Chapter 2 - THE MAFIA BOSS WHO KNEW HER FATHER
The ballroom erupted.
Guests began whispering.
The appraisers gathered around the manuscript.
Preston hurried toward Camille, his expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and anger.
"Camille, sweetheart, I think you've had enough excitement."
He reached for her arm.
Lucien's voice stopped him.
"Don't touch her."
Preston froze.
He turned slowly.
"Mr. Moreau."
Lucien didn't acknowledge the greeting.
He looked at Camille.
"Did you know your father worked for the Delacroix family?"
She nodded.
"He was an archivist. He restored documents."
"Did he ever tell you about the river trust?"
"No."
Lucien's expression darkened.
"Then he was trying to protect you."
Preston laughed weakly.
"Surely this can wait until after the auction."
Lucien finally looked at him.
"Who are you?"
Preston straightened.
"Preston Whitfield the Third."
Lucien considered.
"That explains the confidence. Not the manners."
A few guests looked down to hide their smiles.
Preston reddened.
Camille suddenly remembered the wager.
She turned toward him.
"You promised to kneel."
The room went still.
Preston stared.
"What?"
"You said you'd kneel if I translated one word."
His smile vanished.
"Camille, don't be ridiculous."
She looked at him.
"Was it ridiculous when you said it?"
He glanced around.
"That was a joke."
"A joke about me."
"You're making a scene."
Camille felt something inside her settle.
For eleven months, she had excused Preston's little humiliations.
The way he introduced her as his "hardworking girl."
The way he corrected her grammar when she hadn't made a mistake.
The way he insisted she shouldn't mention her father's work because it sounded pretentious.
She had believed he was helping her fit into a world that wasn't hers.
Now she understood.
He hadn't wanted her to fit in.
He had wanted her grateful to be allowed near it.
Camille looked at the ring on her finger.
Then removed it.
She placed it beside his champagne glass.
"You don't have to kneel."
Preston stared at the ring.
"Camille—"
She stepped back.
"Because I don't want you anymore."
A collective breath moved through the room.
Preston's face hardened.
"You'll regret this."
Lucien moved closer.
"Careful."
Preston looked at him.
Lucien's expression was unreadable.
"Threats sound different when witnesses are listening."
Preston said nothing.
Camille turned away.
For the first time that evening, she felt as though she could breathe.
Lucien escorted her into a private office.
Not because she asked for protection.
Because he had information she needed.
He closed the door.
Camille remained standing.
"Tell me about my father."
Lucien studied her.
"You look like him."
"That isn't an answer."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"No. It isn't."
He gestured toward a chair.
She didn't sit.
Lucien accepted that.
"Your father contacted me eight years ago. He believed someone was falsifying historical ownership records connected to the old Delacroix trust."
Camille's heart pounded.
"Who?"
"He didn't know. Not for certain."
"What happened?"
Lucien looked away.
"He asked for help. I agreed to meet him at the warehouse where he worked."
"And?"
"When I arrived, the building was already burning."
Camille stared.
"You were there?"
"Yes."
"Did you try to save him?"
Lucien's face changed.
"I did."
For the first time, his voice sounded human rather than dangerous.
"I couldn't reach him."
Camille looked down.
Her father had died when she was twenty-four.
She had spent eight years imagining his final moments.
Now she was standing before someone who had actually witnessed them.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Lucien was silent.
Then:
"Because I was told you had disappeared."
Camille looked up.
"By whom?"
Lucien hesitated.
May you like
Then said a name.
"Preston Whitfield's father."
