The silence inside the conservatory was complete, broken only by the hum of the air-conditioning and the ragged, shallow breathing of Genevieve Ashworth.

Thirty guests sat frozen in their chairs, staring at the sixty-foot screens displaying their hostess conspiring to overthrow the Rienzi empire.

Genevieve looked wildly around the room.

Her aristocratic poise had completely vanished. Her chest heaved, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the back of her chair.

“It’s a fake,” she gasped, her voice shrill and desperate, pointing a trembling finger at the screens. “It’s a deepfake! Alessandro, you have to believe me! Richard Vance is framing me! He wants to tear us apart!”

Alessandro did not shout. He did not slam his fist on the table.

He handed Amara gently back to her mother. “Fatima. Take her to the private wing.”

Fatima nodded, her eyes wide, and quickly led the child out through the side entrance under the escort of two armed guards.

Once the heavy glass doors clicked shut behind them, Alessandro turned his full attention back to his fiancée.

“Richard Vance isn't framing you, Genevieve,” Alessandro said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, sub-zero register. “In fact, Richard is currently waiting for your delivery at Pier 14.”

Arthur Ashworth staggered away from the podium, his face ashen. “Alessandro… please! Listen to reason! We were forced into this! Vance threatened to destroy our firm—!”

“Shut up, Arthur,” Alessandro murmured without looking at him.

Dante stepped forward, catching Arthur by the back of his collar, shoving the sixty-year-old patriarch into an empty chair, pinning him there with a hand resting heavily on his shoulder.

Alessandro walked slowly toward Genevieve.

She backed away until her spine hit the glass wall of the conservatory.

“You stood in my ballroom,” Alessandro whispered, stopping inches from her, his presence suffocating the space around her. “You wore my mother’s diamonds. You smiled at my family, drank my wine, and planned to send me to a federal prison for twenty years so you could give my ports to the man who murdered my father.”

“Alessandro… please…” Tears spilled over Genevieve’s mascara, ruining her flawless makeup. “I was scared! Vance had leverage on my family! I didn't want you to get hurt, I swear—!”

“Save it,” Alessandro cut her off.

He reached out, his long fingers closing around the emerald engagement ring on her finger.

With a slow, firm twist, he pulled the heavy platinum band off her knuckle.

Genevieve gasped, a sharp, broken sob tearing from her throat as she watched the symbol of her stolen empire leave her hand.

Alessandro dropped the five-carat ring into his water goblet. It hit the bottom with a sharp, heavy clink.

“Dante,” Alessandro said.

“Boss.”

“Take Mr. Ashworth and his daughter to holding area two at the docks,” Alessandro commanded. “I want them to have front-row seats for the arrival of Richard Vance’s shipment.”

“You can't do this!” Genevieve shrieked, clawing at Dante’s arm as two armed enforcers clamped zip-ties around her wrists. “My family has friends in Washington! The governor is coming to the wedding tomorrow! You can't touch us!”

Alessandro didn't answer her.

He walked past her toward the doors, pausing just before stepping into the rain.

“The wedding is still on, Genevieve,” Alessandro whispered over his shoulder, his dark eyes burning with lethal certainty. “Only tomorrow, you won't be wearing white. You’ll be wearing an orange jumpsuit.”