He pointed a finger at the ledger in my arms.

“But as Roman Blackwell’s wife, you are untouchable,” he said. “Nobody in Chicago dares to lay a hand on his bride.”

“So you used me as a shield,” I said.

“I secured your safety,” he countered. “While Roman keeps you locked away in his fortress, I am free to conduct my business.”

“And what business is that?” I asked.

Arthur looked at the thick leather book in my hands, his eyes gleaming with a sudden, sharp hunger.

“That ledger contains the routing numbers for every offshore account the Blackwell syndicate owns,” he said.

I looked down at the book.

The pages were filled with columns of neat, blue-inked numbers.

“I am selling it,” Arthur said. “To the highest bidder in Zurich.”

“You’re going to ruin them,” I said.

“I am going to survive,” Arthur corrected. “And I am going to be very, very rich.”

He stepped closer, stretching his hand out again.

“Now, give me the book, Lena,” he said. “Elias has a car waiting downstairs.”

I looked at Elias.