Chapter 1
“Cancel the wedding. Plan a funeral instead.”
Genevieve went completely pale.
Her phone was still in my hand.
The call had not disconnected.
Across the speaker came one sharp breath, then silence. Whoever was on the other end had heard me.
I raised the phone closer.
“You were saying something about Rienzi losing everything.”
The man said nothing.
Then the call ended.
I looked at Genevieve.
Champagne ran through her hair and down the ivory fabric of the gown she had chosen for our engagement party. Minutes earlier, two hundred people had been admiring her.
Now nobody was looking at the dress.
They were looking at her face.
Amara stood behind me clutching her soaked stuffed lamb.
Her mother, Fatima, had rushed from the service doorway and was kneeling beside her. She looked terrified—not of Genevieve anymore.
Of me.
That bothered me.
“Fatima.”
She lowered her eyes automatically.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Take your daughter somewhere warm. Nobody stops either of you.”
Genevieve immediately spoke.
“She misunderstood a conversation.”
I turned.
“Three-year-olds misunderstand words.”
I held up the phone.
“They don’t manufacture connected calls.”
Her jaw tightened.
One of my capos approached, but I raised a hand.
Not yet.
I wanted her comfortable enough to make mistakes.
“Who was the man?”
“No one.”
“Interesting name.”
“Alessandro—”
“Who?”
She stared at me.
Then Amara whispered from behind Fatima.
“The angry man.”
Every head turned.
Genevieve closed her eyes.
I crouched beside Amara.
“What angry man?”
She hugged the lamb tighter.
“The one in the little room.”
Genevieve’s breathing changed.
“What little room?”
Amara pointed toward the west corridor.
“There.”
The old music salon.
Locked for the party.
At least it was supposed to be.
I looked at Genevieve.
She stopped pretending confusion.
May you like
And suddenly I understood that the phone call had not come from somewhere across the city.
The man discussing my downfall might already be inside my house.
