Chapter 3
The black room contained no money.
That was what made it valuable.
Money can be replaced.
Trust cannot.
My father created the archive twenty years ago because he hated keeping sensitive arrangements in offices other families expected us to use.
Inside were route histories.
Private agreements.
Old family debts.
Names of men who owed us their positions.
Names of men whose children we had quietly protected.
Enough history to destabilize half the northeastern families if used correctly.
Not legal documents.
Not something for courts.
Something worse in our world.
Memory.
Valeria knew I used the room.
She did not know exactly what remained inside.
Apparently Luca wanted to find out.
“How were you getting in?” I asked.
Lucian finally spoke.
“The launch.”
“Tonight?”
He nodded reluctantly.
I looked toward the hallway leading downstairs.
My bodyguards had already sealed the lower level after Margaret’s warning.
“Who?”
Lucian looked at Valeria.
She closed her eyes.
“Not us.”
“Then who?”
She whispered:
“Someone already inside.”
That was the first answer I believed.
My pulse slowed.
“Name.”
“No.”
I stared at her.
Valeria’s mouth trembled.
“If I give you the name, Luca kills him.”
Interesting.
Not fear for herself.
Someone else.
I waited.
She finally said:
“Samuel Trent.”
My master perfumer.
Fifty-eight.
Worked for my father.
Helped build this atelier.
A man I trusted enough to hold keys to every storage floor.
I almost rejected it.
Then I remembered something.
Samuel had insisted on moving tonight’s archive tasting demonstration from upstairs to the lower formulation corridor.
A meaningless logistical change.
Until now.
I looked at Rafe.
“Find him.”
He left immediately.
Valeria watched.
Then said:
“Samuel didn’t choose this.”
I looked at her.
“Neither did you?”
She flinched.
Good.
I was tired of people describing choices as weather.
“Luca has Samuel’s son.”
That stopped me.
Not physically kidnapped.
Debt.
Addiction.
A young man named Owen who had disappeared from New York months earlier.
Luca found him first.
Kept him close.
Made sure Samuel understood cooperation bought safety.
I looked at Lucian.
“And you?”
He laughed bitterly.
“You think everyone needs blackmail?”
Fair.
“So you volunteered.”
“Yes.”
At least one honest man in the room.
“Why?”
Lucian stared at me.
“Because Caradonna is weak now.”
I almost smiled.
There it was.
The old word.
Weak.
Usually spoken by men who confuse unnecessary cruelty with strength.
May you like
Then he looked at Ava.
“Because you became a father.”
