Chapter 2 - The Knock at the Door
The rain was coming down in gray sheets by the time Khloe reached her basement apartment in Quincy.
The air inside smelled of damp carpet and old radiator heat. Khloe didn't turn on the lights. She locked the deadbolt, slid the heavy brass chain into place, and walked straight into the tiny bathroom.
In the flickering yellow light of the vanity, her face looked terrible. The left side of her jaw was swollen and dark purple.
She washed her face with cold water, spat a mouthful of bloody saliva into the sink, and walked into her bedroom.
From beneath her metal bed frame, she dragged out an old, beat-up leather suitcase. Into it went three cotton shirts, two pairs of jeans, her mother’s silver locket, and a hidden envelope containing twelve hundred dollars—her entire life savings.
She was packing her second bag when three distinct, measured knocks sounded at her front door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Khloe stopped breathing. Her hand hovered over the zipper of her bag.
She reached into her nightstand drawer, her fingers wrapping around the cold handle of a heavy steel meat cleaver she had brought home from her old bakery job.
She walked barefoot across the cold linoleum, standing beside the thin wooden door.
"Khloe."
Dominic Costello’s deep, gravelly voice vibrated through the wood.
"I’m armed," Khloe said, her voice surprisingly steady. "And I have nothing left to lose."
A low, soft breath sounded from the other side. "I know you're armed. I'm alone, Khloe. No guards. No guns."
"Why are you here?"
"Because Vivien’s father just called three police captains and two enforcement crews from the South End," Dominic said calmly. "You have about ten minutes before this street is crawling with men who won't care about who threw the first punch."
Khloe swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the cleaver. "And you came to help me? I humiliated your fiancée."
"She isn't my fiancée anymore," Dominic replied flatly. "I broke the engagement twenty minutes ago."
Khloe blinked, stunned. She unlocked the deadbolt, slid the chain back, and pulled the door open three inches, keeping the cleaver hidden behind her leg.
Dominic stood under the dim yellow light of the hallway bulb. He had discarded his suit jacket, wearing only a dark charcoal vest over a tailored white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, tattooed forearms. Rain drops glistened in his dark hair.
"You broke off an alliance with a senator over a butter dish?" Khloe asked incredulously.
"I broke an alliance because I saw a lion surrounded by hyenas, and I realized I was sitting with the hyenas," Dominic said smoothly.
His eyes flicked down to her hand hidden behind her hip. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched the corner of his lips. "Nice cleaver. Balance is a bit front-heavy, though."
Khloe brought the cleaver out into the open, resting it against her thigh. "What do you want, Mr. Costello?"
"I want to offer you a way out of Boston."
"I don't accept charity from mob bosses."
"It's not charity. It's a trade," Dominic said, stepping forward just enough to force her to make a choice. "You have skills you think are worthless, Khloe. But I know who your father was."
Khloe’s chest tightened. Her breath caught in her throat. "My father was a baker."
"Your father was Arthur Bennett," Dominic corrected quietly. "He ran the most sophisticated ledger-clearing system for the East Coast shipping unions until he died five years ago. He taught his daughter everything he knew before he passed. You aren't just a waitress, Khloe. You're the only person alive who knows where seventy million dollars of missing union funds are hidden."
Khloe felt a cold wave crash over her stomach.
Her father had been a quiet, gentle man who smelled of yeast and flour, but at night, his desk had been covered in complex, encrypted code sheets that looked like recipe books. Before he died of cancer, he had spent three months teaching Khloe how to read those numbers, hiding the master key inside an old memory she thought she had buried.
"My father died in debt," Khloe lied, her eyes narrowing.
"Your father died protecting you," Dominic countered. "And right now, Vivien’s father knows who you are. The scene at the restaurant wasn't just about a ruined dress, Khloe. Vivien was sent to Laura tonight to scout you out. The spill was an excuse to get your fingerprints off a wine glass."
Khloe looked down at her hands, the truth settling into her bones with a heavy, sickening weight.
"Get your bag," Dominic said softly. "The rain is getting heavier, and we have five minutes before the street turns ugly."
Khloe looked at the small apartment she had built for herself, then at the dark, powerful man standing in her hallway.
She lowered the cleaver, set it on the small kitchen counter, and retrieved her suitcase.
May you like
"If you lie to me, Dominic," Khloe said as she stepped into the hallway beside him, "I will grease your floor and let you burn."
Dominic looked down at her, his dark eyes flashing with something that looked suspiciously like genuine respect. "I’d expect nothing less."
