“I’ll—I’ll keep trying,” I whisper, my throat tight and dry.
He walks closer again, hand closing over my shoulder, and I shudder to think I found it attractive only fifteen minutes ago.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
And I turn back to the screen, because there is no other choice at all. I do this or he keeps his promise to harm my family.
"I need breakfast," I grumble, because if he's going to be some evil overlord, I'm not going to lie down and play dead. He's going to have to work for it.
"Anything you want," he says, lifting his phone up. "I can have it delivered right now." I meet the reflection of his gaze in the computer screen and know he's seeing mine too.
"I'll take some bacon and eggs, and I want some donuts too. And if your little app thing can get me a chai mocha latte for afterward…" I speak in mumbled tones, pretending to focus on the screen and not him, demanding things I wouldn't dream of buying myself on my low income, and Rafe's fingers fly across the screen without hesitation.
He isn't even picking up on the idea that I'm trying to annoy him. He's just ready to pour out anything I want, like he's at my disposal. His thumbs keep typing and I keep staring at his reflection. His brow is furrowed in concentration and he looks like he's enjoying it too.
"And there's this place on Division Street in Wicker Park with chocolates. If you want me to be really productive, I like the strawberry creams." My eyes study him, locking on to his expression the moment it shifts. He pauses and then meets my gaze in the reflection and nods.
"Anything you want…" And when Rafe backs away, I get the distinct impression that he really means that. I could ask this man for a million dollars or a trip to Tahiti.
I just don't understand why he's being kind like this. He could just put a gun to my head. Believe me, I'd get that work done fast. But this?
Rafe's not entirely a monster. If he were, he wouldn't try to make me comfortable while I do his dirty work. That might be a weakness I can exploit if I'm lucky.
Or it might make it harder to keep my edge. I can't tell yet.
6
RAFE
Ilean back in my desk chair and watch the security feed on my left monitor. Riley sits at the desk in my living room, shoulders hunched forward, fingers moving across the laptop keyboard in bursts. She pauses, rubs her eyes, and starts typing again.
It's been three days since she walked into my house with that duffel bag clutched to her chest and terror written across her face and she hasn't cried once in front of me. Though, she's looked like she might piss herself a few times. It's too easy. Men make this sort of task difficult by being difficult and arrogant. All I have to do with Ms. Maddox is wave a picture of her blushing bride of a sister in front of her face and she does whatever I ask. Family ties don't just make folks strong—sometimes, they make a person foolish and weak.
I watch her push a strand of hair behind her ear and lean closer to the screen. Her posture straightens. She's found another entry, probably, or another discrepancy she'll note in that meticulous way of hers before moving on to the next line. She'sgood at this—better than I expected. Feodor said she'd crack under pressure, but so far, she's held steady.
The feed shows her glancing at the door. She does it every ten minutes or so, as if expecting me to walk in and demand an update. Or maybe she's thinking about running, though if so, she doesn’t make a move. Ms. Maddox seems to genuinely want to do this job and go home, and I almost feel bad knowing she won't be going anywhere but a wooden box six feet under.
It's such a shame. She's actually very smart and beautiful, and if things wouldn't get messy, I'd consider her sticking around for other things. But I don't need any more complications in this business.
My eyes flick toward the television that runs round the clock news. No one has reported her missing yet, but I'd say they got the email she sent out. Otherwise, I'd be seeing headlines. I'm sure they've tried calling her number, but the guys probably smashed that to pieces, and we know it was likely already dead to begin with. No one can track where she is at all, so she's my little secret.
Clicking through the different camera views, I make sure the entire property is secure. First the back door, then the front, then on to the garage and side yard. It's peaceful, but I didn't install these cameras because I wanted to see my neighbors. I'm no fool. Riley isn't the reason someone would approach this house. I'm a dangerous man by all accounts, and I have plenty of enemies. But for now, everything's quiet.
The banker was a meticulous bastard and kept every single record done by hand so no one could hack him. The ledger Feodor found in Riley's car covers six months of transactions, but it's incomplete. Entire weeks are missing. Transfers don'tmatch. Account numbers appear once and then vanish. Marco built himself a failsafe, and now I'm racing the clock to dismantle it because the last warning he gave me when I told him I was coming for him threatened a full exposure of my business on Christmas if he wasn't alive to stop his failsafe switch. Whatever that means.
Riley shifts in her chair. She reaches for the water bottle I left on the table earlier, unscrews the cap, and drinks. Her throat moves as she swallows. She sets the bottle down and goes back to typing.
I'm lost in my thoughts, trying to decide how to make all of this go away cleanly as soon as my ledgers are complete, when my phone buzzes. I take my eyes off the screen to look down at my phone that is lit up with Joel's number. He doesn't call me very often so I take it seriously when he does.
"Yeah," I answer, letting my eyes drift back to watch Riley continuing to type.
"Boss, we got a problem…"
I almost swear out loud before I catch myself and grumble, "What problem?"
"Seems like Lombardi was selling ledger sheets, Boss. Looks like maybe to the Caruso family."
My jaw tightens. "How many sheets?"
