Chapter 1 - THE REASON LUCA CAME TO THE DINER
“The reason I came to Marino’s tonight.”
Luca Castellano’s words seemed to drain every bit of warmth from the SUV.
I stared at the photograph in my lap.
Jake Martinez.
Alive.
Seattle.
Three days ago.
My daughter’s father had disappeared eighteen months earlier after emptying the inheritance account my grandmother left me.
Police never found enough to charge him.
I had spent the first six months believing he might return.
The next six hating him.
The final six learning not to care whether he did.
And now he was standing outside the diner where I worked.
“How long have you been watching me?”
My voice came out sharper than I expected.
Luca didn’t flinch.
“I haven't.”
“You knew my name.”
“Yes.”
“My daughter’s name.”
“Yes.”
“Where she is tonight.”
“Yes.”
His honesty somehow made it worse.
I reached for the door again.
“Unlock it.”
“Ava—”
“Unlock the door.”
He did.
Immediately.
The sound of the lock releasing surprised me.
I didn't open it.
Rain hammered the glass outside.
My ankle throbbed so badly I probably couldn't have made it five steps.
Luca looked straight ahead.
“My company is conducting due diligence on Carter Marine Services.”
I frowned.
“I don't know what that is.”
His eyes returned to me.
“You should.”
“I’m a waitress.”
“Your father was Daniel Carter.”
My breath stopped.
“How do you know my father?”
“I didn't.”
Dad had died when I was nineteen.
Commercial fishing accident.
He had spent most of his career repairing marine engines and complaining that rich men ruined every harbor they touched.
“He owned shares in Carter Marine.”
“My uncle owned that company.”
“Your uncle ran it.”
Luca corrected softly.
“Your father owned part.”
I laughed.
“Dad died with forty-seven dollars in his checking account.”
“That doesn't mean he had no equity.”
I stared.
This made no sense.
Luca continued:
“After his death, his shares went into a family trust.”
“For me?”
“No.”
His eyes moved toward the photograph.
“For his future grandchildren.”
Emma.
I went completely still.
“That's impossible.”
“When Emma was born, the trust automatically vested to her benefit.”
“How much?”
Luca hesitated.
Never good when billionaires hesitate before giving numbers.
“How much?”
“The current estimated value is between six and seven million.”
I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because my refrigerator contained milk that had gone bad while my daughter supposedly owned six million dollars.
“You have the wrong person.”
“We thought so too.”
“Emma is three.”
“Yes.”
“She eats macaroni shaped like dinosaurs.”
Luca almost smiled.
“That does not legally disqualify her from owning shares.”
I stared at him.
Then:
“Why doesn't she have the money?”
“Because they're restricted shares.”
He explained.
A trustee controlled voting and transfer decisions until Emma reached twenty-one.
“Who is trustee?”
“You.”
I felt dizzy.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I never signed anything.”
“Exactly.”
He removed another paper from his jacket.
Slowly this time.
Placed it on the seat.
Share-transfer authorization.
My name typed beneath a signature.
It looked like mine.
Almost.
But the A curved wrong.
“What is this?”
“A document submitted two weeks ago.”
“Submitted by who?”
“A law firm representing a buyer.”
“What buyer?”
“One attempting to acquire Emma’s shares at a fraction of their current value.”
My stomach tightened.
“And you think Jake—”
“We know Jake delivered the paperwork.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Why?”
“That's what I intended to find out tonight.”
“By sitting in my diner?”
“Yes.”
“You couldn't call?”
“I didn't know whether you were involved.”
That offended me so fast I forgot fear.
“Involved?”
“Ava, someone produced your signature.”
“You thought the waitress limping around for tips was secretly moving millions through port companies?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds less persuasive.”
“It sounds stupid.”
“Yes.”
Good.
At least he could admit it.
Then Luca’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Dante.”
A pause.
His expression changed.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Don’t approach.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
Luca looked at me.
“Jake just arrived at your apartment building.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“Emma.”
“Dante has someone outside.”
“Mrs. Chen is with her.”
“I know.”
I turned.
“How do you know that?”
“Because when we identified Jake near the diner, I put surveillance on him.”
Not me.
Jake.
Important distinction.
Still terrifying.
“Take me home.”
“Your ankle—”
“Take me home.”
Luca looked at the driver.
“Now.”
The SUV moved.
I called Mrs. Chen.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
My pulse climbed.
“Why isn't she answering?”
Luca called Dante.
“Status?”
I watched his face.
Then:
“Good.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
“Mrs. Chen and Emma are not in the apartment.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“She took Emma downstairs through the back stairwell when Jake started knocking.”
Relief hit so hard it hurt.
“Where?”
“A neighbor’s unit.”
“Which one?”
Luca looked at me.
“I don't know.”
Good.
At least he didn't know everything.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A message.
You always make things harder than they need to be.
My hands began shaking.
Second message.
We need to talk about our daughter.
Third.
A photograph.
My apartment door.
Taken seconds earlier.
Then:
Come alone.
Luca read my face.
“Jake?”
I nodded.
His expression became very quiet.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“No what?”
“You’re not going alone.”
“That isn't your choice.”
He stopped.
I expected argument.
Instead:
“You’re right.”
That surprised me.
Then he added:
“But before you decide anything, you need to know one more thing.”
“What?”
“Jake isn't trying to get his daughter back.”
Luca’s jaw hardened.
May you like
“He’s trying to become the person who controls her money.”
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