Chapter 1 - I Only Wanted a Stranger to Kiss Me in Front of My Cheating Ex—Then He Whispered, “Someone Just Called My Enemies, and They Think You Belong to Me Now”Eight months after Trevor Ashford shattered my life, I walked into Maverick’s and found him celebrating.
The bar smelled of bourbon, citrus peel, expensive perfume, and rain-soaked wool.
Outside, Chicago was drowning beneath an October storm. Water streaked the tall windows overlooking the river, turning the city lights into blurred ribbons of gold and red.
Inside, everything was warm.
Polished wood.
Amber lamps.
Crystal glasses.
Men in tailored suits talking quietly over twenty-dollar cocktails.
I almost didn't recognize Trevor at first.
Not because he'd changed.
Because he looked happy.
That felt offensive.
He stood beneath a brass pendant light in a navy suit, one hand resting casually on Harper Lane's waist.
My former boyfriend.
My former best friend.
Together.
Laughing.
Celebrating.
Existing as though the destruction they'd left behind had been nothing more than an inconvenient misunderstanding.
I stopped three steps inside the door.
My best judgment told me to turn around.
My pride told me I had already been seen.
Harper noticed me first.
Her champagne glass paused halfway to her lips.
Then something bright and cruel awakened in her expression.
She leaned toward Trevor.
Whispered.
Trevor turned.
His eyes found me.
And there it was.
That smile.
The patient, faintly sympathetic smile he'd used during the last year of our relationship whenever he wanted me to believe I was being unreasonable.
“Cammy.”
Nobody called me Cammy anymore.
Not after him.
“I didn't know you came to places like this.”
I slipped off my raincoat.
“Places with doors?”
Harper laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because she wanted me to know she could.
“You look good,” she said.
“So do you.”
That surprised her.
I meant it.
Harper was beautiful.
She always had been.
Long dark hair.
Green eyes.
A red dress that probably cost more than my monthly mortgage payment.
For six years, she'd been the woman I called when my mother was sick.
The woman who helped me choose Trevor's birthday gifts.
The woman who sat beside me drinking cheap wine while I wondered why my relationship felt increasingly lonely.
All while sleeping with him.
Trevor looked behind me.
“You alone?”
“No.”
“Who are you meeting?”
I should have said none of your business.
Instead, Harper tilted her head.
“She's probably here for work.”
There it was.
That familiar little cut.
I was an independent forensic accountant.
Harper considered accounting something people did when they lacked imagination.
Trevor had once admired my career.
Until I started earning more than him.
“I am meeting someone,” I said.
Trevor's eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
I had no idea.
Then I looked toward the bar.
And saw him.
The largest man in the room sat alone at the far end.
Black shirt.
Dark trousers.
No jacket.
A pale scar crossed his right eyebrow.
His black hair was short at the sides, slightly longer on top.
His profile had the severe stillness of something carved from winter.
Nobody sat beside him.
Nobody accidentally bumped his chair.
Even the bartender approached him differently.
Respectfully.
Carefully.
I should have chosen someone else.
A harmless banker.
A friendly tourist.
The guy near the window wearing a Cubs cap.
Instead, perhaps because my life had already collapsed once and I was tired of being sensible, I walked directly toward the dangerous-looking stranger.
I stopped beside him.
“Excuse me.”
He turned.
His eyes were gray.
Not soft gray.
Steel beneath ice.
They moved over my face.
My hands.
The tension in my shoulders.
Then past me toward Trevor.
“Yes?”
His voice carried an accent I couldn't immediately place.
Eastern European beneath something smoother.
Italian, perhaps.
I swallowed.
“I need you to kiss me.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Trevor again.
Understanding entered his eyes.
Then something darker.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Or what you think will hurt him?”
I hesitated.
“Both.”
The stranger studied me.
“You don't know me.”
“I know.”
“That should concern you.”
“It does.”
“Not enough.”
“No.”
Something almost amused moved through his expression.
He stood.
I was five-foot-four in heels.
He towered over me.
Six-three, maybe six-four.
Broad shoulders.
Powerful build.
The kind of man who didn't need to advertise strength because everyone could see it.
My courage nearly abandoned me.
Then his fingers touched my chin.
Gentle.
Unexpectedly gentle.
“You may change your mind,” he murmured.
“I won't.”
“Last chance.”
“Are you always this dramatic?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Tease me one more time.”
“And what happens?”
“You find out.”
Then he kissed me.
I had expected performance.
Something convincing enough for Trevor to see.
Maybe five seconds.
Instead, the stranger's hand settled at my waist and drew me closer.
My breath caught.
His mouth moved over mine slowly at first.
Then deeper.
Hotter.
For several impossible seconds, Maverick's disappeared.
Trevor disappeared.
Harper disappeared.
Eight months of anger disappeared.
There was only the stranger's hand against my back and the humiliating realization that my fingers had twisted themselves into the front of his shirt.
When he lifted his head, I had forgotten why I'd approached him.
His forehead nearly touched mine.
“You're shaking.”
“So are you.”
“I am not.”
“Your hand is.”
He looked down.
It was.
Barely.
His eyes returned to mine.
Interesting.
Then Trevor's voice cut through the moment.
“What the hell are you doing, Camilla?”
The stranger turned.
He shifted one step.
Just one.
Suddenly his body was between Trevor and me.
“Walk away.”
Trevor stopped.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
“It does now.”
“Camilla is my—”
“Ex,” I said.
Trevor looked at me.
“You're drunk.”
“I've had half a glass of wine.”
“You don't behave like this.”
That made me laugh.
There it was again.
Trevor explaining me to myself.
The stranger's head tilted.
“You heard her.”
Harper arrived behind Trevor.
“Oh my God, Camilla. Are you seriously using some random thug to make Trevor jealous?”
The stranger didn't even look at her.
“You will speak to her with respect.”
Harper blinked.
“Excuse me?”
Now he looked.
She took half a step backward.
Trevor puffed himself up.
“And who exactly are you?”
Something changed in the room.
I noticed it before Trevor did.
The bartender stopped polishing a glass.
Two men near the entrance turned.
A man sitting in a corner quietly reached inside his jacket.
The stranger took a black card from his pocket.
Placed it on the bar.
Pushed it toward Trevor.
Trevor picked it up.
Read.
His face emptied of color.
Harper noticed.
“What?”
Trevor said nothing.
“What does it say?”
I looked.
ADRIAN MARKOV
Below it:
MARKOV-BELLINI HOLDINGS
No title.
No phone number.
Trevor looked up.
“You're Adrian Markov?”
“Yes.”
Trevor swallowed.
“I didn't realize.”
“That is obvious.”
Harper looked confused.
“Who is he?”
Trevor whispered:
“Shut up.”
Her mouth fell open.
He had never spoken to her that way in front of me.
Adrian's arm settled around my waist.
Not possessive.
Protective.
There was a difference.
“My name is Adrian Markov,” he said. “And the woman you betrayed is under my protection now.”
Trevor stared.
Then he looked at me.
Not angry anymore.
Afraid.
“Camilla, you need to leave.”
I almost laughed.
“That's rich coming from you.”
“No.”
His eyes moved toward Adrian.
“You don't understand who this man is.”
Adrian's expression didn't change.
“Careful.”
Trevor's mouth closed.
I looked between them.
“What exactly am I missing?”
Nobody answered.
Harper grabbed Trevor's arm.
“Can we go?”
He didn't move.
Adrian lowered his mouth near my ear.
His voice was barely audible.
“You chose a dangerous man to kiss, malaya.”
I turned toward him.
“What does that mean?”
“Little one.”
“I'm twenty-nine.”
“Then stop behaving like you're immortal.”
Before I could answer, one of the men near the entrance approached.
He whispered something in Adrian's ear.
Adrian's body went completely still.
“What?” I asked.
His hand tightened slightly at my waist.
“Someone made a phone call after you kissed me.”
“So?”
“My enemies were informed I'm here.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“It was.”
His eyes moved to Trevor.
“Until the caller described you.”
My stomach tightened.
“Me?”
“Red dress. Brown hair. Woman with Markov.”
I looked down.
My dress was burgundy.
Close enough.
“Why would they care?”
Adrian looked at me.
“Because they now believe you belong to me.”
“I don't belong to anybody.”
Something approving flickered in his eyes.
“Good answer.”
Trevor suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“We're leaving.”
Adrian moved faster than I thought a man his size could.
His hand closed around Trevor's.
Not violently.
Just firmly.
Trevor released me immediately.
“Touch her again,” Adrian said softly, “and our conversation becomes unpleasant.”
“Adrian.”
I placed my hand against his arm.
He looked at me.
“I'm fine.”
His attention returned to Trevor.
“Who did you call?”
Trevor stared.
“What?”
“After she kissed me.”
“I didn't call anyone.”
“Then show me your phone.”
“Screw you.”
Adrian smiled.
It wasn't a pleasant smile.
Trevor reached into his pocket.
For one second, I thought he was actually going to surrender the phone.
Instead, the lights went out.
Darkness swallowed Maverick's.
Someone screamed.
Glass shattered.
Adrian grabbed me.
“Down.”
He pulled me behind the bar.
A gunshot cracked somewhere near the entrance.
My entire body froze.
Another shot.
People screamed and dropped.
Adrian covered me with his body.
“Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
He was already moving.
Emergency lights flickered red.
I saw shapes.
Men.
Adrian's security moving toward the entrance.
Then Trevor.
Running.
Not toward Harper.
Toward the back hallway.
“Trevor!”
He disappeared.
Harper crouched behind a table screaming his name.
Adrian returned seconds later.
“Come.”
“What about Harper?”
He looked toward her.
“Bring her.”
One of his men moved immediately.
Adrian took my hand.
We exited through the kitchen.
Rain hit my face.
A black SUV waited in the alley.
“Get in.”
“No.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
“I don't know you.”
“Camilla.”
“How do you know my full name?”
His silence lasted half a second too long.
My fear changed.
“You knew who I was?”
“Not before tonight.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“Get in the car.”
“No.”
A bullet struck the brick wall six feet away.
I got in the car.
Harper was shoved into another vehicle.
Adrian climbed beside me.
The SUV accelerated.
I stared at him.
“What the hell is happening?”
“We'll know soon.”
“I want to go home.”
“You can't.”
“Watch me.”
“Your apartment is already compromised.”
My blood chilled.
“How do you know where I live?”
“I don't.”
He handed me a phone.
A security feed showed the front of my condo building.
Two unfamiliar men stood beneath the awning.
My mouth went dry.
“Who are they?”
“Not mine.”
“Then whose?”
“That's what I'm trying to determine.”
I looked at him.
“Why would anyone care about me?”
Adrian didn't answer.
I remembered Trevor running.
Not protecting Harper.
Not looking for me.
Running.
“Trevor knows something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Adrian looked through the rain-streaked window.
“That's the interesting question.”
Twenty minutes later, we entered an underground garage beneath a private building on the Gold Coast.
Adrian brought me upstairs.
The penthouse was enormous but strangely empty.
Stone.
Glass.
Dark wood.
No photographs.
No family clutter.
Nothing personal.
“Where's Harper?”
“Another secure location.”
“You kidnapped my former best friend?”
“I rescued your former best friend from gunfire.”
“Semantics.”
“Important semantics.”
I folded my arms.
“Tell me who you are.”
He poured himself water.
Not alcohol.
“Adrian Markov.”
“I gathered that.”
“My mother was Elena Bellini.”
“Meaning?”
“The Bellinis controlled shipping operations between Genoa and several American ports.”
“Controlled legally?”
“Sometimes.”
I stared.
“Sometimes?”
“My father was Russian. My mother Italian.”
“And you're what?”
“American.”
“That wasn't what I meant.”
“I know.”
He leaned against the counter.
“The newspapers have several names for me.”
“Businessman?”
“Yes.”
“Criminal?”
“Yes.”
“Mafia boss?”
His expression became almost bored.
“Journalists prefer that one.”
“Is it wrong?”
He considered.
“Not entirely.”
I laughed once.
Of course.
Of course the one stranger I chose in an entire Chicago bar had to be connected to organized crime.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“No.”
“I kissed a mafia boss to make my ex jealous.”
“Yes.”
“I need better judgment.”
“Desperately.”
I glared.
He almost smiled.
Then his phone rang.
He answered in Italian.
His expression changed.
He switched to English.
“When?”
Pause.
“Send it.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
Adrian's phone buzzed.
He opened an image.
Then turned it toward me.
It was a photograph.
Trevor entering a parking garage.
Taken six weeks earlier.
Beside him stood a man I didn't recognize.
Adrian did.
“Who is that?”
“Luca Serrano.”
“Your enemy?”
“One of them.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why is Trevor meeting him?”
Adrian studied me.
“What exactly does your ex-boyfriend do?”
“Commercial development.”
“For whom?”
“Ashford Urban Partners. His father's company.”
Adrian's face hardened.
“What?”
“Ashford?”
“Yes.”
He walked toward a desk.
Opened a drawer.
Removed a file.
Placed it in front of me.
The top page showed a development proposal.
RIVERGATE REDEVELOPMENT PROJECT
Developer:
ASHFORD URBAN PARTNERS
Financing consultant:
LANE STRATEGIC ADVISORY
Harper's father's company.
I looked up.
“Why do you have this?”
“Because Rivergate sits on property my mother owned.”
“What?”
“After her death, control passed through several trusts.”
“So?”
“So someone forged ownership documents six months ago.”
I stared at the papers.
“What does this have to do with me?”
Adrian's eyes locked onto mine.
“You tell me.”
“I've never seen this.”
“You're a forensic accountant.”
“So?”
“Who did Trevor ask to review Ashford Urban's books last year?”
My breath stopped.
He couldn't know.
Trevor had asked me.
Ten months before our breakup.
He claimed his father was considering selling part of the company and wanted an informal review.
I spent two weekends examining records.
I found irregularities.
Payments routed through shell corporations.
Duplicate consulting invoices.
Transfers I couldn't explain.
When I asked Trevor about them, he became defensive.
Three weeks later, he started sleeping with Harper.
Two months after that, our relationship ended.
I slowly sat down.
“I found something.”
Adrian went still.
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Think.”
“There were three companies.”
Names returned.
“Northstar Advisory. Meridian Port Services. Lakebridge Holdings.”
Adrian's expression changed at the last one.
“Lakebridge.”
“You know it?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“A shell controlled by Serrano.”
My skin went cold.
I looked at the Rivergate file.
“Trevor wasn't asking me to review his company.”
“No.”
“He was asking me to find their problem.”
“Or determine whether you'd notice it.”
I stood.
“I need my laptop.”
“Where is it?”
“My apartment.”
“No.”
“My files are there.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I backed up the audit.”
“Where?”
I hesitated.
“My office.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Then we're going to your office.”
“At midnight?”
“Yes.”
“You're very bossy.”
“Camilla.”
“What?”
“Tease me one more time.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Then his phone rang again.
He answered.
Listened.
His face hardened.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“Harper is gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“She escaped the safe location.”
“Why would she do that?”
Adrian stared at me.
“Because she wasn't afraid of the men who attacked the bar.”
My heart sank.
“What are you saying?”
“She knew them.”
“No.”
“Camilla.”
“No.”
Harper had betrayed me once.
That didn't mean—
Then my own phone buzzed.
A message.
From Harper.
I'm sorry. Trevor said nobody would get hurt.
Another message arrived.
A photograph.
My office.
My desk.
My computer monitor glowing.
Then:
They know you kept a copy of the audit.
I looked at Adrian.
May you like
Before I could speak, another message appeared.
And Trevor is already inside your office looking for it.
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