Z

The photograph had a date stamp.

June 11.

I gave birth September 3.

Victoria had supposedly returned to Las Vegas on September 3.

The math wasn't difficult.

“What is this?” I asked.

Vincent took my phone.

His expression became unreadable.

“I don't know.”

“You don't know whether Victoria was in your casino three months ago?”

“No.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

His eyes snapped to mine.

“I expect you to believe I wouldn't lie now.”

I laughed.

“That reputation hasn't aged well.”

He accepted that.

Again.

It was beginning to annoy me.

Vincent enlarged the photograph.

The image showed Victoria entering an employee-only hallway at the Belladonna, one of the Moretti family's flagship properties.

“You recognize that entrance,” I said.

“Yes.”

“So she couldn't have accidentally wandered in.”

“No.”

“Who has access?”

“Senior executives. Security. Family.”

“And apparently ex-girlfriends.”

His jaw tightened.

“Claire.”

“What?”

“I didn't know she was here.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“You aren't.”

That answer stopped me.

Vincent looked down at the photograph again.

“I'll find out.”

“No.”

His eyes lifted.

“You'll tell your lawyer, and my lawyer can request whatever is relevant through proper channels.”

“This might have nothing to do with the divorce.”

“It has everything to do with why you abandoned your wife in labor.”

His face changed.

I hated using those words.

Not because they were unfair.

Because they were true.

“You're right.”

I closed the car door.

“Goodbye, Vincent.”

“Claire.”

I turned.

He handed me the phone.

“I didn't know.”

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why she was able to manipulate you so easily.”

I drove away before he could answer.

Vincent didn't return to his office.

He went directly to the Belladonna's security department.

When the director saw him entering the surveillance floor personally, the man stood so quickly his chair rolled backward.

“Mr. Moretti.”

“I need archived footage.”

“How far?”

“June eleventh.”

The director hesitated.

“That's outside our standard on-site retention.”

“Then retrieve the off-site backups.”

“Of course.”

Within forty minutes, Vincent was sitting in a dark room watching grainy footage of Victoria Hale entering his casino three months before she'd called him from the airport claiming she'd just returned.

She wasn't alone.

A man walked beside her.

Tall.

Gray suit.

Vincent leaned forward.

“Zoom.”

The technician obeyed.

The image pixelated.

But not enough to hide the face.

Vincent knew him.

Everyone in the Moretti organization did.

Daniel Cross.

Former chief financial officer of Moretti Hospitality.

Fired eighteen months earlier after Vincent discovered irregularities in vendor contracts.

“What the hell?”

The technician wisely said nothing.

Footage showed Victoria and Daniel entering the executive hallway at 4:17 p.m.

They left forty-three minutes later.

Vincent requested access logs.

One office had been opened during that period.

His younger brother Marco's.

Vincent called him immediately.

Marco answered on the second ring.

“If this is about Mom's birthday dinner, I already told her—”

“Where were you June eleventh?”

Silence.

“That's oddly specific.”

“Answer.”

“Probably here.”

“You weren't. You were in Miami.”

Another pause.

“Okay.”

“Someone accessed your office.”

Marco's voice changed.

“Who?”

“Victoria Hale and Daniel Cross.”

“That's impossible.”

“I'm watching them.”

Marco arrived twenty minutes later.

Unlike Vincent, Marco Moretti wore his reputation lightly.

He smiled more.

Talked more.

And was generally considered the safe Moretti brother right up until people discovered he wasn't.

He watched the footage twice.

Then said, “You told Claire?”

“She received the photo anonymously.”

“From who?”

“I don't know.”

Marco leaned back.

“Victoria just happened to call you during Claire's labor three months after secretly meeting a former executive we fired?”

“Yes.”

“And you left?”

Vincent turned his head.

Marco raised both hands.

“Sorry. I know we're focusing on the conspiracy, not your catastrophic stupidity.”

“Keep talking.”

“Gladly. Someone wanted Victoria near you.”

Vincent stared at the paused image.

“Why?”

Marco shrugged.

“Access. Distraction. Revenge.”

“My wife almost died.”

Marco stopped joking.

“I know.”

“And I wasn't there.”

“No.”

Vincent's hands tightened.

“Because Victoria called.”

Marco studied him.

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make Victoria responsible for your choice.”

Vincent looked at his brother.

Marco rarely challenged him directly.

Today he didn't look away.

“She may have manipulated you,” Marco said. “But she didn't put you in that car. You did that yourself.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Marco pointed at the monitor.

“Because if you want Claire back, figuring out who Victoria really is won't be enough.”

Vincent's expression tightened.

“She filed for divorce.”

“I heard.”

“She said there is no us.”

Marco was quiet for a moment.

“Maybe there isn't.”

Vincent looked at him sharply.

“You're terrible at encouragement.”

“I'm not encouraging you.”

“What are you doing?”

“Reminding you that Claire isn't a casino acquisition. You can't outmaneuver her attorney, buy her something expensive and call it repaired.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

Vincent looked back at the footage.

He thought of the notebook he'd carried to Sophia's appointment.

The ridiculous amount of information he'd written down because every detail about his daughter suddenly felt precious.

Then he thought of Claire saying, You always thought there would be another moment.

“I don't know.”

Marco's voice softened.

“That's probably a better place to start.”

That afternoon, I met Rebecca at her office.

The anonymous photograph sat printed between us.

“You're sure you don't know who sent it?” she asked.

“No.”

“Have there been any threats?”

“Not directly.”

“Do you feel unsafe?”

I thought about it.

“Yes.”

She nodded.

“Then we're increasing security.”

“I don't want Vincent's men around me.”

“I didn't suggest Vincent's men.”

Rebecca slid a card across the table.

A private protection firm.

Owned by a retired federal agent.

I looked at the price.

“That's ridiculous.”

“You married into organized crime.”

“Allegedly.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Of course.”

I almost smiled.

Then my phone rang.

Mom.

I answered.

“Hey.”

“Claire, where are you?”

“Rebecca's office.”

Her voice sounded wrong.

“Don't come home.”

Every muscle in my body tightened.

“Why?”

“There was a woman outside.”

“What woman?”

“She said she wanted to see Sophia.”

My heart stopped.

“Who?”

My mother took a breath.

“Victoria.”

I stood so fast the chair hit the wall.

“What?”

“She came to my house.”

“What did she say?”

“That she wanted to apologize.”

My hands started shaking.

“Where is she now?”

“Gone. I didn't let her in.”

“Is Sophia okay?”

“She is right here.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth.

Rebecca was already standing.

“Tell your mother to lock everything.”

I repeated it.

Then another call came through.

Vincent.

I ignored it.

He called again.

And again.

Finally I answered.

“What?”

“Where are you?”

His voice was harder than I'd heard it since leaving.

“Why?”

“Victoria went to your mother's house.”

“I know.”

“I didn't send her.”

“I never thought you did.”

“Claire, listen to me. Don't go home alone.”

“I already have security.”

Silence.

“You hired security?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The fact he didn't object surprised me.

Then his voice dropped.

“Victoria lied about when she returned.”

“I figured that out.”

“She met with Daniel Cross in June.”

The name meant nothing to me.

“Who is that?”

“Someone who hates my family.”

A chill moved through me.

“What does he want?”

“I don't know yet.”

“Then find out.”

“I will.”

“And Vincent?”

“Yes?”

“If Victoria comes near my daughter again, I won't care about your history with her.”

His response was immediate.

“Neither will I.”

That night, Victoria Hale returned to her condo.

She opened the door.

The lights were already on.

A man sat in the darkness near the window.

Daniel Cross.

He looked at her and smiled without warmth.

“You're losing him.”

Victoria dropped her purse.

“Claire left him.”

“That wasn't the assignment.”

“I know.”

“You were supposed to keep Vincent distracted.”

“I am.”

Daniel stood.

“No. You're making him suspicious.”

Victoria's eyes hardened.

“He loved me once.”

Daniel laughed softly.

“That's your problem.”

“What?”

“You actually thought this was about getting him back.”

He walked past her.

“It never was.”

Then he placed a small black drive on the table.

“Vincent thinks Claire leaving him is the worst thing that can happen.”

Victoria stared at the drive.

Daniel smiled.

“By next week, he'll understand how wrong he is.”