Chapter 13 - Nineteen Hours
By one in the morning, the gala venue looked less like a ballroom and more like a crime scene waiting for permission to become one.
Security teams moved through the hotel with floor plans. Police dogs checked storage rooms, loading docks, coat closets, flower arrangements, and the temporary stage. Every staff credential was reverified. Catering crates were opened twice.
No package was found.
That should have been reassuring.
It was not.
Camille stood in the empty ballroom wearing jeans, a sweater, and exhaustion.
Tomorrow—technically tonight—the same room would hold four hundred guests beneath chandeliers and gold light.
Right now, it held Lucian, Marco, Nico, two detectives, and a row of half-finished centerpieces.
Lucian studied the floor plan.
“Under my table could mean any table assigned to me.”
“Exactly,” Detective Lena Morales said. “Which is why we are treating every location connected to you as relevant.”
She was in her forties, direct, composed, and entirely unimpressed by the Moretti name.
Camille liked her immediately.
“Could the message be fake?” Nico asked.
“Yes,” Morales said. “Could be designed to consume resources.”
“Or make us cancel,” Camille added.
Morales nodded.
Lucian looked toward the stage.
“No cancellation.”
Camille turned.
He caught her expression.
“What?”
“You made a decision without consulting anyone.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“I am the foundation chair.”
“Nico?”
“I agree,” Nico said.
“Marco?”
“Security assessment currently supports proceeding.”
“Detective?”
Morales shrugged.
“My job is not to run your fundraiser.”
Camille looked back at Lucian.
“Annoyingly valid.”
His mouth moved.
Progress could be irritating.
The search continued.
At two fifteen, Marco found a discrepancy.
The gala seating chart had been accessed from an IP address connected to Vantage Urban.
“Whose credentials?” Lucian asked.
Marco hesitated.
“Nico’s.”
Nico went still.
“That is impossible.”
“When did you last change your password?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Where?”
Nico thought.
“The foundation office.”
“Public network?”
“No.”
“Did anyone use your laptop?”
“No.”
Camille watched his face.
Nico was offended before he was frightened.
Then something changed.
“Warren.”
Lucian looked at him.
“What?”
“He used my office during the scholarship interviews.”
“When?”
“Two days before Camille arrived.”
Marco began typing.
Nico paced.
“He said his laptop battery died.”
Lucian’s face hardened.
“That could have given him access.”
“Or Daniel.”
Camille looked at Nico.
“Did you save passwords in the browser?”
He looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
Lucian opened his mouth.
Camille pointed at him.
“No lecture.”
“He saved foundation credentials—”
“Tomorrow.”
Lucian closed his mouth.
Nico stared at Camille.
“I would like you permanently assigned to family meetings.”
“Dangerous idea.”
Marco confirmed that Nico’s account had downloaded the seating chart and volunteer rehearsal calendar.
Enough to explain several leaks.
Not enough to explain the photograph through the estate window.
The counterfeit florist had Daniel’s instructions.
But someone still had to know exactly when Camille and Lucian would be alone.
Unless the photographer had simply watched.
That possibility was somehow worse.
At three, police found no package.
At four, Lucian ordered everyone home.
Camille looked at him.
He sighed.
“Requested everyone go home.”
Morales laughed.
Lucian gave her a look.
She smiled.
“I heard nothing.”
They returned to the Moretti estate just before dawn.
Camille climbed the stairs and found herself too tired to sleep.
She showered, changed into a robe, and stood by the guest room window as the city lightened.
A soft knock came.
She opened the door.
Lucian stood outside.
No tie.
No jacket.
Top button of his shirt open.
He looked exhausted too.
“May I come in?”
“Yes.”
He entered.
Camille sat on the edge of the armchair.
Lucian stayed standing.
“What?”
He looked at her.
“I am thinking.”
“That is usually how your problems start.”
His mouth twitched.
Then the humor vanished.
“If there is any credible physical threat tomorrow, I will cancel.”
Camille nodded.
“Yes.”
“You agree?”
“I am not suicidal for philanthropy.”
He exhaled.
“Good.”
She studied him.
“You expected an argument.”
“Yes.”
“I only argue when you are wrong.”
“That explains the frequency.”
Camille smiled.
Lucian looked toward the window.
“I do not know what Daniel intends.”
“No.”
“I dislike that.”
“I know.”
“Do not turn this into a lesson.”
“I was not going to.”
He looked at her.
Camille softened.
“You are allowed to be afraid without turning it into a strategy.”
Lucian’s gaze dropped.
“I am not afraid for myself.”
“I know.”
“Camille.”
She waited.
“If something happens tomorrow—”
“No.”
He frowned.
“You do not know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do. Something dramatic about getting me out first.”
“I was going to ask you to stay with Marco if the room is evacuated.”
She blinked.
“Oh.”
“That was less dramatic.”
“Considerably.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
Lucian nodded.
Camille smiled slightly.
“Good asking.”
“Do not grade me.”
“It is literally my profession.”
He laughed under his breath.
A long silence followed.
Camille looked at him.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“Then why are you here?”
His face changed.
The answer was not logistical.
He stepped closer.
“I wanted to see you.”
Camille’s heartbeat shifted.
No threat.
No gala.
No lesson.
Just that.
She stood.
“You saw me an hour ago.”
“I know.”
“Terrible efficiency.”
“I am aware.”
He stopped in front of her.
Camille touched his shirt collar.
“No tie.”
“It is five in the morning.”
“I was checking.”
Lucian’s gaze softened.
“After tomorrow, the contract ends.”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
Camille smiled.
“You really hate uncertainty.”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
He did not answer immediately.
That surprised her.
Then he said, “I want to take you to dinner somewhere I do not own.”
Her smile widened.
“That eliminates half of Chicago.”
“Less than half.”
“Comforting.”
“I want to ask questions I do not need the answers to.”
“That is ambitious.”
“I want you to meet me when you are not paid to correct me.”
“I may correct you for free.”
“I assumed.”
Camille’s throat tightened.
“And,” Lucian said, “I want to know whether this feels different when you can walk away without an invoice involved.”
She stared at him.
That was the most respectful thing he could have said.
No declaration.
No possession.
A future with an exit door.
“Then ask me after the gala.”
His eyes held hers.
“I will.”
He leaned down.
Stopped.
Camille smiled.
“Yes.”
He kissed her.
Softly.
No urgency.
No attempt to take more than the moment offered.
When he left, the sky had turned pale blue.
Camille slept for three hours.
At nine, Maria woke her with coffee and a garment bag.
“Your dress arrived.”
Camille sat up.
“What dress?”
Maria smiled.
“The one you chose.”
Inside was an emerald evening gown Camille had ordered for the gala weeks earlier.
Fitted through the waist and hips.
Elegant neckline.
Three-quarter sleeves.
No attempt to make her disappear.
Camille ran her fingers over the fabric.
Maria sat beside her.
“You look at that dress like armor.”
“Clothes can be.”
Maria shook her head.
“Not that one.”
“What is it?”
“A flag.”
Camille laughed.
“For what country?”
“The Republic of I Am Here.”
Camille looked at her.
Maria smiled.
“Wear it.”
By noon, the estate became a staging area.
Nico rehearsed his speech one last time in the library.
Lucian dressed in a dark tuxedo, then changed to a burgundy shirt under his jacket because Camille said the color softened him.
He pretended not to care.
He absolutely cared.
At two, Sofia Romano emailed Camille.
One sentence.
IF THE RECORDING COMES OUT, USE WHAT I AUTHORIZED. NOTHING MORE.
Camille replied.
UNDERSTOOD.
At three, Detective Morales called.
Police had identified the vendor who provided the counterfeit florist badge.
He claimed Daniel paid him through a third party.
Still no package.
At four, guests began arriving.
At four ten, Camille stood in the service corridor while Lucian adjusted his cuff links.
His tie was straight.
She fixed it anyway.
He looked down.
“It is straight.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Tradition.”
His eyes softened.
Nico walked up in a tuxedo.
“Are we ready?”
“No,” Lucian said.
“Yes,” Camille said.
Nico smiled.
“Good. Balanced leadership.”
Marco approached.
“Doors open in five.”
Lucian looked at Camille.
For the first time since she met him, his question had nothing to do with control.
“Stay near me?”
Camille smiled.
“Ask properly.”
His eyebrow lifted.
Then, in front of Nico, Marco, and three astonished staff members, Chicago’s most intimidating man said:
“Please.”
Camille took his arm.
“Better.”
The ballroom doors opened.
And four hundred people turned toward them.
Before they entered the ballroom, Nico caught Lucian’s shoulder.
“Whatever happens tonight, do not make me leave without telling me why.”
Lucian looked at him.
Camille said nothing.
This one belonged to the brothers.
Lucian nodded.
“I won’t.”
Nico searched his face.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Full information?”
“If it concerns your safety or the foundation.”
Nico considered the qualification.
“Fair.”
Then he held out his hand.
Lucian stared at it.
“What is this?”
“Trust exercise.”
Camille smiled.
Lucian took his brother’s hand.
Nico pulled him into a brief hug instead.
“That was deception,” Lucian muttered.
“Adaptability.”
When Nico walked ahead, Lucian looked at Camille.
“You encourage him.”
May you like
“No. He came like that.”
For once, Lucian laughed before walking into a room full of uncertainty.
