thick dark hair was combed back perfectly. He didn't look like a thug; he looked like old, lethal money.
He didn't smile as she approached. He simply stood beside the open passenger door, his pale gray eyes sweeping slowly down her body, taking in the green dress, her bare shoulders, and the soft curve of her waist.
His gaze lingered on her hips for a second too long before returning to her eyes. "You're late by two minutes."
"It's 5:45 on the dot," Sadi countered, trying desperately to hide the trembling in her voice.
"I said be ready at 5:45. That implies standing on the curb." Roman extended his arm, offering her his elbow.
Sadi hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her hand over his forearm. His suit jacket was made of fine, heavy wool, but beneath it, his arm was as hard as solid iron. A jolt of pure, static electricity seemed to shoot up her wrist, making her heart stutter in her chest.
He helped her into the high leather seat of the SUV with surprisingly gentle precision, closing the heavy, soundproof door behind her with a dense thud.
As he walked around the hood to get into the driver's seat, Sadi noticed two other black sedans parked down the block, their engines idling silently. His personal security detail.
Roman climbed into the driver's seat, bringing the overwhelming scent of expensive leather, tobacco, and black pepper into the enclosed cabin. He placed his massive hands on the leather steering wheel, threw the heavy vehicle into gear, and pulled smoothly into Chicago traffic.
For the first fifteen minutes, the silence inside the car was suffocating. The only sound was the faint hum of the twin-turbo engine and the quiet click of the turn signals.
"Rules," Sadi finally blurted out, turning in her seat to face him. "We need ground rules."
Roman kept his eyes locked on the highway ahead. "Go on."
"Rule number one: You cannot mention your... line of work. If my mother asks, you are in high-level private equity."
"I am in private equity," Roman replied dryly. "I acquire assets and liquidate liabilities."
"Rule number two: No intimidation tactics. My family is loud, judgmental, and incredibly obnoxious, but you cannot threaten to have anyone killed, beaten, or audited."
"Acceptable."
"Rule number three..." Sadi paused, biting her lower lip nervously. She looked down at her lap, her fingers twisting the fabric of her purse. "You have to touch me."
Roman’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "Clarify."
"My ex-boyfriend knew me for four years," Sadi explained, her voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. "He knows I get nervous around my mother. If you stand three feet away from me like a hired bodyguard, everyone in that room will know it's a fake setup. If we're going to pull this off, you have to act like... like you can't keep your hands off me."
Roman didn't answer immediately. He navigated the black SUV off the highway exit ramp, turning down the tree-lined avenue leading toward the exclusive Naperville Country Club.
Finally, he pulled the vehicle to a stop at a red light. He turned his head slowly, looking directly at her in the dim light of the dashboard. He reached across the center console, his massive, warm hand wrapping firmly around her bare knee through the slit of her green dress. His touch was heavy, possessive, and scorching hot against her skin.
Sadi gasped, her breath catching violently in her throat.
"Is this sufficient?" Roman asked, his voice a low, raspy purr that sent a shiver straight down her spine. "Or should I move higher?"
May you like
Sadi’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "That... that is very sufficient."
"Good." Roman shifted back into drive as the light turned green, but he didn't remove his hand from her knee. He kept it anchored there, his thumb slowly tracing small, dizzying circles against the soft fabric of her dress all the way to the country club gates.
