Z

The ballroom seemed to disappear.

Hundreds of people were still there.

Cameras.

Reporters.

Security.

Victor.

None of them mattered.

I looked only at Nicholas.

“Tell me.”

His face had gone still.

The expression he used when he wanted the world to reveal nothing.

But I was his wife.

I knew what lived behind it.

Fear.

Not fear of Victor.

Fear of me.

Victor smiled.

“Go ahead, nephew.”

Nicholas’s voice was low.

“Not here.”

I laughed.

“Six months ago, I would have followed you anywhere when you said that.”

“Sofia.”

“No.”

My throat tightened.

“Whatever it is, say it where everyone can hear.”

Nicholas looked at Victor.

Then at me.

“The first time I went to the restaurant, I was looking for you.”

“I know that.”

Victor interrupted.

“Not because of the ledger.”

Nicholas’s jaw clenched.

“Shut up.”

Victor’s smile widened.

“It was because of the contract.”

I frowned.

“What contract?”

Nicholas stepped toward me.

“Your father made an agreement with mine.”

“What agreement?”

“When we were children.”

The words made no sense.

I stared at him.

Nicholas continued.

“Your father knew Victor would eventually come after his family.”

“So?”

“He asked Antonio to protect you if anything happened.”

Cold spread through me.

“How?”

Nicholas didn't answer quickly enough.

Victor did.

“Marriage.”

I stared.

No.

Nicholas said my name.

I stepped back.

“No.”

“The agreement wasn't binding.”

“Were we promised to each other?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Victor said.

Nicholas turned toward him.

“I said shut up.”

Victor ignored him.

“Thomas Bennett wanted his daughter protected by the strongest Moretti heir. Antonio agreed.”

I felt sick.

“So you found me because our fathers arranged a marriage?”

“I found you because I discovered Victor was looking for you.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

Nicholas moved closer.

“I had no intention of marrying you when I walked into that restaurant.”

“Then when did you know about the agreement?”

“Before I met you.”

My chest tightened.

“Did you tell me?”

“No.”

“Did you propose to me knowing my father had wanted it?”

“Yes.”

That word hit hardest.

I removed my wedding ring.

Nicholas saw it.

His expression cracked.

“Don't.”

“You don't get to tell me what to do with this.”

“I loved you.”

“You keep using love to justify lies.”

“I am not justifying anything.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Telling you that you were the first choice I ever made that had nothing to do with my family.”

I shook my head.

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“Because I spent three months trying not to fall in love with you.”

Despite myself, tears came.

Nicholas's voice broke.

“I knew what our fathers wanted. I hated it. I thought walking away from you was the only way to prove I wasn't obeying a dead man's contract.”

He took another step.

“Then you called me at two in the morning because your bathroom ceiling collapsed.”

A painful memory surfaced.

Nicholas in a white dress shirt, standing in two inches of dirty water while arguing with my landlord.

“You showed up.”

“Of course I showed up.”

“You brought six men.”

“I was still learning moderation.”

A laugh almost escaped me.

I hated him for that.

“I went home that night,” he continued, “and realized I didn't care why I had found you. I only cared that I couldn't imagine not finding you again.”

Victor’s expression darkened.

He was losing control of the moment.

Suddenly he reached inside his jacket.

Nicholas moved first.

So did Luca.

People screamed.

But Victor didn't draw a weapon.

He pulled out a phone.

“Before anyone becomes sentimental, perhaps Sofia should see what happens when people refuse to cooperate.”

He tapped the screen.

The ballroom display changed.

Emma appeared on camera.

Tied to a chair.

My heart stopped.

“Emma!”

She lifted her head.

Blood marked her temple.

Nicholas turned toward Victor.

“Where is she?”

“Somewhere you know well.”

Behind Emma were concrete walls.

Rust-colored beams.

A broken window.

Nicholas recognized it.

“The warehouse.”

Victor smiled.

“The one where you died.”

Nicholas moved toward him.

Victor raised one finger.

“An associate has instructions. If I fail to call every ten minutes, Sofia becomes an only child.”

Nicholas stopped.

“Let her go.”

“Bring me the drive.”

I took it from inside my dress.

Nicholas stared at me.

Victor’s eyes lit.

“There.”

I held it up.

“This?”

“Sofia, don't,” Nicholas said.

I looked at him.

For once, his fear was completely naked.

“I already buried one person I loved because of this drive.”

“Sofia.”

“I won’t bury another.”

Victor extended his hand.

I walked toward him.

Nicholas whispered, “Please.”

I stopped.

He had never begged me for anything.

Not once.

I looked at him.

Then at Victor.

And dropped the flash drive into a champagne glass.

Victor shouted.

I grabbed a nearby bottle and poured sparkling wine over it.

The glass filled.

“What did you do?” Victor snapped.

“Relax.”

I smiled.

“It's a copy.”

Victor went still.

“So is every file on it.”

His face changed.

“My father spent his whole life making backups.”

I looked toward the reporters.

“So I did too.”

Victor lunged.

Luca intercepted him.

The ballroom exploded into movement.

Security surrounded Victor.

Police officers entered through both doors.

But Nicholas wasn't watching his uncle.

He was looking at the screen.

At Emma.

“The warehouse,” he said.

Then he ran.

I followed.

“Sofia, no!”

“You've tried that word before.”

Twenty minutes later, we reached the Chicago River industrial district.

The warehouse ruins were still half-standing.

Emma was inside.

So were three men Victor had paid.

What followed happened too quickly for memory to hold correctly.

Shouting.

Nicholas kicking open a side door.

Luca moving toward the upper level.

Me hearing Emma scream my name.

Then a gunshot.

Nicholas jerked.

For one second, he remained standing.

Then blood spread across his white shirt.

“No!”

I caught him before he hit the floor.

His weight brought me to my knees.

“Nicholas.”

“Sofia.”

His face went pale.

I pressed both hands against the wound.

“No. No, no, no.”

Emma screamed somewhere behind us.

Police sirens closed in.

Nicholas looked up at me.

Strangely calm.

“Listen to me.”

“Shut up.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“There she is.”

“Don't you dare.”

“Sofia—”

“You already died once.”

My hands were covered in his blood.

“You do not get an encore.”

His breathing became shallow.

“I love you.”

“Then stay.”

“I always loved you.”

“Stay!”

His hand touched my cheek.

His wedding ring was still on.

Mine wasn't.

He noticed.

Even then, he noticed everything.

His eyes closed.

“Nicholas!”

For six months, I had dreamed of seeing my dead husband alive.

Now I was kneeling on the floor of the place where he had staged his first death, begging him not to die for real.

And this time there would be no empty coffin.

No conspiracy.

No second ghost.

This time, if Nicholas Moretti left me, I would watch it happen.