Chapter 1: THE MECHANIC WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

The first time Dante Moretti looked directly into my eyes, I was standing beneath the hood of his prized 1967 Mustang, holding a cracked vacuum hose.

And I was terrified.

Not because I had done anything wrong to his car.

Because for seven months, I had been pretending to be a man.

My name was Elena Russo.

But everyone inside Moretti Motorworks knew me as Eli Ross.

Twenty-five years old. Quiet. Hardworking. Never late. Never asked questions.

The kind of employee nobody remembered once the workday ended.

That was exactly how I wanted it.

Until that Thursday afternoon.

“Who fixed my car?”

Dante’s voice carried across the garage.

Every mechanic stopped working.

Tony Mercer, our manager, stepped forward.

“Eli did, boss.”

Dante looked at me.

He was thirty-eight, tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair beginning to silver at the temples. His charcoal suit probably cost more than I earned in three months.

But it wasn’t his money that frightened people.

It was his reputation.

Dante Moretti controlled businesses throughout Chicago, from legitimate transportation companies to operations people discussed only behind closed doors.

Men who threatened him had a habit of disappearing from public life.

And now he was studying me.

“Three experienced mechanics couldn’t find the problem,” he said. “You found it in eleven minutes?”

I lowered my head.

“Just listened to the engine, sir.”

“Look at me.”

My stomach tightened.

I raised my eyes.

Dante stepped closer.

“Where did you learn to work on cars?”

“My brother taught me.”

“Where is he now?”

I swallowed.

“Dead.”

Something changed in Dante’s expression.

He glanced at the old wrench in my hand.

It had belonged to Michael.

My older brother.

My best friend.

The only person who had ever stood between me and my father’s cruelty.

“What’s your brother’s name?” Dante asked.

“Michael.”

“Michael what?”

My fingers tightened around the wrench.

“Ross.”

Dante studied me for another uncomfortable moment.

Then he turned to Tony.

“Double his salary.”

Tony blinked.

“Boss?”

“And nobody touches my Mustang except him.”

My heart pounded.

I should have been relieved.

Instead, I felt the walls closing in.

Because the safest thing about my disguise had always been my invisibility.

And Dante Moretti had just made me impossible to ignore.

That evening, while I was gathering my tools, a black SUV stopped outside the garage.

A man stepped out.

Expensive overcoat.

Polished shoes.

Silver hair.

I knew him immediately.

Marcus Bellamy.

The man I had escaped seven months earlier.

My former fiancé.

He walked straight toward Dante’s office.

And as he passed my workbench, he stopped.

His eyes dropped to the old wrench in my hand.

For one terrible second, his expression changed.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

I kept my voice low.

“Family.”

Marcus leaned closer.

“Funny. I knew someone who had a wrench just like that.”

My blood turned cold.

Then Dante appeared behind him.

“Marcus. My office.”

Marcus smiled and walked away.

But before entering, he looked back at me.

And I knew.

He hadn’t recognized my face.

Not yet.

But he remembered Michael’s wrench.

And that was enough to put my entire life in danger.