Chapter 2
The study in the east wing of the Costa estate smelled of aged mahogany, cigar smoke, and dangerous secrets.
A fire burned in the massive stone hearth, casting moving shadows across walls lined with leather-bound books. Chloe sat behind a heavy antique desk with a sleek laptop open before her.
Roman’s 2nd-in-command, Dominic Russo, stood beside her. His scarred face and quiet manner suggested a lifetime of violence.
Roman sat in a high-backed leather chair near the fire, a glass of Macallan 25 resting against his knee.
He watched Chloe work.
She had been inside his study for 4 hours, and the pregnant woman had not faltered once.
“Harrison was careless,” Chloe said, her fingers moving quickly across the keyboard.
The rhythmic sound of the keys was the only noise in the room.
“He believed masking the IP address through a VPN in Geneva would conceal the wire transfers, but he failed to realize that he used the same encrypted server key he registered to his personal offshore trust in 2022. The man has no imagination.”
Dominic leaned closer. His heavy brow furrowed as financial statements and lines of code moved across the screen.
“You can trace it? Our best technology specialists worked on this for the entire week, and they reached a firewall.”
“Your specialists are searching for stolen Mafia money,” Chloe replied without looking away from the display. “They are looking for large, lump-sum transfers. Harrison did not move $85 million in a single transaction. He fragmented it.”
She continued typing.
“He used a technique called smurfing. He divided the money into thousands of microtransactions and routed them through false logistics contracts in the Cayman Islands. On paper, the company was purchasing fuel and shipping containers that did not exist.”
Chloe pressed several more keys, bringing a complicated network of banking nodes onto the display.
“But all those microtransactions eventually have to accumulate somewhere.”
She looked at the information in front of her.
“I just found the reservoir.”
Roman placed his glass on the table.
The soft sound echoed through the study.
He rose and walked toward the desk, stopping directly behind Chloe. His physical presence was overwhelming and radiated dangerous heat, but she did not move away from him.
“Where is he?” Roman asked, his voice a low rumble only inches from her ear.
“The money is sitting in a holding account at Cayman National Bank under a shell company called Apex Holdings,” Chloe explained, pointing toward a line of numbers. “But the location of the account’s active login is somewhere else.”
She pressed the Enter key.
A map appeared on the screen. It moved beyond the equator and descended into South America before placing a red marker over a coastal city.
“Rio de Janeiro,” Chloe said, cold satisfaction entering her voice. “He is staying at a private villa in the Joá neighborhood. It is a playground for billionaires—highly secured, privately guarded, and outside extradition. He thinks he is untouchable.”
Roman stared at the red marker.
A dark, terrifying smile formed on his lips.
“Dominic, prepare the Gulfstream. Contact our associates in Rio and tell them we have a tourist who needs a warm welcome.”
“Wait,” Chloe interrupted.
She caught Roman’s wrist before he could move away.
The contact sent a sudden current through both of them.
Chloe released him immediately and cleared her throat.
“If you kill him now, the Cayman account will lock the moment a death certificate is issued. Even if he simply disappears and misses his biweekly biometric verification with the bank, the funds will be frozen and seized by the island government. You will lose your $85 million.”
Roman looked down at her, his icy gray eyes narrowing.
“Then how do we recover my money, Mrs. Cole?”
“We don’t merely take your money,” Chloe said, vengeance burning in her eyes. “We take everything. But I need 48 hours to bypass the bank’s 2-factor authentication. I have to duplicate his digital footprint perfectly so that the bank believes Harrison is authorizing the transfer himself.”
“48 hours,” Roman repeated.
He studied her pale face, the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the unmistakable exhaustion in her posture.
“You need to sleep. Your child needs you to rest.”
The possessive slip remained between them.
Your child.
It was subtle, but it revealed a protective instinct Roman Costa rarely demonstrated toward anyone.
“I can’t sleep,” Chloe said quietly, looking down at her hands. “At 9:00 tomorrow morning, the FBI will unseal the indictments. They will raid my townhouse. When they don’t find me, they will freeze my assets and issue a federal warrant for my arrest. I’ll be a fugitive.”
Roman reached toward her.
His large, calloused hand gently raised her chin until she was forced to look at him. The touch was unexpectedly tender for a man who governed through blood and fear.
“Let me worry about the FBI, Chloe,” he said softly. “You are under my protection now. No federal agent will ever touch you. No prison cell will ever hold you. You have my word as a Costa.”
The sincerity in his eyes broke through the last of her defenses.
A single tear escaped and traveled down her cheek.
Roman caught it with his thumb and wiped it away before it could fall.
“Dominic,” he ordered without breaking eye contact with Chloe. “Call Senator Mitchell. Tell him I am collecting the favor he owes me from the waterfront union strike. I want the federal indictments against Chloe Cole buried in a classified dossier before dawn. If he refuses, remind him that I have the photographs from his yacht trip in Monaco.”
“Yes, boss,” Dominic replied before leaving the room.
Roman continued to look down at Chloe.
“Go to sleep, partner. Tomorrow, we bleed your husband dry.”
2 days later, the trap was ready.
Chloe sat inside the command center of Roman’s estate, surrounded by a dozen of his most skilled hackers and financial fixers.
She was the one directing the operation.
Roman stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching gray waves break against the Long Island shoreline while holding a phone to his ear.
“Is the team in position?” he asked.
“Yes, boss,” the rough voice of his enforcer in Rio answered. “We have the villa surrounded. We bypassed the local cartel security by paying them twice what Cole was paying. They walked away 10 minutes ago. He is completely isolated.”
“Stand by.”
Roman ended the call and turned toward Chloe.
“Are we ready?”
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.
Her heart pounded, but her hands remained steady.
“I have the routing numbers prepared. The Cayman firewall has been bypassed. I am logged in as Harrison Cole.”
“Do it,” Roman commanded.
Chloe executed the command.
On the enormous screens before them, progress bars began to fill. The large sum of money was fragmented again, removed from the Cayman account, and redirected through a dozen untraceable offshore shell companies before finally reaching the Costa family’s secure accounts in Switzerland.
“$85 million successfully transferred, Mr. Costa,” Chloe said.
Her voice echoed through the silent room.
She was not finished.
“Now for the rest,” she whispered.
With several more keystrokes, she targeted Harrison’s personal bank accounts, secret slush funds, cryptocurrency wallets, and everything else he had concealed from her during the previous 4 years.
She emptied them all.
The remaining $40 million was transferred into an impenetrable, irrevocable trust established exclusively for her unborn child.
The screen flashed green.
Account balance: $0.
“He’s broke,” Chloe said as she leaned back in her chair and released a shaking breath. “He doesn’t have a single cent left.”
Roman approached and handed her a tablet.
“Then it is time to say goodbye.”
He touched the screen and initiated an encrypted video call.
The display flickered.
Harrison Cole’s face appeared.
He sat in the luxurious living room of his villa in Rio, holding a tablet and looking frantic and disheveled. The arrogance he had displayed at the airport was gone, replaced by absolute terror.
“Chloe!” Harrison gasped, his eyes widening. “Chloe, my God, you’re alive. The FBI—I thought they took you. Listen to me. I had to leave. I had to set you up to buy enough time to fix this.”
“You didn’t fix anything, Harrison,” Chloe said, her voice colder than the winter wind outside. “You ran like a coward. You traded your pregnant wife to a Mafia boss to save your own pathetic life.”
“Chloe, please,” Harrison begged as tears streamed over his face. “My accounts are empty. Someone hacked the Cayman trust. I have nothing. The cartel guards I hired just walked away from the property. I don’t know what is happening.”
“I know,” Chloe replied, leaning closer to the camera. “I emptied them.”
Harrison stopped moving.
The realization gradually spread across his panicked face.
“You did this.”
Roman stepped into view behind Chloe’s shoulder.
His presence on the screen caused Harrison to recoil physically.
“Hello, Harrison,” Roman said calmly. “I believe you owe me an apology for attempting to steal from my family, although your wife has already paid your debt in full.”
“Costa,” Harrison whispered, trembling. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
“You have nothing left to offer,” Roman replied. “Your money is gone. Your company is being dismantled, and your security detail belongs to me now.”
May you like
Roman removed a small radio from his pocket and pressed the button.
“Breach.”
