Z

By the time we reached downtown Chicago, Damian Vale had called Luca seventeen times.

Luca answered none of them.

The city glowed beyond the rain-streaked windows while I sat wrapped in a black wool coat Luca’s driver had produced from the trunk. Underneath it, I was still wearing the wedding dress.

Every traffic light felt dangerous.

Every black SUV looked like Damian.

When the Cadillac stopped beneath the Langham’s covered entrance, Luca stepped out first.

Three men appeared from somewhere behind us.

Security.

His security.

“I don’t want an army,” I said.

“You already have one chasing you.”

“I don’t want yours replacing it.”

Luca looked at me.

“They’ll guard the hallway. Not your room.”

That distinction mattered more than I wanted him to know.

Inside, nobody stared at the barefoot woman in the destroyed wedding dress because Luca Moretti walked beside her.

Money could buy discretion.

Fear bought even more.

Ten minutes later, I stood in a suite overlooking the Chicago River while Luca remained near the door.

He hadn’t crossed farther into the room.

“You can leave,” I said.

“I can.”

“But you’re not.”

“No.”

I folded my arms.

“Why?”

“Because the drive in your hand may be worth seventeen million dollars.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“And because Damian will assume I kidnapped you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Truth is rarely the first story people believe.”

I walked toward the window.

“Then tell him I came willingly.”

“He knows.”

“How?”

“Because if I had kidnapped you, I wouldn’t have allowed twelve witnesses to photograph it.”

I turned.

That was when Luca’s phone finally rang again.

He looked at the screen.

“Your father.”

Something inside me hardened.

“Answer it.”

Luca watched me for a second before putting the phone on speaker.

Victor Bennett didn’t bother with hello.

“You son of a bitch.”

Luca poured himself water.

“Good evening, Victor.”

“You stole my daughter.”

“No.”

“She was taken from her wedding.”

“She ran through a kitchen and climbed into my car.”

Silence.

Then my father’s voice changed.

“Isabella.”

I stepped closer.

“I’m here.”

“You have ten minutes to come back.”

I almost laughed.

Even now.

Even after everything.

He still believed commands were magical.

“No.”

“You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“I know exactly what I’ve done.”

“You humiliated Damian.”

“That sounds like Damian’s problem.”

“You humiliated me.”

“That sounds like yours.”

His breathing became heavy.

“Your mother’s foundation will be gone by sunrise.”

My heart twisted.

But I had spent too many years allowing him to use that threat.

“No, Dad.”

I looked at Luca.

Then at the flash drive.

“It won’t.”

My father went quiet.

“What did you take?”

So quickly.

Too quickly.

He knew.

“What are you afraid I took?”

“Isabella.”

“I copied everything.”

Luca’s eyes sharpened.

My father stopped breathing for one terrifying second.

Then he whispered, “You stupid little girl.”

I was twenty-eight years old.

I had graduated summa cum laude.

I had managed twelve million dollars in charitable programs.

And to Victor Bennett, I would forever be a child whenever I became inconvenient.

“You have no idea what those files mean,” he continued.

“Then explain them.”

“They’re business.”

“Foundation money isn’t your business.”

“It became my business when your mother died.”

“No. You became trustee.”

“Same thing.”

“No, Dad. It isn’t.”

Luca was watching me carefully.

I continued.

“Who owns Northbridge Consulting?”

Silence.

“Who owns Meridian Outreach?”

Nothing.

“Why did eleven million dollars from Mom’s foundation go through those companies?”

My father’s voice dropped.

“Give Luca the phone.”

“He can hear you.”

“Moretti.”

Luca picked up his glass.

“Yes?”

“If you open anything she brought you, you’re dead.”

Luca smiled.

“You’ve threatened me more convincingly before.”

“This isn’t your war.”

“Your daughter seems to disagree.”

“She doesn’t understand the people involved.”

Luca’s smile disappeared.

“Which people?”

The call ended.

I stared at the phone.

Luca stared at me.

“That,” he said, “was not a man worried about stolen charity money.”

“What was it?”

“A man worried about whoever is behind the money.”

My mouth went dry.

“You think Damian isn’t the top?”

“I think Damian has seventeen million reasons to marry you, and control of the foundation may be worth far more than seventeen million.”

I sank into a chair.

For the first time since running from the chapel, fear became something colder than panic.

Strategy.

“What do we do?”

Luca removed his jacket.

“We?”

“You want that drive.”

“I want what’s on it.”

“Same difference.”

“No. If I wanted the drive, you’d have given it to me already.”

My fingers closed around it.

“That supposed to reassure me?”

“It’s supposed to remind you that you still have it.”

Fair.

He walked toward the small dining table and opened his laptop.

“I have someone who can examine the files without connecting to any external network.”

“No.”

Luca looked up.

“I stay while they do it.”

“That’s fine.”

“And I get copies.”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“What you intend to do with them.”

His mouth almost smiled.

“You negotiate while wearing a destroyed wedding dress.”

“My father raised me around rich criminals.”

“That explains a lot.”

A knock sounded at the door.

Every muscle in my body locked.

Luca’s hand moved beneath his jacket.

“Who is it?”

“Housekeeping.”

Luca didn’t relax.

Neither did I.

One of his guards opened the door from the hallway.

A woman entered carrying three garment bags and a pair of flats.

I stared.

Luca shrugged.

“You couldn’t spend the night dressed like that.”

“I’m not wearing something you bought me.”

“They’re charged to the room.”

“You booked the room.”

He looked genuinely amused now.

“Then repay me twenty-eight dollars for the T-shirt tomorrow.”

I hated that a laugh almost escaped me.

Almost.

The housekeeper placed the clothes inside the bedroom and left.

Luca closed his laptop.

“I’ll wait outside while you change.”

I studied him.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Because you said you didn’t want another cage.”

The simplicity of the answer unsettled me.

Men in my life didn’t respect boundaries without demanding applause for it.

Luca simply walked toward the door.

Before he left, I stopped him.

“Luca.”

He turned.

“If the files prove my father and Damian stole from the foundation, what happens?”

“To them?”

“Yes.”

His eyes became hard.

“That depends on what you want.”

“I don’t want them killed.”

Something flickered across his face.

“Good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m surprised you think I automatically would.”

“Your reputation isn’t exactly charitable.”

“Neither is Damian’s.”

“You’re his enemy.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Luca rested one hand against the door.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then:

“Because eight years ago Damian Vale ordered a car bomb meant for me.”

The room felt colder.

“He missed.”

Luca’s jaw tightened.

“My younger brother was driving the car.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“He died?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

He opened the door.

Then he looked back.

“That’s why I was outside the chapel tonight, Isabella.”

Not coincidence.

Not curiosity.

War.

“I knew Damian was using your wedding to acquire something important. I wanted to know what.”

His gaze fell to the flash drive in my hand.

“Now I think I do.”

The door closed behind him.

I changed into black pants and a sweater, washed mud from my feet and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror.

The bride had disappeared.

Good.

When I returned to the living room, Luca was back with a thin man carrying a metal case.

“This is Adrian Cole,” Luca said. “He handles digital security.”

Adrian sat at the table.

I inserted the flash drive myself.

Folders appeared.

Invoices.

Contracts.

Bank statements.

Emails.

Adrian worked silently for almost twenty minutes.

Then he stopped.

“What?” I asked.

He enlarged a spreadsheet.

Eleven million dollars from the Bennett Foundation had been transferred through six shell companies.

Then redirected.

Not to Damian.

Not to my father.

To something called Halcyon Holdings.

Luca leaned closer.

“Can you trace ownership?”

Adrian typed.

His face changed.

“What?”

He looked at Luca.

“You’re not going to like this.”

The final corporate registration appeared.

Halcyon Holdings had three authorized controllers.

Victor Bennett.

Damian Vale.

And the third name made Luca go completely still.

Matteo Moretti.

I looked at him.

“Who is Matteo?”

Luca didn’t answer immediately.

Then he closed the laptop.

“My uncle.”