Chapter 1
The D’Angelo ballroom had never gone silent for a child.
It had gone silent for gunshots.
For betrayals.
For men entering through the wrong door with the wrong expression.
But never for a three-year-old girl.
“Daddy?... Grandma said you were dead.”
Roman D’Angelo stopped beneath the chandelier.
Across the ballroom stood Nora Bennett.
She looked thinner than he remembered.
Older too, although she was only twenty-five.
One hand held Sophie tightly against her side.
The little girl wore torn clothes.
Not fashionable distress.
Not costume.
Real wear.
Dirty knees.
Frayed sleeve.
Shoes too small.
Roman’s eyes moved over every detail.
Then to Helena.
His mother.
Sixty-seven.
Pearls.
Formal gown.
Perfect posture.
For the first time in years, she looked afraid of him.
Roman crossed the ballroom.
Nobody followed.
No bodyguard needed an order to understand this was family.
Sophie stared at him with wide, wet eyes.
Roman crouched slowly.
He had not seen her since she was an infant.
Nora disappeared after one final argument in which Roman told her the D’Angelo world would swallow her if she stayed.
He had arranged money.
A house.
Protection from distance.
Fifty thousand every month.
Never missed.
Never late.
He had convinced himself that distance was sacrifice.
Now Sophie looked at him like a ghost.
“Daddy?”
“Yes.”
The word barely came.
She reached toward his face.
Then stopped.
“Grandma said you went to heaven.”
Roman closed his eyes.
One second.
Then looked at Nora.
Her face was white.
“She told us your money stopped three years ago.”
Roman stood.
“I sent it.”
Nora shook her head.
“No.”
“Every month.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“Fifty thousand.”
Nora stared.
“We got nothing.”
Helena stepped backward.
Roman turned.
His mother reached toward Sophie.
Too quickly.
“Come here.”
Nora pulled Sophie away.
Roman intercepted Helena’s hand.
“Don’t.”
Helena hissed:
“You don’t understand.”
Roman slapped her.
One open hand.
Enough to send her into the registration table.
Gasps moved through the room.
Roman had never struck his mother publicly.
Perhaps never privately either.
Two bodyguards moved behind Helena.
Not touching.
Ready.
Roman placed Sophie beside him.
Then looked directly at Helena.
“I’ve sent fifty thousand every month.”
His voice was dead calm.
“Tell me where it went.”
Helena touched her cheek.
Her eyes changed.
Not anger.
Resignation.
“You should have stayed away.”
Roman stared.
“From my daughter?”
“Yes.”
The answer was too fast.
Too certain.
Roman stepped closer.
“Why?”
Helena looked toward Sophie.
Then Nora.
Her face hardened.
“Because the day Sophie came back into your life was the day they would know where to find her.”
Roman did not move.
“Who?”
May you like
Helena whispered:
“The men your father failed to kill.”
