Chapter 2 - THE MAN EVERYONE CALLED BOSS
The broad-shouldered man stepped out of the black sedan and looked from Damian to the three figures disappearing around the corner.
“Boss?”
Harper could not hear the word through the thick glass of her flower shop.
She was too busy leaning against the counter and wondering whether she had completely lost her mind.
Her assistant, Lucy Moreno, stared at her.
“You’re soaking wet.”
“I noticed.”
“You were outside for four minutes.”
“A lot can happen in four minutes.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes.
“Why do you look like you just kissed someone?”
Harper froze.
Lucy’s mouth fell open.
“You did.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“There are literally no customers.”
“That does not mean the roses need to know my business.”
Lucy rushed around the counter.
“Who?”
Harper glanced toward the window.
Damian still stood beneath the rain.
The man from the sedan handed him an umbrella.
Then something strange happened.
The three men who had threatened him did not keep running.
Two black SUVs rolled to the mouth of the alley and blocked them.
Men in dark coats stepped out.
Not police.
Not ordinary security.
The tallest attacker stopped so abruptly that Harper could see fear even from across the street.
Damian said something to the broad-shouldered man.
The SUVs moved aside.
The three men were allowed to leave.
Harper frowned.
“Those guys came from nowhere.”
Lucy followed her gaze.
Then went completely still.
“What?”
Harper turned.
Lucy’s face had drained.
“What?”
“Harper.”
“Yes?”
“Who did you just kiss?”
“I told you. Some guy named Damian.”
Lucy stared through the glass.
Then slowly pulled Harper away from the window.
“Get down.”
“What?”
“Get down.”
“Lucy, are you having a stroke?”
“That’s Damian Vale.”
The name meant nothing for approximately two seconds.
Then it did.
Not because Harper personally knew him.
Because Philadelphia had stories.
Vale Tower.
Vale Freight.
Vale Security.
Vale Hospitality.
Vale Foundation.
The enormous gray building on Market Street whose top six floors were supposedly owned by the same family that had quietly controlled half the waterfront redevelopment projects for twenty years.
Damian Vale.
Depending on whom you asked, he was a billionaire investor, political fixer, crime boss, philanthropist, developer, or man who technically owned nothing but somehow decided everything.
Harper had once heard a contractor say:
“If Damian Vale wants your building, sell before he asks twice.”
She had assumed it was dramatic nonsense.
Lucy whispered:
“That is Damian Vale.”
Harper looked back toward the rain.
The stranger she had kissed was now standing beside the black sedan while six men waited for him to move before any of them moved.
“Oh.”
Lucy grabbed her wrist.
“‘Oh’?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You kissed Damian Vale.”
“Yes.”
“You told three men they’d have to go through you to touch him.”
“Yes.”
“You called him your husband.”
“Technically I said—”
“Harper!”
“I panicked!”
Lucy covered her face.
“We’re dead.”
“No one is dead.”
“Not yet.”
Harper looked toward the window again.
Damian was staring directly at the flower shop.
Then he smiled.
A real one this time.
Small.
Almost private.
Harper immediately stepped behind a display of sunflowers.
Lucy whispered:
“He saw you.”
“I know.”
“What do we do?”
“Sell flowers.”
“That’s your plan?”
“It has gotten us through worse.”
“Name one.”
“The furnace.”
“The furnace did not have armed security.”
Harper looked at her.
“Do we know they’re armed?”
Lucy stared.
“You’re exhausting.”
Outside, Damian entered the sedan.
The broad-shouldered man got in beside him.
Inside the car, Damian removed his wet jacket.
His security chief, Roman Mercer, watched him with an expression that had intimidated prosecutors, union negotiators, and three mayors.
It did nothing to Damian.
“What?”
Roman looked toward Bennett Blooms.
“That woman kissed you.”
“I was there.”
“She thought she was rescuing you.”
“So it appears.”
Roman leaned back.
For the first time in years, he laughed.
Damian’s eyes narrowed.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“A little.”
“You’re fired.”
“Again?”
“Eventually I’ll mean it.”
Roman stopped laughing.
“The DeLuca men?”
“Let them go.”
“They came to threaten you.”
“No.”
“They came to deliver a message.”
“What message?”
“That Victor DeLuca thinks I’m still looking in the wrong direction.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
For six weeks, someone had been stealing money from businesses under Vale protection.
Not street money.
Corporate funds.
Property acquisitions.
Shell companies.
Millions disappearing through legitimate transactions.
Damian had traced part of it toward DeLuca Holdings, an old rival family that preferred lawyers to bullets and expensive restaurants to back rooms.
The three men in the alley were supposed to intimidate him.
Instead, Harper Bennett interrupted.
Roman glanced toward the flower shop.
“We have another problem.”
“No.”
“She saw you.”
“People see me every day.”
“She interfered.”
“She kissed me.”
“That’s interference.”
Damian looked through tinted window.
Harper was now pretending to reorganize sunflowers while very obviously looking at the sedan through the reflection in a metal vase.
“She doesn’t know anything.”
Roman’s voice became more serious.
“She knows your face.”
“So does half the city.”
“She put herself between you and DeLuca men.”
“I noticed.”
“If DeLuca finds out—”
“He already will.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
That was the real issue.
Three enemies had watched a woman touch him publicly.
Not merely touch.
Kiss.
Damian Vale had spent twenty years making sure nobody knew what mattered to him.
No wife.
No children.
No public girlfriend.
No obvious weakness.
And in less than ten seconds, Harper Bennett had accidentally created the appearance of one.
Roman said:
“We should put someone outside her shop.”
“No visible detail.”
“Agreed.”
“Two people rotating.”
Roman nodded.
Then:
“Do you want a background?”
Damian looked at him.
“Basic.”
Roman smiled.
“Basic.”
“Do not invade her life.”
“You employ me to invade lives.”
“I employ you to know where threats come from.”
“Difference?”
“Yes.”
Roman understood.
The sedan pulled away.
Inside Bennett Blooms, Harper exhaled.
Lucy said:
“He’s gone.”
“Good.”
“You should never see him again.”
“Agreed.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
The bell above the front door rang.
Both women screamed.
A delivery driver jumped.
“Whoa.”
Harper pressed a hand to her chest.
“Sorry.”
The driver held out an envelope.
“Harper Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“Delivery.”
“From who?”
“No sender.”
Lucy backed away.
“Do not open it.”
Harper opened it.
Inside was a folded cream card.
No logo.
No letterhead.
Just handwriting.
For the record, you did not save my life.
Below it:
But thank you anyway. — Damian
Lucy stared.
Harper felt herself smile despite every survival instinct she possessed.
Then another card slipped from the envelope.
This one was not handwritten.
It was a photograph.
Harper’s smile disappeared.
The image showed her standing outside Bennett Blooms the previous night.
Taken from across the street.
On the back, four words were written in black ink.
Vale cannot protect you.
Harper’s fingers went cold.
She looked toward the window.
Across the street, a man in a gray cap immediately turned away.
May you like
And for the first time, Harper understood that the kiss had not ended anything.
It had started something.
