Chapter 1 - THE BRIDE WHO RAN FROM HER OWN WEDDING
The first man to touch Chloe Davis on her wedding night was not her husband.
It was Dominic Russo.
And when the most feared man in Manhattan lifted the rain-soaked edge of her torn veil, Chloe was curled on the floor of his black sedan, barefoot, bleeding from both knees, still wearing the wedding gown she had bought to marry a man who had just arranged for her to die.
Dominic’s gloved thumb stopped on the gold embroidery.
Osprey.
For the first time since she had thrown herself into his car, the crime boss’s expression changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
His eyes went from the word on the veil to Chloe’s terrified face.
Then he quietly said the name that had destroyed her wedding.
“Osprey Holdings.”
Chloe stopped breathing.
Twenty-seven minutes earlier, she had still believed Liam Foster loved her.
The ballroom at the Bellmont Hotel had looked like something out of a bridal magazine—white roses, silver candles, champagne towers, and windows overlooking a rain-darkened Manhattan.
Her father should have been there.
That was the thought Chloe had been fighting all afternoon.
Arthur Davis had died six months earlier from a sudden heart attack. He had been sixty-three, stubborn, loud, generous, and convinced that no human problem existed that could not be improved by coffee, duct tape, or a spreadsheet.
He had also adored Liam.
That was what hurt most.
“You found a good one,” Arthur had told Chloe shortly before his death. “That man understands numbers.”
Chloe wished her father had been right.
Ten minutes before the ceremony, Liam stepped into the bridal suite wearing a tailored black tuxedo and his practiced investment-manager smile.
He kissed her forehead.
“You look incredible.”
Chloe laughed nervously. “You’re not supposed to see me.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
He handed her a cream-colored folder.
“One boring thing before we become irresponsible newlyweds.”
She glanced at it.
“What is it?”
“Liability paperwork. My firm requires it because of my partnership interest. Basically says our finances stay separated if somebody sues the company.”
“Now?”
“Two signatures. Thirty seconds.”
Her maid of honor, Samantha Pierce, appeared behind him carrying champagne.
“Just sign it, Chloe. Then we can get you married before your mascara ends up on your chin.”
Chloe smiled.
But she did not sign.
Maybe it was grief.
Maybe it was her father whispering from somewhere she could not hear.
Or maybe ten years coordinating freight contracts had trained her not to put her name on paper she had not read.
“I’ll look at it.”
Liam’s smile tightened.
“It’s standard.”
“Then it’ll still be standard in five minutes.”
She took the folder and slipped through the adjoining doors into the hotel’s private library, looking for quiet.
That decision saved her life.
The library was dark except for amber lamps and the gray storm beyond the windows.
Chloe spread the pages across an antique desk.
Page one looked harmless.
Page two did not.
Her eyes stopped on a sentence printed in heavy legal type.
CONSENT TO SERVE AS SOLE MANAGING MEMBER OF OSPREY HOLDINGS LLC.
Chloe frowned.
Osprey?
Her father’s fishing boat had been called Osprey.
He had owned it for twenty-two years.
The name was embroidered inside her veil because Arthur had commissioned the veil before his death.
Something blue, something borrowed, something from your old man, sweetheart.
Her fingers went cold.
She kept reading.
Osprey Holdings had been incorporated in Delaware three weeks earlier.
The paperwork transferred full managerial authority to Chloe Davis.
Authority over accounts.
Transfers.
Liabilities.
And prior financial activities.
She heard voices outside.
Chloe turned toward the nearly closed doors.
“Is she signing it?”
Samantha.
Chloe froze.
Then Liam answered.
“She thinks it’s a prenup.”
A tiny sound escaped Chloe’s throat.
Someone else was sitting in the library.
A broad-shouldered man occupied a wing chair in the darkest corner, a glass of whiskey resting against one knee.
She had not noticed him.
He wore a charcoal suit.
Dark hair.
Stillness that felt more dangerous than movement.
His eyes met hers.
He said nothing.
Outside, Samantha whispered, “And when Russo’s people realize the money is missing?”
Chloe looked at the stranger.
He looked back.
Liam chuckled.
“They won’t come looking for me.”
A kiss followed.
Wet.
Soft.
Intimate.
Chloe’s stomach dropped.
“The transfers lead to Osprey,” Liam continued. “Once Chloe signs, she becomes the sole managing member. Every authorization becomes hers.”
“You stole five million dollars.”
“I relocated five million dollars.”
“From Dominic Russo.”
“Which is why we need someone else holding the bag.”
Chloe gripped the desk.
Samantha laughed nervously.
“What happens when they find her?”
Liam was silent for a moment.
Then he answered.
“That stops being our problem.”
Everything inside Chloe went still.
Not shattered.
Not yet.
Shattering required emotion.
This was colder.
She suddenly understood the expensive honeymoon Liam had booked.
The chartered jet.
The new accounts.
His insistence that they marry quickly after Arthur died.
He had not fallen in love with a grieving woman.
He had found a signature.
The man in the chair slowly put down his drink.
Ice clicked against crystal.
Chloe looked at him.
He glanced at the document.
Then at the service door behind the curtains.
A suggestion.
Nothing more.
The main doorknob moved.
“Chloe?” Liam called.
She ran.
The service corridor smelled of bleach and fresh linen.
Her wedding shoes slipped against the polished floor. She gathered her gown in both hands and ran past housekeeping carts, stacked chairs, and a startled dishwasher carrying silver trays.
Behind her, Liam shouted her name.
Not with concern.
With anger.
“Chloe! Stop!”
She pushed through an emergency exit.
Cold rain struck her face.
The alley behind the Bellmont was crowded with delivery trucks and overflowing dumpsters. Her heel caught in a storm drain, twisting her ankle.
She abandoned both shoes.
Then kept running.
A black sedan waited beneath the hotel awning.
Its rear door stood open.
Chloe didn't think.
She climbed inside.
And dropped to the floor.
“Please,” she gasped. “Drive.”
A man sat beside her.
The same man from the library.
He looked down at her.
Then toward the hotel entrance.
“Close the door,” he told the driver.
The sedan moved.
Chloe pressed herself against the leather floor mat.
Her heart hammered.
The man leaned forward.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
Then looked at the blood on her knees.
“I don't know.”
He reached toward her torn veil.
She flinched.
He stopped.
“May I?”
After a moment, she nodded.
He lifted the fabric.
Saw the gold embroidery.
Osprey.
And his expression changed.
“Osprey Holdings,” he said.
Chloe stared.
“You know it?”
His blue-gray eyes met hers.
“Yes.”
Her voice broke.
“Are you Dominic Russo?”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he said:
“I am.”
Chloe pressed herself against the door.
“Please don't kill me.”
Something moved across his face.
Not anger.
Something closer to disbelief.
“Miss Davis,” he said quietly, “if I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have opened the car door.”
Her eyes filled.
“Liam stole your money.”
“I know.”
“He's trying to blame me.”
“I know that too.”
She stared.
“Then why were you in the library?”
Dominic looked toward the rain-darkened window.
“Because I came to find out who was stealing from me.”
He turned back.
“And instead, I found a bride who was about to become the next victim.”
His phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
Dominic read it.
His expression hardened.
“What?” Chloe whispered.
He looked at her.
“The man you were supposed to marry has just reported you missing.”
She swallowed.
May you like
Dominic continued.
“And he's telling the police you stole five million dollars.”
