Chapter 3 - THE VELVET POUCH
The heavy door of the SUV slammed shut, sealing Sage inside with Dominic. The driver didn’t turn around. The partition was up.
Sage sat frozen in the expansive leather seat, drowning in Dominic’s wool coat. The silver lighter felt like a live grenade in her hand.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sage said, her voice rising in genuine panic. “What flash drive?”
Dominic leaned back against the opposite door, the streetlights flashing over the sharp angles of his face as the car pulled away from the curb. He didn't look angry. He looked dangerously patient.
“Tyler Vance is a lot of things,” Dominic said, his voice a low rumble over the sound of the tires on wet asphalt. “He’s a coward. He’s a bully. But he’s also my accountant. And three days ago, ten million dollars vanished from a pension fund my family oversees. The only thing that vanished with it was Tyler’s encrypted flash drive.”
Sage’s mind spun violently. Tyler wasn't just a real estate developer. He was laundering money. And he was doing it for the Rossi family—a name every lifelong Chicagoan knew to speak quietly.
“I haven't been in Tyler’s apartment in three months,” Sage said, gripping the leather seat. “I haven't spoken to him. He’s been stalking me. That’s the truth!”
Dominic watched her breathing, the sheer terror in her eyes. The coldness in his expression fractured just a fraction. He was a man who could spot a lie from a mile away, and he was realizing he was looking at the truth.
“He followed you into the restaurant tonight,” Dominic said, almost to himself. “He didn't know I was there. I wasn't supposed to be there. I changed my reservation at the last minute.”
“I tripped,” Sage insisted, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. “It was an accident, Dominic. I was just trying to get away from him.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. He pulled out his phone and typed a rapid message.
“If he wasn't there to hand the drive off to a buyer,” Dominic murmured, piecing it together in real-time, “why was he risking a public scene with you when he knows my men are tearing the city apart looking for him?”
Sage swallowed hard. She looked down at her small, practical leather purse sitting on the floorboard.
“He… he bumped into me,” Sage whispered.
Dominic’s head snapped toward her. “What?”
“Before I fell,” she said, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Outside the coat check. He grabbed my arm. He pulled my purse toward him, telling me to stop making a scene. I yanked it back and ran into the dining room.”
Dominic didn't ask permission. He reached down, grabbed her purse, and unzipped it. He dumped the contents onto the empty seat between them.
Lipstick. Keys. A wallet. A compact mirror.
And a small, faded black velvet pouch.
Sage stared at it. “That isn't mine.”
Dominic picked up the pouch. He loosened the drawstring and tipped it over his palm.
It wasn't a flash drive.
A heavy, antique brass key fell into Dominic’s hand.
Dominic stared at the key. The air in the car seemed to evaporate. For the first time all night, the unshakeable Dominic Rossi looked genuinely rattled.
“Answer one question for me, Sage,” Dominic said, his voice stripped of all its smooth control. “Did Tyler ever mention a safety deposit box at the Continental Trust?”
“No,” Sage said. “Never.”
Dominic closed his fist around the key. He reached up and knocked twice on the glass partition. It lowered instantly.
“Change of plans, Marcus,” Dominic ordered the driver. “Take us to the safe house on the lake. Now.”
Sage grabbed his arm. The muscle beneath his jacket was rigid. “You said you were taking me home! You have what he planted on me. Let me go.”
“I can’t,” Dominic said, turning his gray eyes back to her. There was no menace in them now. Only a heavy, grim reality. “This key doesn’t belong to Tyler. It belongs to my father. It opens a box that contains the names of every corrupt judge and politician in Cook County.”
Before Sage could process the magnitude of what she had just been dragged into, the SUV violently swerved.
Tires screamed against the pavement. The impact sounded like an explosion.
Sage was thrown sideways, her head slamming against the leather seat as a massive black truck T-boned them in the middle of the intersection. Glass showered the interior.
Through the shattered window, Sage saw a man stepping out of the truck, raising a heavy weapon.
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It wasn't Tyler.
It was a man in a Chicago Police Department uniform.
