Chapter 1
The afternoon sun blazed down on the sprawling Chicago estate, casting a brilliant, natural cinematic light across the pristine pool terrace. The water sparkled like shattered diamonds, completely free of any artificial yellow tint. It was a picture of absolute, terrifying wealth. A private gathering of capos, their wives, and silent, watchful bodyguards populated the manicured lawns. Crystal glasses clinked softly over the low hum of expensive jazz. Yet, at the edge of the shallow pool steps, a nightmare was unfolding in plain sight, masked by the sheer audacity of the woman orchestrating it.
Genevieve stood in the ankle-deep water, her chic designer silk resort-wear tunic clinging slightly to her fair, rosy skin. Her oversized sunglasses were pushed up on her head, completely exposing the cruel, unyielding malice in her eyes. She already had three-year-old Chloe trapped against the tiled steps. The little girl, adorable with glowing golden-brown skin, wore a cute floral swimsuit under a lightweight summer cover-up. She was shivering violently, not from the temperature, but from sheer terror.
With a sudden, vicious motion, Genevieve shoved the small child backward into the water. Chloe gasped, her head dipping below the surface for a terrifying second before she scrambled back up, coughing and crying.
"Let her go!" Mrs. Higgins, Chloe's longtime nanny, shouted from the edge of the terrace. The older woman, dressed in a crisp white linen blouse and navy blue slacks, took a desperate step forward.
Julian, Genevieve’s brother, immediately blocked the nanny’s path. His light beige tailored summer suit looked immaculate, and his fair, rosy skin flushed slightly with amusement. "Step back, Mrs. Higgins. Genevieve is simply teaching her stepdaughter how to swim. Do not interfere with family business."
Chloe desperately tried to climb out of the water, her small sandals slipping on the wet tiles. Genevieve lunged forward, her diamond rings flashing in the sunlight, and gripped Chloe’s tiny wrist with bruising force.
"Stop crying and listen to me," Genevieve commanded, her voice a cold, venomous hiss that barely carried over the splashing water. "Tell me what your mother showed you, and I’ll let you out. Where did Maya hide the ledger?"
"I don't know!" Chloe sobbed, terrified. "I want my Daddy!"
At that exact, precarious moment, the heavy glass doors of the adjoining dining room slid open. Marcus stepped onto the terrace.
He was handsome as a movie star, deeply masculine, and distinctly exuded the terrifying aura of a Mafia Boss. His deep, rich warm-brown skin was flawless under the sun, complementing an angular face, a high-bridged nose, and a sharply defined jawline shadowed by extremely short, neatly trimmed stubble. His cold, sharp, intimidating eyes swept the terrace in a fraction of a second. He took in the bodyguards looking away, Julian blocking the nanny, and his current wife holding his daughter hostage in the water.
He saw everything.
Marcus did not shout. He did not run. He walked forward, his custom-tailored ivory linen summer suit moving fluidly around his powerful frame. The silk shirt unbuttoned at his chest revealed the edge of the artistic, sharp tattoos that crawled up his neck—designs with enough negative space to look incredibly refined, dangerous, but never cluttered.
"Genevieve," Marcus said.
May you like
The volume of his voice was incredibly low, yet it cut through the ambient noise of the party like a scythe. Every syllable was measured, cold, and dangerous.
Genevieve froze, her fair skin paling instantly. She released Chloe's wrist, taking a hesitant step back in the water. "Marcus... darling. We were just playing."
