Page 13 of Hunting Snow

My husband's world always fascinated me in its specifics. The men at the top create the demand for violence, but the hands in the middle, the organizers, the ledger-keepers, the women who bridge client and killer, make the machine functional. Sapphire is the bridge. Beautiful, composed, and sitting on more power than half the runners in that lounge combined. If my ambitions weren't already spoken for, I'd want her chair.

But right now I have a billion-dollar empire to wrestle away from the fairest raven-haired beauty in Chicago.

"Mrs. Castellano." Sapphire doesn't stand. She gestures to the leather chair across from her with a steady, unadorned hand. "Sit."

I lower myself into the chair and cross my legs. The leather is cool, firm, and expensive. Everything on this floor is expensive and none of it is for show.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Sapphire."

"You're a Genesis member with a half million in escrow. I meet with all qualifying clients." Her voice is professional, stripped of warmth and hostility alike. Pure transaction. "You mentioned in your inquiry that you have a contract to place."

I tilt my head a fraction. "I do."

I open my clutch and remove a single photograph along with a folded sheet of paper. I set both on the dark wood between us. The photograph faces Sapphire. Dark hair, green eyes, flour dusted across a smooth forehead. My stepdaughter smiles in the candid picture with the open, careless expression of a girl who has never learned that vulnerability is a liability.

Sapphire's gaze drops to the photo. Her expression doesn't shift.

"Neve Castellano. Twenty-three. My late husband's daughter." I unfold the paper and smooth it flat beside the photograph. "I need her removed. Cleanly. No trace, no spectacle, nothing that traces back to the family or my legal team. Simply a unfortunate and quiet disappearance."

The words leave my mouth the way I rehearsed them. Simple, clean, delivered with the same composure I use when instructing my tailor on hemline adjustments. This is a business transaction. I am a woman placing an order and the product is the permanent absence of a girl who refuses to step out of my way.

Sapphire picks up the photograph and studies it for a long beat.

"The Castellano heir."

"In name only. She signed over most of the transferable assets months ago, but Elio's will contains specific provisions tying certain trust structures, properties, and controlling interests directly to his blood heir. Those provisions cannot be circumvented through legal transfer. My attorneys are competent, thorough, and they have exhausted every available channel."

"The legal avenues are closed."

"The legal avenues were never going to resolve this. My husband built his will to protect his daughter's claim above all others. The only way those provisions dissolve is if the heir is no longer alive to hold them."

I don't soften my words. There is no point in dressing murder in gentle language inside a room built for exactly this conversation.

Sapphire sets the photo down and pulls her laptop closer. Her fingers move across the keyboard in quick, practiced strokes.

"Target name, Neve Castellano. Conditions: elimination, clean, no trace. Timeline?"

"Within the week if possible. But I understand quality requires patience."

"Bounty?"

"Five hundred thousand."

Those blue eyes lift from the screen. "For the Castellano heir? That's a standard open-contract fee, Mrs. Castellano. This target draws attention. Runners will want more for the risk."

I anticipated this. The figure is deliberate. Not because I lack the funds, but because a woman who throws money without negotiation reveals desperation. Desperation is leverage, and I don't hand leverage to anyone.

"What do you recommend?"

Sapphire leans back against the leather booth. "A closed contract. One runner, handpicked, high-skill. Someone who specializes in targets with family ties to the underworld. Neve Castellano may have walked away from the empire, but her surname opens doors that a typical target wouldn't. Any runner who takes this has to navigate the possibility that old Castellano loyalists might take issue with the job. That changes the price."

"How much?"

"Ten point five million for a closed contract with a top-tier runner. Non-negotiable. That includes the cleanup."

I tap a manicured nail against the armrest of the chair. Ten point five million is a rounding error against what Neve's elimination frees up from the trust structures Elio locked behind her name. I would pay ten times that amount and still come out ahead. The inheritance she doesn't even want is worth over a hundred billion once the properties, businesses, and offshore holdings consolidate under my control.

"Acceptable."