Z

Three weeks after Jack proposed to me in the lobby of Northbridge, a woman in a red dress walked into our engagement party and told everyone she had been promised to him first.

I had been warned that marrying Jack Whitmore would be complicated.

I had not realized complications wore diamonds.

The engagement party was held at the Whitmore estate because my mother had rejected Jack’s original suggestion of renting out an entire hotel ballroom.

“No daughter of mine needs four hundred strangers watching her eat shrimp,” she said.

Jack, who had once negotiated with men suspected of murder, immediately surrendered.

So instead we had sixty guests.

Board members.

Old family friends.

My mother’s neighbors.

Dominic, who had somehow convinced the caterer that “security testing” required him to sample every dessert.

And Jack’s younger sister, Victoria.

Victoria Whitmore was thirty-one, beautiful in the effortless way wealthy women in magazines pretended was natural, and possibly the only person on earth who enjoyed annoying Jack more than I did.

She hugged me when she arrived.

Then she whispered, “You can still run.”

Jack heard her.

“I can have you escorted out.”

“You’ve threatened that since I was twelve.”

“Eventually I’ll mean it.”

Victoria smiled sweetly.

“No, you won’t.”

Watching them together taught me more about Jack than a year of corporate investigations ever could.

Around everyone else, Jack controlled himself.

Around Victoria, he was simply an older brother.

I liked him that way.

The evening had almost become peaceful when the front doors opened.

Nobody had announced another guest.

That should have been the first warning.

The second was Dominic’s expression.

He stopped eating cake.

Dominic did not stop eating cake for minor problems.

I turned.

A woman stood in the entrance.

Early thirties.

Black hair.

Red silk dress.

Diamond earrings.

No coat despite the January cold.

She looked directly at Jack.

And smiled.

“Hello, darling.”

The room changed.

Conversations died in pieces.

Jack went completely still beside me.

I looked up at him.

“You know her.”

“Yes.”

“That sounded enthusiastic.”

“It wasn’t.”

The woman crossed the room.

People moved aside without being asked.

That told me something.

Whoever she was, she belonged to Jack’s old world.

Victoria appeared beside us.

Her voice was flat.

“Isabella.”

The woman smiled.

“Victoria.”

Then she looked at me.

“You must be Emily.”

I hated immediately that she knew my name while I had no idea who she was.

“Yes.”

“Isabella Romano.”

She extended her hand.

I took it.

Her grip was cool.

Precise.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

She glanced toward my ring.

“Beautiful.”

Something in her tone said expensive mistake.

Jack stepped forward.

“Why are you here?”

“No hello?”

“Why are you here?”

Her smile faded slightly.

“Still charming.”

“Still avoiding questions.”

Isabella looked around the room.

“You invited half of Boston.”

“Not you.”

“That’s exactly why I came.”

My mother appeared at my other side holding champagne.

“Who’s this?”

Nobody answered quickly enough.

My mother looked at me.

Then Jack.

Then Isabella.

“Oh.”

It was the most dangerous syllable I had ever heard from her.

Isabella smiled politely.

“And you are?”

“Her mother.”

“Of course.”

My mother took a long sip.

“I’m already exhausted by you.”

I nearly choked.

Jack covered his mouth.

Isabella’s expression tightened.

Then she looked back at him.

“You haven’t told her.”

Jack’s face went cold.

“Not here.”

That was the wrong answer.

Because now I knew there was something to tell.

I looked at him.

“Told me what?”

“Emily.”

“No.”

My voice stayed calm.

“You have approximately five seconds before my imagination becomes significantly more creative than reality.”

Victoria muttered, “She really is perfect for you.”

Jack glared at her.

Isabella answered instead.

“Jack and I were supposed to marry.”

The room disappeared.

Not metaphorically.

For one second, I heard nothing.

No music.

No glasses.

No guests.

Just that sentence.

I looked at Jack.

His face told me it was true.

“Supposed to?”

“It was arranged,” he said.

I blinked.

“When?”

“Twelve years ago.”

That helped.

Slightly.

Isabella tilted her head.

“Our fathers believed it would unite the families.”

“Your father?” I asked.

“Antonio Romano.”

I knew that name.

Everyone did.

The Romano family controlled casinos, shipping interests, and political connections stretching from New York to Providence.

They had once been allies of the Whitmores.

Then something had happened.

Nobody in respectable newspapers ever explained what.

I looked at Jack.

“And you never mentioned this?”

“It ended before anything happened.”

Isabella laughed softly.

“That’s one interpretation.”

Jack’s eyes sharpened.

“Be careful.”

There it was.

Not anger.

Warning.

Isabella did not seem afraid.

“I came because my father is dead.”

Victoria’s face changed.

Jack stopped moving.

“What?”

“Three nights ago.”

Nobody had told him.

That mattered.

Antonio Romano had been powerful enough that news of his death should have reached Jack immediately.

Unless someone deliberately hid it.

“How?” Jack asked.

“Officially?”

Isabella looked at me.

“Heart attack.”

“And unofficially?”

“Murder.”

The word cut through the room.

Jack glanced toward Dominic.

Dominic was already moving.

Guests began receiving polite instructions to remain inside.

Security locked the gates.

I stared at Isabella.

“Why come here?”

“Because two hours after my father died, somebody broke into his study.”

Her voice had lost its elegance.

Now there was fear beneath it.

“They stole one thing.”

“What?” Jack asked.

“A ledger.”

Jack’s expression changed.

Victoria whispered, “No.”

I looked between them.

“What ledger?”

Jack didn’t answer.

Isabella did.

“The one documenting thirty years of agreements between the Whitmore and Romano families.”

My stomach dropped.

Payments.

Deals.

Crimes.

Names.

Enough to destroy Jack’s efforts to rebuild Northbridge.

Maybe enough to send people to prison.

Jack looked at Isabella.

“Who has it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are you here?”

She looked directly at me.

“Because whoever took it left a message.”

I already knew I wasn’t going to like this.

“What message?”

Isabella reached into her purse.

Dominic returned instantly, hand inside his jacket.

She slowly removed a photograph.

Placed it on the table.

It was me.

Taken outside Northbridge two days earlier.

My face was marked with a black X.

On the bottom someone had written:

THE NEW BRIDE PAYS FOR THE OLD DEBT.

Jack’s entire body changed.

I had seen him angry.

I had seen him afraid.

This was different.

Something old had awakened.

Something I thought he had buried.

“Who knew about our engagement before it became public?” he asked.

Victoria answered.

“Family.”

“Board members,” I added.

“Security,” Dominic said.

Isabella shook her head.

“No.”

We looked at her.

“This isn’t somebody watching your engagement announcement.”

She tapped the photograph.

“This is somebody who has been waiting years for Jack to love someone.”

My skin turned cold.

Jack took the photograph.

His thumb covered the black X over my face.

“You’re staying here tonight,” he said.

I crossed my arms.

“We are not repeating this argument.”

“We aren’t.”

“Because I’m not hiding.”

Jack looked at me.

“No.”

His voice softened.

“This time, neither am I.”

He turned toward Dominic.

“Find out who killed Antonio.”

Then toward Victoria.

“Pull every Romano contact from the old books.”

Finally, he looked at Isabella.

“You came here because you want protection.”

She lifted her chin.

“No.”

“Then what?”

Her eyes moved to me.

“I came because our fathers made enemies together.”

She paused.

“And one of them just came back for your fiancée.”

Jack reached for my hand.

I held on.

Not because I was scared.

Because he was.

The ring on my finger suddenly felt heavier.

Three weeks earlier, it had meant a future.

Now it looked like a target.

And somewhere outside the walls of the Whitmore estate, someone had decided our wedding would settle a debt none of us understood.