Hacked For Love & The Dom's Songbird: A Billionaire Romance Collection

by Michelle Love

  “He had a bunch of that Bitcoin stuff stolen from him,” sighs Scarface. He jerks his head at the bruiser, who goes to fill two tumblers halfway with eighty-year old Scotch. “Our IT guy traced them to your account.”

  I blink, and then—after making sure the pistol is concealed on my lap—open my laptop and bring up the affected Bitcoin accounts. I am going to be partially transparent at this point...partially. If I’m going to put up a smokescreen, it’s going to be so close to the truth that only Robin will be concealed by it.

  Robin. I’m not sure why I’m protecting her, especially since I know that Marcone is looking for a convenient fall guy. Except that she and I are so alike in so many painful little ways...and she doesn’t actually deserve this.

  I don’t imagine that she’s gotten much in her life that she actually does deserve. But maybe I can help change that.

  Bottom line: I like her. I want her talents at my disposal and her dainty little green-haired self in my bed. And none of that is going to happen if I let Marcone have her. “I want to show you some information from my Bitcoin accounts from four days ago. This is confidential information, so please don’t let it go any further than your employer.”

  “Of course.” They seem confused that I’m treating this with the calm, respectful formality of a business transaction. Maybe even relieved. Both men crowd in behind me, and after setting up a redacting program to scramble my sensitive information, I show the window in question.

  “At a little later than this time four days ago, I received an alert from my IT team that my own accounts had been robbed. But right before they were robbed, I got a transfer of Bitcoin from an unknown source. That money was then transferred out of my account within the hour, along with another twenty-five thousand Bitcoin of my own.”

  I show them the transactions. The big one grunts and looks at his senior. “The numbers match what the Boss said he lost,” he rasps.

  “So, someone sticks a bunch of our money in your account, and then pulls that and some money of yours out and sends it somewhere else. Do you know where?” They go back to their seats, and I feel myself relax slightly. They didn’t notice the gun.

  I hesitate for a split second, realizing that they’ll notice if I take too long. They’ll trace the other transaction to Yoshida no matter what I do. But I will not be the one to implicate him—one undeserved enemy is more than enough. “We’re still determining where the money went from there. But your boss and I could both simply be links in a chain of such transactions.”

  “So, whoever this is robbed a bunch of people at once, shuffling money through their accounts as he went?” Scarface is smart. Maybe too smart. Handle him carefully.

  “Well, if my theory is correct, then yes.”

  The big one frowns. “The Boss wants his money and the hand of whoever did this to him. But if this is a frame-up, we’d be bringing him the wrong hand and the real thief will get off free.”

  “Look, gentlemen,” I say calmly as I watch the two idiots drink down my good Scotch like water. In this rainstorm, they’re probably going to end up totaling their car if they keep drinking like this. But I’m not here to keep goons from dying of stupidity.

  “Besides what I’ve just shown you, I have the two best reasons in the world to not be your thief. The first part is that I do not want or need Mr. Rocco’s money. The second is that I certainly don’t want or need Mr. Rocco as an enemy.”

  I wait as the two sit back down and confer in Italian. I can understand every word, but I simply sit there pretending to be oblivious.

  “Look, the incoming account numbers match, the amounts match, and the transaction times match, too. I know this Steele guy’s supposed to have serious balls, but he wouldn’t just show us stuff that sensitive when it could fuck him later, unless he really did believe it would get us off his neck.” Scarface rubs his face, loosening his collar. His cheeks are pink. The Scotch is doing its work.

  The behemoth nods slowly. “Look, cousin, we don’t get paid to bring trouble to the wrong door. But you know that if we don’t find the Boss a scapegoat soon, he’s probably gonna take this out on us.”

  “He’s not gonna do that, Joey, we’re made men. He’ll give us time to find the right guy.” But Scarface has his doubts. I can see it in his eyes.

  “But what happens if we can’t find the right guy?”

  Scarface cuts his eyes over to me as I smile blandly. “Then we give him the convenient guy.”

  Once they are gone, I pour the two fingers of Glenmorangie left in the bottle into my own glass and savor it, breathing deep as I find my center again. I call the desk to have them stand down the alert, and then call John.

  “There’s a good chance that Marcone will be sending a cleaning crew after my hand within the next week.” My voice is low and hard, and I hear him suck air.

  “I half expected it tonight when you brought us up to a Code Six. The helicopter’s fueled and prepped on the rooftop, lethal rounds were distributed, and we have reinforcements and medical personnel on standby.”

  “All right. Drop it down to a Code Four for now. Keep the damn helicopter ready unless wind speeds endanger her. I’ll fly her out of here myself if it comes down to it. I want reinforcements kept on-call, but let them go home and get some sleep.” I take another sip of Scotch.

  “I want supervisors only to keep their lethals and check the others in the exterior duty lockers. I don’t want any nervous rookies getting trigger-happy.” I rub my chin. “I’m going to be keeping my panic button handy just in case.”

  Some men have panic rooms. I have a panic penthouse. The outer doors bolt like a bank vault when it goes on lock-down, the armored window glass polarizes to prevent snipers from attempting a lock on my location, and I have an escape tunnel that leads to the helipad above us.

  I have food stores and essentials for six months, including luxuries—from toiletries to massage oil to my wine cellar. I have solar- and wind-charged house batteries backing up my power, a satellite uplink to ensure connectivity, and an emergency water tank that could last up to a month for five people. If Marcone’s goons think I’m a convenient target, they’ll soon realize how wrong they are.

  “So, while we’re preparing, what are you going to do?” John is typing away at something while we talk. I assume he’s e-mailing his four assistants.

  “I’m going to enlist the hacker who started this mess to throw Marcone off the scent. She led him to my door,” I say firmly, trying to ignore how the prospect of bringing Robin here, alone—tonight—excites me. “She can damn well lead him away again.”

  Chapter 9

  Robin

  I try not to stare as I walk into Drake’s museum of a penthouse, but it’s tough. I’ve never seen anything like this place. The ceiling soars up twenty feet to a series of domes set with mirrored mosaics and inset lights; each dome is supported by towering pillars of polished wood. The floor is an acre of elaborately inlaid wood, with scattered islands of furniture and thick Persian rugs.

  Aside from the bathroom, his whole life is on display—the breakfast alcove beside the stainless steel and copper kitchen, the indoor jacuzzi, the sprawling black-sheeted bed. Out front, greeting everyone coming in the main door, is his enormous steel and wood battleship of a desk, which he’s standing beside as I walk in.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” he says tiredly, and I feel a stab of guilt that pulls me out of my reverie. “You said you were willing to do what it took to get Marcone off my back, and it seems we’re short on time.”

  “I will,” I walk over slowly, rubbing the corners of my eyes. He’s already briefed me on his encounter with Marcone’s goons. “I wouldn’t have risked coming here if I wasn’t committed.”

  “Good to know. Though for the record, this place is set up to withstand a siege from a small army.” He sounds proud, and I look back at the huge doors I just walked through.

  “I can believe it.” I look around again. “What’s your escape rou
te?”

  “Hidden passage to the rooftop where there’s a helipad. I fly out.” He seems to want to reassure me that I am safe here. That I can safely stay here, even if Marcone’s men end up on the hunt for both of us.

  Maybe he wants me to stay. At least for a while.

  I glance over at the enormous bed with its carved wood frame and towering posts. “You…don’t seem entirely set up for guests here,” I murmur.

  “I’ve only ever had lovers here overnight,” he admits, his dark lashes shading his eyes briefly. “But…if things don’t turn in that direction, I do have a comfortable couch.”

  “I’ve slept on a lot worse,” I say gamely, and he chuckles and shakes his head.

  “If this hacking job I need you to do on Marcone goes long enough that we need rest, you’re taking my bed.” His smile broadens, going just a touch sly. “Whether I’m in it as well or not, I’ll leave up to you.”

  Both his gallantry and his bald flirtation startle me into silence. My cheeks start prickling again. Damn it.

  “I’m surprised you’re not angry at me,” I admit cautiously. I’m still waiting for the hook in all the bait he’s waving—the trap behind these strange, perilously distracting good feelings.

  “If you had not come right over to fix this as you promised, then I’d be angry at you. But you did, and here you are. And besides, even if I was angry at you, I know you would do the right thing eventually.”

  He’s staring into my eyes. My mouth is so dry. I suddenly realize that I never did take a seat across the desk, and instead I’m simply standing there with him, closer than I realized.

  It suddenly feels like unseen arcs of warm electricity are running back and forth between us, drawing me toward him. He moves a touch closer, bending down over me just slightly. “I haven’t misread you, have I?” he asks almost tenderly, and my heart suddenly aches.

  “N—no.” I suck in a deep breath, feeling exhilarated and scared at the same time. I want him to be close to me, but I’m not used to being touched anymore. Physical contact still feels hazardous after so many years alone.

  I fight to stay cool and just let this…happen. But then a few seconds later, I start to feel overwhelmed. The fear starts to win.

  He sees it and moves back slightly. I look shyly over at his computer setup. “We should…get to work,” I say softly.

  He nods, smiling, and gestures to his chair.

  I feel like a kid in his enormous brown leather executive’s chair. I sink into its deep cushions, its softness easing the aches in my back that I had simply gotten used to having there.

  So much luxury. It’s the one thing I don’t like about Drake so far. He loves the finer things so much.

  I don’t know whether he grew up in a family like mine where a certain amount of opulence was expected. Or maybe he had nothing and always wanted a luxurious, secure home. But I can’t help but look around and think about how that Calder mobile would fund a shelter for ten years. That Picasso—twenty.

  Still, I’m the idiot who rides a cheap desk chair all day and has a backache because I didn’t get the best, so maybe I’m too austere for my own good.

  “So, what’s the plan?” He looms behind me, one hand spread on his desktop near where I’m using the mouse. I can feel the warmth from his hand on the side of mine. I breathe slowly and lightly, doing my best to hide just how much I like it.

  Focus. “They want a convenient target. What about Yoshida? He’s likely to come looking for Marcone anyway.” I am cracking my way into Marcone’s private accounts again. Not just banks and Bitcoin repositories, but everything.

  “I don’t know. I have reservations against supporting any effort against Yoshida that he might trace back to me. Right now, it looks like he robbed me, and I’m not complaining to him.”

  I bite down lightly on my lip with a mix of frustration and worry. “Well, who else can we shift the blame to?”

  “What about just spoofing the account?” He’s moved even closer. If I wasn’t interested—if he hadn’t clearly figured out that I’m interested—it would feel creepy as hell to have him this close. “Convince him that the money is still there, and that its missing status was just a temporary glitch?”

  I lick my lips, flustered and now even more frustrated. “I’m sorry but you’re not getting it. It’s almost impossible to clone Bitcoin in the way you’re asking unless it’s as a temporary measure.”

  I’m not used to working under observation. Between his raw masculine presence and the way he’s hovering, it’s distracting as hell. “If we don’t find a fall guy, we need to make them think the authorities are messing with them.”

  “I don’t want to drag anyone else into this,” he insists. “I thought you were talented. But you’re telling me now that you can’t find a way to peacefully resolve this by adjusting numbers in Marcone’s accounts?”

  I get up, furious, and turn and step close to confront him. “What I’m telling you is that it can’t be done on a short timetable! Riding my ass isn’t going to change that. I thought you knew this business.”

  I remember that getting so close is a mistake, but for a moment I’m so pissed I don't fully remember why. Not until my breasts brush against his chest, and I feel his warm breath on my face.

  I take a huge breath of my own. “If not Yoshida, and if not some other deserving scumbag, then who do we get Marcone to blame for this? Even if I clone those same Bitcoin back into his account and his people write it off as a mistake for a while, eventually those fakes will vanish as soon as the blockchain is updated.”

  “So, you can trick him?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I can do it, and it will buy us time, but that's it!”

  “Then do it,” he growls, voice husky as his hands brush against the backs of mine. “We need to buy time, or we'll never be able to sort this out.”

  “F—fine,” I manage, my heart banging away in my ears again. I settle back down into the seat, my whole body thrumming from the brief contact. My mind is so hazy that I have to catch my breath before I can get back to work.

  Is he seducing me? I shiver. I’m so scared of being hurt.

  But would it hurt more than it does now? Could anything be worse than my days alone and my empty nights? Maybe he can make that emptiness go away for a while, instead of hurting me.

  I set my jaw and force myself to focus. You’re not his type. He’s a rich man who lives in a palace on top of a skyscraper. You’re a green-haired cyberpunk who used to live in a box.

  It doesn't take too long before I have all of Don Marcone's online life spread out before us. “This is it,” I say quietly. “Every bit of dirty laundry—his medical records, all his accounts. From here, I can do a lot. It's your call.”

  He is behind me now, one hand on my shoulder as we look over what I've found. I struggle to stay professional but wish his hand would wander further. The tap of the rain against the window reminds me of the many icy nights I spent alone, and I want to feel the heat from his hand all through me, to drive those cold memories away.

  You have a job to do, I remind myself, and keep typing.

  “All right. The police won't move fast enough for my tastes, but if you leak to them where to find some of this information, our friend Rocco will end up even busier.”

  I start sending e-mails to the police’s anonymous tip account with as much information on Marcone as I can grab. Transfers to his offshore accounts, incriminating e-mails…and from his hard drive, some nude images of suspiciously young girls. “What about leaking some information to Yoshida as well?”

  “Hmm. Yoshida will be coming after him no matter what we do. He believes that the Don stole from him. Yoshida is more likely to be an immediate problem for Marcone than the police, but if he traces any of this back to us…that’s two enemies I don’t need.”

  I look up at him, getting annoyed again. “He won't. He'll trace it where I want, just like Marcone did.”

  “I would believe that…
except that you're not uncatchable.” His tone almost sounds apologetic, but it still stings. “I already proved that, remember?”

  Another surge of anger rushes through me, and I shoot a glare his way. “I reached out to you, remember?”

  “And by the time you did, I already knew your name, your history, and had a good idea of what you looked like.” Now he just sounds condescending—and worse, he's right, which just pisses me off more.

  His other hand settles on my shoulder. “Marcone is an idiot. He is easily led. But like me, Dr. Yoshida is not an idiot. I cannot afford to underestimate him.”

  That electric energy flows from his hands into me, making me shiver with primal need even as what he's saying pisses me off. I keep typing, finishing spoofing the Don's accounts and “refilling” them with phantom money.

  Finally, I sit back. Done. Right now, the police are getting the Don's dirty laundry, the Don's account is being padded with phantom money, and my crawlers are looking for even more dirt on him. That knowledge helps me calm down enough to deal with Drake.

  I get up, turning to challenge him again, but I’m calmer this time. More aware of his effect on me. “No, he's not an idiot. But an anonymous e-mail with the list I just found two minutes ago will help make sure the Don's too busy running from Yoshida to worry about us.”

  His eyes narrow slightly as he stands his ground. “What have you got?”

  “It looks suspiciously like a list of local mob safe houses. If this gets to Yoshida, that big scumbag Marcone won't have anywhere to hide.” I'm proud to have found it on such short notice.

  But even though he's towering over me, eyelids at half-mast and a little shake sounding in the bottom of his breath, even though I can feel the heat of his body through our clothes because we're standing so close, he looks neither distracted nor impressed.