Chapter 1 - THE WEIGHT OF SILK
The dress weighed seventeen pounds.
Norah knew because the seamstress had mentioned it twice, proudly, as though the weight of Milan silk and hand-sewn pearls were a personal achievement.
Now, standing in the bridal suite with a gunshot wound beneath her ribs, Norah thought seventeen pounds might as well have been a hundred.
Clara lifted the gown from its garment bag.
“Ready?”
Norah looked at the white silk.
Then at her reflection.
Her lips were pale beneath the lipstick.
Her eyes looked too large.
And beneath the tightly wrapped athletic tape, blood was slowly soaking through the gauze.
“Ready,” she lied.
Clara helped her into the dress.
The corset closed around her waist.
Pain exploded through her side.
Norah gripped the vanity.
“Careful,” she whispered.
Clara frowned.
“Too tight?”
“No.”
Norah forced a smile.
“Just nervous.”
The zipper climbed.
The pearls settled.
And the wound disappeared beneath four layers of expensive fabric.
For the moment.
At Saint Augustine Cathedral, two hundred guests waited beneath stained-glass windows.
The Costa family occupied the right side.
The Gallows occupied the left.
Between them stood a fragile peace treaty disguised as a wedding.
And at the altar stood Leonardo Costa.
Leo.
Thirty-eight years old.
Six feet three.
Dark-haired.
Gray-eyed.
The most feared man in Chicago.
He wore a black tuxedo, his expression unreadable.
Norah had met him exactly four times before their wedding.
He had never smiled at her.
Not once.
Her brother Tommy appeared beside her.
He looked nervous.
Too nervous.
“You okay?”
Norah stared at him.
He knew about the shooting.
He knew she'd been hit.
And he had agreed to keep quiet.
“Fine,” she whispered.
Tommy swallowed.
“Norah—”
“Don't.”
Her voice was sharp.
“Not now.”
The cathedral doors opened.
The organ began.
Norah took her first step.
Pain tore through her side.
She nearly stumbled.
Tommy tightened his grip.
“Jesus, Norah.”
“Walk.”
Seventy feet.
That was all.
Seventy feet between the doors and the altar.
Seventy feet between a wounded woman and the man she was marrying to prevent a war.
By the time she reached Leo, sweat had gathered beneath her veil.
Her vision blurred.
But she smiled.
Leo looked at her.
For a moment, his expression changed.
Concern.
Brief.
Almost invisible.
“You're pale,” he whispered.
Norah smiled.
“Wedding nerves.”
His eyes narrowed.
But the priest began.
The ceremony passed in fragments.
Vows.
Rings.
Promises.
Norah heard herself say:
“I do.”
Leo's voice followed.
“I do.”
When he kissed her, his hand settled lightly against her waist.
Pain flashed through her.
She stiffened.
Leo pulled back.
His eyes searched hers.
But she smiled.
And the cathedral applauded.
At the reception, Norah survived the photographs.
The speeches.
The champagne toast.
She didn't drink.
She barely ate.
Every movement hurt.
Then came the first dance.
Leo extended his hand.
“Mrs. Costa.”
Norah smiled faintly.
“Mr. Costa.”
He drew her onto the dance floor.
The orchestra began a slow waltz.
His hand settled against her lower back.
Directly over the wound.
Norah gasped.
Leo stopped.
“Norah?”
She shook her head.
“I'm fine.”
Then his hand moved.
And came away red.
Leo stared at his palm.
Blood.
Bright crimson.
Against white silk.
His expression changed completely.
The music continued.
But the world seemed to stop.
Leo leaned close.
His voice was deadly quiet.
“Who shot you?”
Norah's heart stopped.
She looked at him.
May you like
Then whispered the lie that would change everything.
“Your brother.”
