Chapter 1 - The Broken Heel in the Dark
The heavy front door of the townhouse slammed shut with a muffled thud that cut straight through the relentless Chicago downpour.
Richard’s panicked retreat into that lavish hallway left only the sound of rain drumming against the hood of my rusted Honda.
Beside me, Victor Romano did not move an inch, his broad shoulders squared against the November chill like a statue carved out of dark granite.
Water streamed down the collar of my wool coat, soaking into my blouse while I clutched the snapped plastic heel in my right hand.
Victor reached inside his tailored overcoat, and my breath caught in my throat, half-expecting him to pull a weapon right there on the sidewalk.
Instead, he produced a heavy silver lighter and a clean, monogrammed linen handkerchief, extending the cloth toward me without saying a word.
"Dry your face, Mrs. Crowe," Victor said, his baritone voice smooth and deceptively low.
"Pneumonia will not help you settle this score tonight."
My fingers trembled as I took the handkerchief, smelling hints of cedarwood, rain, and expensive tobacco on the pristine fabric.
"Did you know he was coming here tonight?" I asked, wiping the cold moisture from my cheeks.
"I knew he would arrive at seven-fifteen," Victor replied, flicking the lighter shut with a metallic snap.
"What I didn't expect was his wife serving as his personal tail in a car that needs its muffler replaced."
A second black luxury SUV pulled up silently along the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the yellow glow of the streetlamps.
Two men in dark suits stepped out, opening umbrellas and waiting for their employer’s signal.
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"Get in the car, Martha," Victor said, turning his piercing amber eyes toward mine.
"My wife’s lovers rarely walk out of that front door on their own two feet, but you deserve an explanation before the police scanner lights up."
