Chapter 1 - Take My Arm
“Don’t move.”
Vincent did not look at Mave.
His body blocked hers completely.
From behind him, she could still see the stranger approaching through the crowd.
Ten feet.
Eight.
Then he stopped.
Vincent’s right hand remained loose at his side.
To anyone watching, he looked calm.
Mave knew better.
She had worked for him for three years.
Vincent became quieter when he was angry.
He became almost motionless when he was dangerous.
The stranger smiled.
“Vincent Costa.”
Vincent’s expression did not change.
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
“Then tonight isn’t the night to introduce yourself.”
The man’s eyes moved past Vincent toward Mave.
That was his mistake.
Vincent shifted half a step.
The stranger smiled wider.
“Protective.”
“Observant.”
“Pretty secretary.”
Mave felt something cold crawl down her spine.
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Look at her again.”
The stranger raised an eyebrow.
“What happens?”
“Find out.”
Neither man moved.
The orchestra continued playing.
Around them, wealthy donors laughed and drank champagne without realizing how close the room had come to violence.
Then Leo appeared beside the stranger.
Still chewing gum.
“Sir, I believe you’re lost.”
Two more Costa men quietly positioned themselves near the exits.
The stranger noticed.
His smile faded.
“I only came to deliver a message.”
“To me?” Vincent asked.
The man looked directly at Mave.
“No.”
Vincent moved so quickly Mave barely saw it.
One moment the stranger was standing freely.
The next, Vincent had him by the lapel.
“Wrong answer.”
“Vincent.”
Mave’s voice stopped him.
Not completely.
But enough.
Dozens of people were beginning to notice.
Phones might appear next.
Police certainly would.
Vincent released the man.
“Leo.”
“Already on it.”
Leo guided the stranger toward a side corridor.
The man did not resist.
As he passed Mave, he whispered:
“Yellow was the wrong color.”
Her blood froze.
Yellow.
The spreadsheet.
She had highlighted the missing thirty thousand dollars in yellow.
Nobody had seen that spreadsheet except—
Vincent.
Mave.
And whoever had access to the internal accounting server.
The stranger disappeared through the doors.
Vincent turned.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Mave.”
She hated how easily he recognized lies.
“He said yellow was the wrong color.”
Vincent went still.
“What does that mean?”
“The discrepancy I found this morning.”
“What discrepancy?”
She stared at him.
“The Belize holding company.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“The thirty thousand.”
“You knew?”
“I read everything you flag.”
“You never said anything.”
“I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“To see who panicked.”
Mave felt suddenly cold.
“Someone did.”
“Yes.”
Vincent looked toward the corridor.
Then back at her.
“We’re leaving.”
“What about the dinner?”
“Done.”
“The mayor—”
“Can survive dessert without me.”
He offered his arm.
Mave stared.
“What?”
“Take my arm.”
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
His eyes moved around the ballroom.
“Because right now everyone needs to believe you are under my personal protection.”
Her heartbeat changed.
“And that helps?”
“It tells anyone thinking about approaching you that they’ll have to go through me.”
Mave looked at his arm.
Then at him.
“That also tells everyone I matter to you.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
“You already do.”
The words landed between them.
Vincent seemed to realize what he had admitted.
Mave certainly did.
Neither addressed it.
“Take my arm.”
This time she did.
The reaction was immediate.
Conversations paused.
Heads turned.
A councilman’s wife whispered to another woman.
Two men connected to the Bellini organization watched them cross the ballroom.
Vincent Costa did not publicly touch women.
He did not bring dates to political events.
He did not create visible weaknesses.
Yet now his secretary walked beside him with her hand resting against his arm.
Mave understood.
This was not romance.
It was a warning.
Unfortunately, warnings could become invitations.
Outside, rain hammered the awning.
The Maybach arrived.
Vincent put Mave inside first.
Then climbed beside her.
Leo took the front passenger seat.
“Who was he?” Vincent asked.
“Fake credentials,” Leo said. “Name on the invitation belonged to a donor who died six months ago.”
“Helpful.”
“He carried no weapon.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It shouldn’t.”
Mave opened her tablet.
Vincent reached over and switched it off.
“Hey.”
“No work.”
“I need to check the file.”
“Not on a network.”
“The system is encrypted.”
“So was the Pentagon.”
“That comparison is ridiculous.”
“It got hacked.”
Mave folded her arms.
“You’re impossible.”
Leo looked backward.
“Welcome to my life.”
“Face forward,” Vincent said.
Leo smiled and obeyed.
The Maybach entered downtown traffic.
Mave stared through rain-streaked glass.
Then Vincent’s attention shifted.
Rearview mirror.
Again.
Then again.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve checked behind us six times.”
Vincent looked at Leo.
Leo checked the side mirror.
His expression changed.
“Gray sedan.”
“How long?”
“Since the Plaza.”
Mave turned.
Vincent caught her shoulder.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“If they don’t know we’ve noticed, keep it that way.”
The gray sedan moved two cars behind them.
Vincent spoke quietly to the driver.
“Take the tunnel.”
The Maybach changed lanes.
Gray sedan followed.
“Confirmed,” Leo said.
Mave’s pulse accelerated.
“Who are they?”
“Working on it.”
“This is because of the spreadsheet.”
“Maybe.”
“Vincent.”
“Yes?”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Where you know more than you’re saying.”
Leo muttered, “She really does know you.”
Vincent ignored him.
“Mave, the Belize account wasn’t losing thirty thousand.”
She frowned.
“I checked twice.”
“It was testing thirty thousand.”
“What does that mean?”
“The account moved thirty thousand this week.”
“Yes.”
“And thirty thousand last week.”
Her stomach tightened.
“And the week before?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Eighteen months.”
Mave calculated automatically.
More than two million dollars.
“That isn’t leakage.”
“No.”
“It’s a pipeline.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Yes.”
“To where?”
“That’s what I was trying to learn.”
“And someone realized I found it.”
“Yes.”
Mave looked toward the mirror.
The gray sedan was closer now.
“Who has access?”
“Six people.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“Leo?”
“Yes.”
Leo raised a hand.
“Offended already.”
“Who else?”
Vincent did not answer.
“Vincent.”
“My uncle Salvatore.”
Mave knew Salvatore Costa.
Sixty-two.
Old-school.
Smiled constantly.
Called her sweetheart.
“And?”
“Dominic Vale.”
Vincent’s chief financial officer.
Mave’s stomach tightened.
“And the sixth?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Your predecessor.”
She stared.
“My predecessor died before I started.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Vincent’s voice became very quiet.
“Car accident.”
The gray sedan suddenly accelerated.
Leo shouted:
“Move!”
It slammed into the Maybach.
Metal screamed.
Mave was thrown sideways.
Vincent caught her.
The driver accelerated.
Another impact.
Then the rear window shattered.
Mave screamed.
Vincent dragged her down.
“Stay down!”
A second vehicle appeared ahead.
Blocking the intersection.
They were trapped.
Vincent reached beneath his jacket.
Mave grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
She pointed through the windshield.
“Delivery entrance.”
A narrow alley opened beside a hotel.
Too narrow for the Maybach.
But not impossible.
“Can we fit?”
The driver looked.
“Barely.”
“Do it!”
Vincent looked at her.
Mave snapped:
“You hired me for logistics.”
The Maybach turned violently.
Mirrors scraped brick.
The gray sedan attempted to follow.
Too wide.
Its front bumper struck a concrete barrier.
The Maybach shot through the opposite side.
Leo laughed.
“Mave, remind me never to argue with you about routing.”
“Everyone argues with me about routing.”
Vincent still held her against his chest.
Neither seemed to notice until the immediate danger passed.
Then Mave looked up.
His face was inches from hers.
His hand rested behind her neck.
Her fingers were gripping his shirt.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then Leo cleared his throat.
Vincent released her.
Mave sat upright.
Her cheeks burned.
Vincent looked out the window.
But his breathing was no longer completely controlled.
Mave reopened her tablet offline.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“I told you no work.”
“And I ignored you.”
She opened a cached copy of the Belize spreadsheet.
Thirty thousand.
Repeated.
Regular intervals.
Always routed through the New Jersey trucking company.
Then she noticed something.
The transaction descriptions.
Container codes.
Not random.
Dates.
She cross-referenced them against Vincent’s calendar.
Her heart accelerated.
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“These transfers happen every time you leave New York.”
He leaned closer.
“What?”
“Chicago. Boston. Miami. Montreal.”
She scrolled.
“Every time you travel, money moves.”
Leo turned around.
“That sounds bad.”
“It gets worse.”
Mave opened another file.
“The trucking company receiving the money…”
She looked at Vincent.
“…owns the gray sedan following us.”
Silence filled the car.
Vincent’s face became stone.
That company belonged to the Costa organization.
Which meant the men trying to run them off the road were not outsiders.
They were his.
May you like
Someone inside Vincent Costa’s empire had just tried to kill his secretary.
And whoever it was had been waiting eighteen months for her to notice the money.
