Chapter 4
I had heard versions of that accusation for three years.
Since Ava was born, I closed certain businesses.
Changed how punishments were approved.
Stopped allowing captains to drag family members into disputes they did not create.
Old men called it softness.
Younger men called it modernization when they wanted something.
Lucian called it opportunity.
“You used to answer disrespect immediately,” he said.
“I still do.”
He glanced at the collapsed scent display behind him.
Fair point.
But he meant something else.
Before Ava, fear made decisions for me more often.
After Ava, I started asking what those decisions would look like if she ever learned about them.
That question eliminated more traditions than any rival could.
Lucian hated it.
Luca Valenti apparently hated it too.
My changes weakened their leverage over ordinary people.
Fewer desperate merchants.
Fewer indebted families.
Fewer frightened relatives willing to trade access for protection.
So Luca chose another route.
Marriage.
I looked at Valeria.
“Was the relationship real?”
She laughed once.
Broken.
“With you?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“That’s the problem.”
Not an answer.
Then:
“Yes.”
I believed her.
Again.
That made it worse.
“Did Luca introduce us?”
“No.”
“Lucian?”
Silence.
Lucian answered.
“I made sure you were at the Knox fundraiser.”
I remembered.
Two years earlier.
Museum roof.
Valeria wearing blue.
I thought I had met her by chance because she laughed at a terrible sculpture and I overheard.
Apparently the room had been engineered.
The laugh had not.
Maybe.
“How long before you told her the plan?”
Lucian looked at his sister.
Valeria answered.
“Six weeks after our first date.”
I stared.
“And you stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her voice became small.
“Because by then I wanted the wedding for myself.”
There it was.
Love used as justification for betrayal.
She believed if she married me genuinely, the original purpose would matter less.
Maybe she would stall Luca.
Maybe redirect him.
Maybe protect me while still giving her family access.
The lies people tell themselves are always generous.
Then Rafe returned.
Alone.
His expression told me enough.
“Samuel’s gone.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes before Margaret entered.”
The entire atelier had been preparing for launch.
Staff moving everywhere.
Perfect cover.
“Black room?”
“Door was open.”
My jaw tightened.
“Anything missing?”
Rafe hesitated.
“One thing.”
Not the archive.
Worse.
“My father’s private formula ledger.”
Valeria went pale.
I frowned.
Why would Luca risk all this for perfume formulas?
Then Margaret whispered:
May you like
“Maybe it isn’t about perfume.”
She was right.
