Chapter 1
A ice-cold drop of sweat trickled down Beatrice’s spine as the glowing screen illuminated Maggie’s living room.
The couch she had helped her sister pick out at Ikea was clearly visible in the background.
Dante did not say a word, but his posture instantly shifted into that of a predator marking its prey.
His hand closed around her wrist, steadying her trembling arm with absolute, immovable strength.
“Who has the keys to her apartment?” Dante asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.
“Only me,” Beatrice whispered, her throat feeling as dry as desert dust. “And Maggie, of course.”
“Call her right now, but do not sound panicked under any circumstances,” he commanded smoothly.
Her fingers shook so violently that she almost dropped the phone onto the plush carpet.
The line rang once, twice, three times, each chime sounding like a ticking time bomb.
“Bea? Hey, I just got back from the grocery store,” Maggie’s cheerful voice finally filled the speaker.
Beatrice let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, though the terror remained coiled in her chest.
“Maggie, listen to me very carefully and do not ask questions,” Beatrice said, fighting to keep her voice level.
“Is someone in the apartment with you right now?”
Silence stretched across the line, heavy and suffocating.
“No… why would anyone be here? Bea, you’re scaring me,” Maggie murmured, her tone suddenly cautious.
Dante snatched the phone gently from Beatrice’s hand and pressed it to his own ear.
“Maggie, this is Dante Moretti. I need you to step out of the apartment immediately and walk down to the lobby.”
“Who? Bea, who is this guy?”
“Do it now,” Dante ordered, leaving zero room for argument. “My men are already outside your building.”
He ended the call before Maggie could protest and handed the device back to Beatrice.
“Your sister is safe for the next ten minutes, but the leverage just changed,” Dante said coldly.
“They’re watching her,” Beatrice gasped, clutching her gold dress as if it could protect her. “They were inside her home.”
“Which means whoever planned this knows you better than you think,” Dante replied, scanning the ballroom.
Across the room, Charles Wilkes was standing near the bar, nursing a glass of scotch with white knuckles.
Victoria Lane was nowhere in sight, having vanished into the sprawling hotel corridors minutes ago.
“They want me to destroy the file,” Beatrice realized out loud, her eyes locking onto Dante’s.
“If you destroy it, they win, and your sister becomes a loose end,” Dante stated bluntly.
“And if I don’t destroy it?”
“Then we tear down Wilkes & Hart brick by brick until we find the architect of this setup.”
A waiter passed by, completely oblivious to the shadow war being waged in the alcove.
Beatrice looked at the black leather folder in Dante’s hands, containing years of her painstaking work.
Every line item, every reconciliation, every altered digit was now a weapon aimed at her heart.
“I won’t let them hurt Maggie,” she declared, her fear hardening into something sharp and unyielding.
“Good,” Dante said, a dangerous smirk briefly touching his lips. “Because I don't tolerate threats against my inner circle.”
“I’m not your inner circle,” she pointed out, her pulse hammering in her ears. “You just called me your queen to make a point.”
“In New York, Beatrice, perception is reality,” Dante replied, stepping closer until she could smell his faint cologne.
“And right now, the entire city thinks you belong to me.”
Before she could process his words, her phone buzzed again with a new text message.
It was not a photo this time.
It was an address in the Meatpacking District, followed by a time: 11:30 PM.
“Come alone with the original hard drive, or Maggie’s pictures go public,” the message read.
Beatrice showed the screen to Dante, whose eyes narrowed to dark, lethal slits.
“They think they’re setting a trap for you,” Dante murmured softly.
May you like
“Are they?”
“No, Beatrice. They just invited the devil to dinner.”
