My ex waved $100 bills in my face and humiliated my pregnant belly at the grocery store, right before Chicago's most feared mafia boss kissed me in front of everyone.

Across the city, in the high-rise office of Vance & Sterling Financial Consulting, Nathan Vance was on his fourth scotch.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking. Every time the office door opened, he jumped, expecting black-suited hitmen to walk in and end his life.

"You're being ridiculous, Nathan," Vanessa whined from the leather sofa in his corner office, examining her nails. "The man was just posturing. He’s a criminal. We should call the FBI! We have connections. My father sits on the board of—"

"Shut up, Vanessa!" Nathan screamed, slamming his tumbler onto the mahogany desk. "You don't know who that was! That was Adrian Moretti! Do you understand? The feds don't touch him because he owns the judges! If he wants us dead, we won't even make it to dinner!"

Before Vanessa could argue, the frosted glass door to Nathan’s office opened.

It wasn't a receptionist.

Marco stepped inside, ducking slightly to clear the frame. Behind him were two other men with heavy coats and dead eyes.

Vanessa shrieked, scrambling off the couch. Nathan dropped to his knees behind his desk, trembling violently. "Please! I didn't touch her! I swear to God I didn't touch Claire!"

Marco didn't draw a weapon. Instead, he pulled out a thick manila folder and dropped it onto the desk.

"Nathan Vance," Marco said in a gravelly voice. "Your firm's offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. The fraudulent tax filings for the last four fiscal years. The wire transfers from shell companies."

Nathan’s stomach plummeted through the floorboards. "How... how did you get those?"

"Mr. Moretti owns the bank you laundered through," Marco answered simply. "At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, these documents will be delivered to the IRS and the Department of Justice. By noon, the Vance family name will be bankrupt, and your father will be in handcuffs."

"No... no, please! What does he want?" Nathan cried, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. "I'll apologize! I'll beg Claire on my knees on live television! Just tell me what he wants!"

Marco leaned forward, his scarred face inches from Nathan’s.

"Mr. Moretti doesn't want your apologies. He wants you to experience what it feels like to count pennies. He bought your mortgage. He bought your car leases. He bought your debt. By the end of the week, you won't even have a single hundred-dollar bill to wave at anyone."

Marco turned to Vanessa, who was sobbing into her designer scarf.

"And as for your diamond ring, Miss Thorne?" Marco added casually. "It’s fake. Your fiancé bought cubic zirconia and pocketed the difference. Have a pleasant evening."