Chess pieces and raven feathers haunt me.
Does the killer think they’re a poet?
Mocking the fact Father is dead, and foreshadowing that I will be next?
These thoughts torment me throughout my five-day hospital stay. The guards are posted outside my door, deterring anyone who wants me dead. They are the only ones keeping me calm.
Now I sit in the back of the black tinted SUV driven by Mario on the highway to hell.
The weight of what I’m about to do settles into my bones and the compression wrap around my chest feels like it’s about to crush my lungs.
In a few minutes I’ll be face to face with Dominic Cartieri after fifteen years. I cringe. Our last interaction wasn’t my finest moment. But how was I supposed to react when this man promised me the world, then broke it with his badge. Ugh. I hate him.
“We’ll be at Dominic Cartieri’s office in about five minutes, Cipi,” Mario’s voice breaks the tsunami of thoughts swirling in my head.
I adjust my fur coat and fold my arms.
Dominic Cartieri.
I hate how his name still gets to me.
The memory of his voice, his scent, his laugh, it all lingers in the corners of my mind that I desperately boarded shut.
There is no hope for romance.
Not after everything that happened between us.
Not to mention he venomously disapproves of my job.
This is about survival.
This is about finding out who wants to kill me and taking them out before they can do me in for good.
I finger the diamond earring in my left ear and exhale slowly as we pull up in front of the sleek high-rise where Cartieri Investigations is headquartered.
Mario gets out and walks around the vehicle to open the door for me. Leaning forward, I take his hand and wince as the stitches pull in my side. I can’t wait to get them out. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I see a second blacked-out SUV pull up behind us. It’s Matteo and the guards, waiting patiently until I need them.
I shake my head. Being the boss of this enterprise means that I'm rarely alone.
I’m always protected at all times.
But lately that vow of protection is strained because a rat seems to be on the inside.
Mario closes the door and I catch my reflection in the tinted windows. My raven locks cascade to my breasts and makeup hides the paleness from my battle with death. I look poised, powerful, and polished. No one would ever know I was suffering from a gunshot wound, and I intend to keep it that way.
Matteo gets out of the second car, followed by two guards.
“This is the place?” I breathe.
“Yep, I saw it on his website.” Matteo takes my arm. “He’s on the thirtieth floor.”
Together we walk to the door of the towering glass building that reflects the Chicago skyline in its mirrored panels. The soldiers are on either side of us. My heart hammers loudly as the doors slide back to reveal a chrome and marble lobby.
My crimson heels click as we cross the space to the elevator. Next to it is a gold-plated directory fastened to the wall. Matteo presses the button and we step inside.
Time stands still as the elevator glides upward and the numbers increase on the panel. I flinch as a wave of pain travels through me. I should be home in bed resting but a sitting duck is something I won’t be.
I hold my breath as the heavy doors retract back.
