“Touch Her Again and You’re Dead,” the Mafia Boss…

“Touch Her Again and You’re Dead,” the Mafia Boss Warned After Seeing Her Superior Touch Her…

The night my drunk boss put his hand on my waist and whispered, “Nobody’s here to save you,” he made one mistake: he didn’t notice the silent man standing ten feet behind him. Leo Costello owned the company, half the warehouses on the Boston waterfront, and—according to rumors—enough dangerous men to make cops lower their voices. But Leo didn’t rescue me and turn me into some helpless princess. He gave me something far more dangerous: access. Within six weeks, I uncovered stolen weapons, secret accounts, falsified manifests, and a betrayal inside his own empire. Richard thought I was weak because I needed my paycheck. Dominic thought I was just Leo’s favorite employee. They were both wrong.

PART 1: My boss touched me, and the wrong man saw everything

“Take your hand off me, Richard.”

He smiled.

Actually smiled.

“You need this job too much to make trouble, Clara.”

That was the moment I stopped being afraid of losing my paycheck.

Not because I suddenly became brave.

Because someone behind him quietly locked the office door.

Richard Davies had spent eleven months teaching me exactly how much humiliation a woman could swallow when health insurance was attached to her employment.

I was twenty-six, living in a second-floor apartment in South Boston where the kitchen faucet leaked, the radiator sounded like somebody hitting pipes with a wrench, and the downstairs neighbor cooked bacon at six every morning.

My younger sister, Chloe, lived at Oak Creek Residential Care across town.

Her treatment cost more each month than my father had made when we were kids.

So I worked.

I skipped lunch.

I bought store-brand cereal.

I drove a twelve-year-old Honda with a passenger window that refused to close all the way.

And every weekday morning, I walked into Northside Logistics and pretended Richard’s eyes didn’t crawl over me.

He knew why I stayed.

That was what made him worse.

“You look tired today,” he’d say, leaning over my chair.

Or, “A pretty girl shouldn’t be this serious.”

Sometimes his fingers brushed my shoulder.

Sometimes he stood too close at the copier.

Always just enough that he could call it an accident.

HR loved accidents.

Tuesday night was different.

Freezing rain slapped the office windows while I finished month-end freight reports.

Everybody else had gone home.

Richard hadn’t.

I smelled whiskey before I saw him.

“You’re still here,” he said.

His tie hung loose.

His face was red.

“I’m leaving.”

I reached for my purse.

He stepped into the cubicle opening.

“No rush.”

“I need to call my sister.”

“She can wait five minutes.”

That irritated me more than it scared me.

Maybe because Chloe had spent half her life waiting for things she shouldn’t have had to wait for.

Physical therapy.

Insurance approvals.

Specialists.

A decent wheelchair.

I stood.

“Move.”

Richard laughed.

“See? That attitude. You’re always acting like you’re better than everybody.”

“I said move.”

His smile disappeared.

Then his hand landed on my shoulder.

Heavy.

Damp.

Possessive.

“You should learn to appreciate people who take care of you.”

I stared at him.

Funny thing about panic.

Sometimes your body shakes.

Sometimes your mind becomes incredibly organized.

Desk behind me.

Chair to my left.

Metal stapler within reach.

Security camera above accounting.

Emergency exit thirty feet away.

Richard outweighed me by maybe seventy pounds.

I calculated everything.

Then his second hand moved to my waist.

“Relax.”

That was when the lock clicked.

Richard froze.

Slow footsteps came down the hallway.

I knew them.

Everybody at Northside knew them.

Leo Costello appeared around the cubicle wall wearing a charcoal suit beneath a black winter coat.

Snow melted on his shoulders.

He said nothing.

Richard removed his hand from me so fast you would’ve thought I was on fire.

“Mr. Costello.”

Leo looked at Richard.

Then at me.

Then at Richard’s hand.

“What,” Leo asked quietly, “were you doing?”

Richard laughed nervously.

“Nothing. Clara and I were discussing numbers.”

“My name is Clara Hayes,” I said.

Richard shot me a furious look.

Leo noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He noticed everything.

Richard started toward him.

“Look, maybe she misunderstood—”

Leo stepped into his path.

He wasn’t loud.

That somehow made it worse.

“Touch her again,” he said, “and you will spend the rest of your professional life wishing you had never learned her name.”

Richard swallowed.

“You threatening me?”

“No.”

Leo glanced toward the ceiling.

“I’m reminding you that camera twelve has audio.”

Richard’s face changed.

Mine probably did too.

Camera twelve.

The camera above accounting.

The one I had noticed without knowing whether it even worked.

Leo reached into his coat and removed his phone.

He tapped the screen.

My own voice came from the speaker.

“Take your hand off me, Richard.”

Then Richard’s.

“You need this job too much to make trouble, Clara.”

Silence.

Beautiful, terrible silence.

Richard went pale.

Leo slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“The footage has already been copied.”

Richard’s arrogance returned in one desperate burst.

“She’s nothing. She’s a coordinator making nineteen bucks an hour. You’re going to destroy a regional manager over her?”

There it was.

Nothing.

That was what he thought I was.

I felt something inside me go cold.