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by Vivian Cross
The penthouse is sealed, the capo is dead, and Vivienne Marsh is just the woman with the clipboard — methodical, invisible, perfectly positioned to bury a secret she has been carrying for three years. She knows how to price other people’s losses. She has made a profession of it.
Then she finds the red sticker. Her format, her numbering system, on an antique wall safe she never touched — and the asset number matches a policy she wrote for her husband the week before he disappeared. Before she can think, Declan Mara walks through the door: Chicago crew liaison, unhurried as a loaded weapon, already quoting that same safe’s number from memory.
A court freeze order locks them inside the penthouse together for three days. Two competing interests, one dead man’s secret, and a third party who has been inside this sealed apartment without either of them knowing. Every polite exchange is a negotiation. Every silence is a lie. And somewhere between the sleet hammering the East River windows and a confession neither of them planned to make, the rules of engagement stop being so simple.
Did this story work for you?
Did this story work for you?
Inspired by Blackridge
Choose the trope, heat, characters and ending. No creation experience needed.