She Broke Into a Mafia Boss’s Car to Escape Her Violent Ex—But When Roman Locked the Doors, Chloe Refused to Trade One Cage for Another, Forcing the Most Feared Man in the City to Prove Whether His Protection Came With a Price
“That sounds like Tommy.”
“That sounds like Tommy.”
“You know him?”
“No. I know men like him.”
Chloe looked down.
“So do I.”
Roman did not press.
She told him about the East End body shop, the bar on Sixth, the debt, and the apartment fire.
Roman listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he asked, “Do you believe Tommy actually had Russo’s money?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Tommy never hides money.”
Roman leaned back.
“You sound certain.”
“I lived with him.”
“That does not make you an accountant.”
“No. Working payroll at a medical supply warehouse did.”
Roman paused.
Chloe almost laughed.
There it was.
The first real crack in his assumptions.
“I handled purchase orders, payroll corrections, vendor disputes, inventory adjustments and enough bad bookkeeping to recognize when a man is lying about where money went.”
“And where did Tommy’s go?”
“Small withdrawals. Cash advances. Betting apps. Bars. Drugs when he could find them. He didn’t steal twenty thousand and hide it.”
Roman’s fingers stopped against his cup.
“Then why does Russo believe he did?”
“That’s the useful question.”
Roman stared at her.
Chloe took another drink.
“You thought I was just a frightened woman in your back seat.”
“I thought you were frightened.”
“I was.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
The answer settled strangely between them.
An hour later Victor arrived with the phone.
Chloe opened the packaging herself.
Roman gave her privacy to activate it.
She stared at the contacts screen for a long time.
There was almost nobody left to call.
Tommy had made sure of that gradually, efficiently, one friendship at a time.
She did not tell Roman.
Instead she searched the browser for bus schedules.
Roman noticed.
He said nothing.
By morning, she had slept three fractured hours.
The chair beneath the door woke her when somebody knocked.
Not because they entered.
Because they waited.
Roman’s voice came through the wood.
“Breakfast.”
Chloe moved the chair aside.
When she opened the door, Roman’s gaze dropped to it.
“It worked,” she said.
“To stop me?”
“To wake me.”
Understanding passed through his face.
He nodded.
At breakfast, Chloe asked the question she had been dreading.
“Did you find Tommy?”
Roman put down his espresso.
“Yes.”
Alive.
The word was not spoken, but she saw it in what he did not say.
“Where is he?”
“Being watched.”
“You didn’t hurt him?”
“No.”
“Because I asked you not to chase the SUV?”
“Because you were right.”
Chloe stared.
Roman continued, “Following those men would have announced my interest. Instead we watched where they went.”
“And?”
“They returned to Russo.”
“So now what?”
“Now I determine why Russo believes Tommy has money he clearly does not have.”
Chloe folded her arms.
“What happens to Tommy while you determine that?”
“He stays where he is.”
“Held against his will.”
“Yes.”
“Then you did take him.”
Roman’s expression cooled.
“He attacked you.”
“That is a separate issue.”
“It isn’t to me.”
“It has to be.”
The room went silent.
Chloe leaned across the island.
“If you punish him because he hurt me, then you turn my pain into your permission.”
Roman’s face became unreadable.
“He deserves consequences.”
“Yes. But I decide whether I want my abuse used to justify whatever your organization calls justice.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“And what would you prefer?”
“I want him unable to reach me. I want my documents from the apartment. I want the bag I packed. I want him told that if he follows me again, I will go to the police with photographs, messages and medical records.”
“The police may not protect you.”
“Maybe not. But that choice is mine.”
Roman held her gaze for a long moment.
Then picked up his phone.
“Victor. Gallagher is not to be touched.”
A pause.
“Correct.”
Another pause.
“Retrieve Ms. Hale’s bag and documents from the apartment. Nothing else.”
Chloe blinked.
“You knew my last name?”
“You gave it when the phone was activated.”
Of course.
Not magic.
Not omniscience.
A detail.
Roman ended the call.
“What about Russo?” Chloe asked.
“That is my business.”
“His business became mine when his collector enabled Tommy.”
Roman considered correcting her.
Instead he said, “Fair.”
The word surprised them both.
Three days later, Chloe found the answer.
Not because Roman gave it to her.
Because Victor brought her duffel bag.
Inside, beneath two shirts, a bus ticket and her passport, Chloe found a stack of papers she had never packed.
Invoices.
Automotive parts purchases.
Fuel charges.
Payments from three shell companies.
Her old professional instincts woke instantly.
She spent an hour on the guest-room desk with a calculator.
Then another.
Roman found her surrounded by documents.
“What are those?”
“Tommy’s.”
Roman moved closer.
Chloe held up one hand.
“Ask.”
He stopped.
“May I look?”
“Yes.”
She passed him the invoices.
“These amounts don’t match.”
“I noticed.”
“Look at the dates.”
Roman did.
“Same vendor.”
“Exactly. Tommy’s body shop ordered parts through Russo’s company. But some invoices were inflated after the fact. The customer paid one number. Russo’s books showed another.”
Roman’s eyes went cold.
“Skimming.”
“Probably.”
“Twenty thousand?”
“More.”
Roman scanned the papers again.
“Tommy found this?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why were they in your bag?”
Chloe leaned back.
“That’s what worries me.”
The answer arrived twenty minutes later.
Victor called.
Tommy had confessed something useful.
He had stolen nothing.
He had found printed invoices in the body shop and threatened Russo with them when Russo demanded payment on a gambling debt.
Tommy had no idea what the documents proved.
He only knew Frankie panicked when he mentioned them.
Russo assumed Tommy had copied records.
Then Tommy came home ranting about having “insurance.”
Chloe remembered telling him she was leaving.
Tommy had thrown her bag across the room.
At some point, without her seeing, he must have shoved the papers into it.
Not to protect her.
To move evidence out of his apartment.
He had turned her into a hiding place.
Again.
Roman ended the call.
Chloe felt sick.
“He put them on me.”
“Yes.”
“If Frankie found me—”
“He would have searched your belongings.”
“And if he believed I understood them?”
Roman did not answer.
He didn’t need to.
Chloe looked at the invoices.
“I do understand them.”
“That makes you more dangerous to Russo than Tommy ever was.”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Roman reached for the papers.
