Chapter Two: The warning.

Dominique

The studio was already crowded when we arrived.

Assistants moved between clothing racks while makeup artists prepared their stations. Someone was arguing over lighting. Someone else was looking for a missing pair of shoes.

Normal chaos.

I liked it.

There was something comforting about a room full of people who were too busy worrying about a photoshoot to care about anything else.

Douglas disappeared almost immediately to speak with the creative director while I was taken into the dressing room.

I had barely sat down when the door opened.

“Am I interrupting?”

I looked toward the mirror.

Connie stood in the doorway.

“Depends. Are you here as my friend or as a detective?”

He smiled.

“Friend.”

“Then you're interrupting.”

He walked in anyway.

Connie had known me long enough to ignore most of my attitude.

He nodded toward Douglas.

“Morning.”

“Connie.”

Douglas glanced between us.

“You two have fun. I'll be outside.”

He left.

I looked at Connie through the mirror.

“You look serious.”

“I am.”

“That isn't reassuring.”

He pulled the door shut behind him.

For a second, he didn't say anything.

Then he said, “The prosecutor from the Rozanov case was found dead this morning.”

My expression didn't change.

At least, I hoped it didn't.

“Oh.”

Connie frowned.

“That doesn't sound like much of a reaction.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“I don't know. Something.”

“It's sad. A man died. That's something.”

Connie stepped closer.

“Dominique.”

Something in his voice made me turn toward him.

“What?”

He took out his phone.

“I don't think this was an ordinary death.”

My stomach tightened.

He unlocked the screen and turned it toward me.

I looked.

Then wished I hadn't.

I stared at the photograph for several seconds before looking away.

“What happened?”

“We're still trying to establish that.”

“You said he was dead.”

“He was.”

“Then what are you trying to establish?”

Connie's jaw tightened.

“How it happened. Who did it. And why.”

I looked back at the phone.

There was something else in the photograph.

A symbol.

Small, but unmistakable.

My chest tightened.

I knew that symbol.

I hadn't seen it in years.

I looked away again.

“That's impossible.”

Connie went still.

“You recognize it?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

Connie studied me for another moment before putting his phone away.

“It's the Rozanov family sigil.”

My hands had gone cold.

I forced myself to laugh.

“Maybe some of his people are still around.”

“Of course they're still around. That's not what bothers me.”

I looked at him.

“What does?”

“Four years.”

I said nothing.

“The syndicate fell apart after the arrest. The major players scattered. Some disappeared. Some were arrested. Others moved on.”

Connie paused.

“Then suddenly, after four years of almost nothing, one of the most important people connected to that case turns up dead with that symbol.”

I swallowed.

“Maybe they're trying to avenge him.”

“Maybe.”

He didn't sound convinced.

“Then what's the problem?” i asked.

“Why now?”

I had no answer.

Connie slipped his phone into his pocket.

“I'm not even supposed to be telling you this.”

“Then why are you?”

“Because you're involved whether you like it or not.”

I stiffened.

“I haven't been involved in anything for years.”

“I know.”

His voice softened.

“That's why I'm warning you.”

He told me he was going to arrange additional security around my home until they understood what was happening.

I wanted to argue.

Instead, I nodded.

Connie headed for the door.

“Don't tell anyone what I showed you.”

“I won't.”

He paused.

“And Dominique?”

I looked at him.

“If you remember anything unusual, anything at all, call me.”

“Okay.”

He left.

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

I stared at my reflection.

I looked exactly the same as I had ten minutes ago.

Perfect hair.

Perfect makeup.

Perfect clothes.

Nothing about me suggested that my hands were shaking beneath the table.

I forced myself to breathe.

Four years.

Four years was a long time.

Whatever happened back then was over.

It had to be.

Someone called my name from outside.

“Dominique! We're ready!”

I stood.

I picked up my jacket and walked toward the set.

I wasn't going to let a dead man ruin my day.

I had no idea how badly that decision would age.

" What did Connie come for?" Doug asked when I got close to the set.

" Nothing really. He stopped for a chat." I asked.

" Connie never stops for a chat. "

" Well..." I stuttered trying to come up with something.

" We'll talk about it later. Right now just get on set. " Doug said.

I was relieved that he didn't push it. For now though.

I stepped onto the set. The lights were already blazing and crew was in place.

I took my position against the backdrop while the stylist made a final adjustment to my jacket.

“Chin up.”

I lifted my chin.

“Perfect.”

Marcel raised his camera.

The first flash went off.

Click.

“Again.”

I shifted my weight.

Click. Click. Click.

“More expression, Dominique.”

I gave him a sharper look.

“Better.”

Another flash.

“Don't look at the camera. Look past it.”

I turned slightly.

“Good.”

Click.

“More attitude.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“That's it.”

The camera kept clicking.

For the next few minutes, there was nothing else on my mind. No dead prosecutor, no thinking of the past.

Just the lights, the camera, and Marcel's voice cutting through the studio.

“Turn your shoulder.”

I did.

“More.”

I shifted.

“Hold it.”

The shutter clicked repeatedly.

“Now give me something softer.”

I relaxed my expression.

“Beautiful. Hold.”

Another series of flashes.

“Now more action, Dominique.”

I ran a hand through my hair and changed my stance.

“Good.”

“Again.”

I moved.

“Again.”

Another pose.

Another flash.

Another.

“Perfect.”

Marcel lowered the camera and looked through the shots.

The studio gradually quieted.

He nodded once.

“That'll be all.”

I exhaled and stepped away from the set.

“Finally.”

Marcel laughed.

“You say that every time.”

“Because every time you say five more minutes.”

“And every time you give me exactly what I want.”

I smiled.

“That's why you keep hiring me.”

He shook his head.

“Go get changed.”

I turned toward the dressing room.

I had to take my mind of what Connie had said, but I couldn't. If his suspicion was true, then my carefully built life could come crashing down.