Lena saw the bubbles.

They were wrong.

Too fast.

Too dense.

The foam gathered unnaturally around the rim.

Victor's fingers closed around the stem.

Lena moved.

The tray crashed behind her.

She crossed five feet of marble.

Victor lifted the glass.

Her fist struck his jaw.

The sound was brutal in its simplicity.

Victor's head snapped sideways.

The champagne glass flew.

It hit the floor.

Crystal shattered.

Three hundred people stopped breathing.

For one impossible second, the orchestra continued.

Then even the music died.

Lena stood there.

Her fist burned.

Victor stared at her.

Blood touched his lower lip.

She thought, absurdly, that he looked more confused than angry.

Then a shadow moved.

Dmitri Volkov.

Lena knew his reputation.

Everyone did.

He was Victor's chief of security.

Six foot four.

Built like a wall.

His hand closed around her throat.

The world changed instantly.

Her feet left the floor.

Her back hit the service station.

Pain flashed through her shoulders.

"Who sent you?"

She tried to answer.

Nothing came.

"Who?"

Her lungs burned.

The ballroom blurred.

Then Victor spoke.

"Dmitri."

Dmitri stopped.

Victor approached slowly.

He wiped the blood from his lip.

Looked at it.

Then looked at Lena.

"That was quite a punch."

Lena coughed.

"The champagne."

Victor glanced toward the floor.

"What about it?"

"Smell it."

His eyebrows tightened.

"Why?"

"Just smell it."

Victor crouched.

He leaned toward the liquid.

Inhaled.

He froze.

When he stood, his face had changed.

"Almonds."

Dmitri looked down.

Victor's eyes moved to him.

"Potassium cyanide."

The room erupted.

Security moved.

Doors closed.

Guests were separated.

Phones were confiscated.

The orchestra was dismissed.

The champagne was sealed.

The hotel staff were questioned.

The police were not called.

Victor Romano did not call the police when someone tried to kill him.

That would have been an admission that someone else controlled the situation.

Two hours later, Lena sat in the basement.

Her right hand was swollen.

Her throat hurt.

Her heart had not stopped racing.

The steel door opened.

Victor walked inside.

He had removed his jacket.

His sleeves were rolled to the elbows.

He placed an ice pack on the table.

"For your hand."

Lena stared at it.

Then at him.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Victor sat down.

"If I wanted to kill you, you would not be sitting here."

"That isn't an answer."

"It is the only answer you're getting."

She looked toward Dmitri.

He stood behind Victor.

Silent.

Watching.

Victor leaned back.

"Your name is Lena Hart."

She said nothing.

"Twenty-six."

Still nothing.

"Three years, seven months at the Grandeur."

Her mouth went dry.

"No criminal record."

She looked at him.

"One brother."

Her heart stopped.

"Toby."

She pushed the ice pack away.

"How do you know?"

Victor's expression did not change.

"I know everything about people who enter my perimeter."

"You had me investigated."

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because you punched me."

Lena almost laughed.

It came out as a breath.

"You deserved it."

Dmitri's eyebrows lifted.

Victor looked at her for a long moment.

Then something almost resembling amusement appeared in his eyes.

"Perhaps."

He leaned forward.

"What I don't understand is how you knew."

"My father."

"Your father?"

"He was an industrial chemist."

Victor waited.

Lena told him about the manuals.

The safety lessons.

The bitter almond scent.

She did not tell him everything.

She did not tell him that her father had once told her that people were often more dangerous than chemicals because chemicals at least followed rules.

She didn't know why she remembered that now.

Maybe because Victor didn't look like a man who followed rules.

Maybe because she had already broken every rule that mattered.

Victor asked, "Did you see who poisoned the glass?"

Lena went still.

The room seemed smaller.

She saw Mercer again.

The ring.

The gray powder.

The smile.

She knew what naming him meant.

Mercer was not some stranger.

He was Victor's right hand.

A man with fifteen years of trust behind him.

If Lena was wrong, she would disappear.

If she was right, she might disappear anyway.

Victor watched her.

"Miss Hart."

His voice was softer now.

"You saved my life."

She swallowed.

"That places me in your debt."

"I don't want your debt."

"I didn't say you had a choice."

She stared at him.

His gaze hardened.

"If you lie now, that debt is gone."

Lena breathed in.

"It was Mr. Mercer."

Dmitri moved slightly.

Victor remained still.

"Describe exactly what you saw."

She did.

The ring.

The compartment.

The powder.

The time.

The way Mercer looked at her.

When she finished, Victor stood.

He walked away.

For thirty seconds, he said nothing.

Then he turned.

"Leon has been beside me for fifteen years."

Lena whispered, "He looked angry."

Victor stopped.

"Not surprised?"

"No."

"Angry?"

"At me."

Victor nodded slowly.

He looked at Dmitri.

"Where is he?"

"Executive lounge."

Victor smiled faintly.

"Good."

He looked at Lena.

"Stay close."

The elevator carried them to the forty-fifth floor.

Lena watched their reflections.

Victor stood beside her.

Dmitri behind them.

She felt like a prisoner.

Then she realized something.

Prisoners were usually afraid of the people outside.

She was afraid of the man beside her.

When the doors opened, Leon Mercer stood near the fireplace.

He looked relieved.

"Victor."

He stepped forward.

"What happened?"

Victor walked past him.

"The girl is being handled."

Mercer exhaled.

"Good."

Victor poured bourbon.

Mercer continued talking.

"The Morettis must have been behind it."

"No."

Victor took a drink.

"It was cyanide."

Mercer's face tightened.

"Then we have to assume—"

"The girl saw the poison being planted."

Mercer stopped.

Victor looked at him.

"She saved my life."

Mercer forced a smile.

"Victor, surely you don't believe—"

"Lena."

She stepped into the room.

Mercer went white.

Victor pointed.

"Is this the man?"

Lena nodded.

"Yes."

Mercer's expression collapsed.

"You've lost your mind."

Victor's voice was quiet.

"Take off the ring."

Mercer backed away.

"What?"

"The ring."

"I refuse."

Dmitri moved.

Mercer went down.

The ring came off.

Victor opened it.

Gray residue.

Silence.

Mercer looked at Victor.

Then laughed.

"You think this proves anything?"

"It proves enough."

"I served your father."

"I know."

"I served you."

"I know."

"I made you rich."

Victor stared at him.

"You were paid."

"Ten percent."

"Ten percent of an empire."

"Ten percent for doing the work."

Mercer's face twisted.

"Moretti offered me fifty."

Victor looked down at him.

"Fifty percent of what?"

"Everything."

Victor's voice became almost gentle.

"Fifty percent of nothing is still nothing."

Mercer was taken away.

Lena watched the doors close.

Victor stood by the window.

"You should go home."

"I don't have a home."

He turned.

"You have an apartment."

"I have a basement."

"Not anymore."

Lena frowned.

Victor handed her a piece of paper.

An address.

"Tomorrow."

She looked at it.

"What's this?"

"Somewhere safe."

"I don't want to owe you."

"You already do."

"I saved your life."

"And I saved yours."

She looked up.

Victor's expression was unreadable.

"Mercer knows your face."

Her stomach tightened.

"You think he'll come after me."

"I know he will."

"Then why let me leave?"

Victor looked toward the city.

"I won't."

The next morning, Lena moved into the apartment on the thirty-second floor.