Chapter 1 - The Fourth Blow
The riding crop came down so fast that Adeline Croft barely had time to turn her face.
Leather cracked against the marble wall beside her ear.
A few inches closer and it would have caught her cheek.
She flinched anyway.
Across the corridor, nearly two hundred people watched.
Nobody moved.
Men in tuxedos stood beneath chandeliers that looked as if they had been stolen from European palaces. Women in diamonds held champagne flutes halfway to their mouths. A senator stared at the floor. A federal judge glanced toward the ballroom doors, as though calculating whether leaving would make him look more cowardly than staying.
Camilla Ashford lifted the crop again.
Her pale-blue satin gown shimmered beneath the lights. Copper-red hair spilled over one shoulder in perfect waves. Nothing about her looked wild. That was what made the scene worse.
Her makeup had not moved.
Her diamonds still sat neatly against her throat.
Only her eyes had changed.
“Get on your knees.”
Adeline remained pressed against the marble.
Her pink housekeeping uniform was torn near the wrist. A thin line of blood marked the skin beneath it.
She had been employed at the Marchetti estate for eleven days.
Eleven days.
Not long enough to understand every rule in a house this large, but apparently long enough to learn which rules mattered.
Do not speak unless spoken to.
Never cross the ballroom during formal service.
Never enter the west study after ten.
Never interrupt Enzo Marchetti when he was speaking to politicians.
And never embarrass Camilla Ashford.
Especially not in front of Chicago’s elite.
“I said get down.”
Adeline swallowed.
“No, ma’am.”
A murmur moved through the guests.
Camilla smiled.
It wasn’t amusement.
It was disbelief.
“You think because he hired you, you’re protected?”
Adeline’s hand tightened around the front of her uniform.
“I’m not trying to embarrass you.”
“You already did.”
“I had a reason.”
That made Camilla’s expression sharpen.
A reason.
Two words.
Two dangerous words.
From somewhere behind the crowd, an elderly woman shifted.
Adeline saw her immediately.
Beatrice Vale.
Silver hair.
Emerald earrings.
Black velvet gown.
Camilla’s aunt.
Chairwoman of the Vale Foundation.
A woman praised in newspapers for funding hospitals, shelters, university scholarships, and cancer research.
Twenty minutes earlier, that same woman had leaned close to Adeline in a service hallway and whispered:
Pretend you saw nothing.
Then Beatrice had smiled.
And added:
Your brother still works at St. Catherine’s, doesn’t he?
Adeline had felt the threat before she fully understood the words.
Owen.
Her younger brother.
Twenty-six years old.
Exhausted most mornings, broke most evenings, and two months from completing his nursing residency at a hospital that depended heavily on Vale donations.
Adeline looked away from Beatrice.
Too late.
Camilla saw where she had looked.
“You’re still doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking around like someone’s coming to save you.”
Camilla raised the crop.
Adeline braced.
The leather started down.
Then stopped.
A hand had caught it in midair.
The room went silent so abruptly that Adeline heard one of the chandeliers softly clicking above them.
Camilla turned.
Enzo Marchetti stood behind her.
He was taller than nearly every man in the room and broader through the shoulders than his tuxedo suggested. His black jacket was open. The bow tie he had worn earlier was gone. The top button of his white shirt was undone.
His dark hair had fallen slightly forward.
His expression looked almost calm.
That frightened people more than shouting would have.
“Let go,” he said.
Camilla blinked.
“Enzo—”
“Let go.”
She released the crop.
It struck the marble floor.
The sound echoed.
Enzo looked past her.
At Adeline.
His eyes moved from the torn sleeve to the red mark near her wrist.
His jaw tightened.
“Who did this?”
Camilla gave a short laugh.
“Seriously?”
Enzo didn’t look at her.
Adeline answered quietly.
“You can see who did it.”
That got his attention.
Not because she sounded brave.
Because she sounded tired.
He stepped toward her.
Adeline instinctively pressed closer to the wall.
Enzo stopped.
He reached for his jacket instead.
“Sir, I’m fine.”
“No.”
“I don’t need—”
“Adeline.”
She froze.
She had never heard him say her name before.
He removed his tuxedo jacket and held it open.
For a second she didn’t move.
Then he placed it around her shoulders.
Warm fabric settled over the torn uniform.
The faint scent of cedar and clean cologne surrounded her.
Enzo’s voice dropped.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“No.”
Camilla’s disbelief turned to fury.
“This is absurd.”
Enzo turned.
“She attacked me,” Camilla said.
Adeline stared at her.
Camilla pointed.
“She came up to me in the middle of our engagement celebration, took a champagne glass from my hand, walked away with it, and smashed it.”
“I didn’t attack you.”
“You put your hands on me.”
“I took the glass.”
“In front of everyone.”
“Yes.”
“And then broke it.”
“Yes.”
Camilla opened her arms toward the crowd as if the case had been settled.
“See?”
Enzo looked at Adeline.
“Why?”
The question landed heavier than the crop.
Adeline’s gaze moved involuntarily toward Beatrice again.
The older woman did not shake her head this time.
She didn’t need to.
Owen still works at St. Catherine’s.
Adeline pulled Enzo’s jacket closer around herself.
“I made a mistake.”
Camilla laughed.
“A mistake?”
Enzo’s eyes remained on Adeline.
“You took a drink away from my fiancée and destroyed the glass.”
“Yes.”
“People don’t usually do that by accident.”
Adeline said nothing.
“Were you protecting someone?”
“No.”
“Were you afraid of something?”
“No.”
Enzo watched her.
She was a terrible liar when she was scared.
Apparently he knew it too.
A new voice broke through the silence.
“Mr. Marchetti?”
Mateo Ruiz stood near the service doors.
The head of security was in his late forties, broad-shouldered, gray at the temples, and looked permanently unimpressed by everyone.
Tonight he held a clear evidence bag.
Inside were pieces of broken crystal.
Camilla’s face changed.
“What is that?”
Mateo approached.
“One of the kitchen staff called after the glass was broken.”
Camilla folded her arms.
“You’re collecting garbage now?”
Mateo ignored her.
“I had someone retrieve the pieces before they were discarded.”
Enzo looked at the bag.
“And?”
“There’s residue.”
Camilla exhaled sharply.
“Champagne. Congratulations.”
Mateo looked at her.
“It isn’t champagne.”
The room seemed smaller.
Adeline closed her eyes.
Only for a second.
Enzo saw.
“You knew.”
She opened them.
“No.”
“Adeline.”
“I didn’t know.”
That was technically true.
She hadn’t known what the substance was.
Only that she had watched someone tip a small vial into a champagne flute near the floral arrangement.
Only that she had heard a whisper.
Make sure he gets this one.
Only that she had seen Camilla pick up the same glass minutes later and head straight toward Enzo.
Camilla stepped between them.
“She could have put something in it herself.”
Adeline stared.
“What?”
“It’s perfect, isn’t it? She creates a scene, destroys the evidence, then pretends she saved someone.”
Mateo’s expression hardened.
Enzo’s voice became flat.
“Seal the house.”
Camilla turned.
“What?”
“No one leaves.”
Several guests started talking at once.
A banker complained about his driver.
A senator mentioned security clearance.
Someone demanded to know whether Enzo had authority to detain guests.
Enzo turned toward the ballroom.
“If you believe someone here tried to drug me, you may leave.”
Nobody moved.
“If you believe they didn’t, stay until we know.”
Still nobody moved.
Mateo nodded to two security officers.
Doors closed.
Locks engaged.
The sound traveled through the mansion.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Adeline felt Beatrice watching her.
Mateo’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
“The medical suite can test for common sedatives.”
“Do it,” Enzo said.
Camilla folded her arms tightly.
“This is insane.”
Enzo finally looked at her.
“You beat an employee because she took a glass from you.”
“She humiliated me.”
“You beat her.”
“She provoked me.”
“She was against a wall.”
Camilla’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Enzo’s tone remained almost conversational.
“Our engagement is over.”
The ballroom erupted.
Camilla went white.
“No.”
“You heard me.”
“You can’t do this because of a servant.”
Adeline flinched at the word.
Enzo didn’t.
“I’m doing it because of you.”
Camilla’s eyes filled with something Adeline hadn’t expected.
Fear.
Not heartbreak.
Fear.
Then she looked toward Beatrice.
That was when Adeline understood.
Camilla wasn’t only afraid of losing Enzo.
She was afraid of what happened if the engagement ended.
Mateo returned ten minutes later.
The crowd had been moved back into the ballroom.
Nobody had been allowed to use the elevators.
Staff were questioned in the service wing.
Security had taken phones from anyone who had been near the champagne station.
Mateo held the evidence bag.
His face was darker now.
“What did they find?” Enzo asked.
“A sedative.”
The room quieted again.
“How much?”
“Enough residue to suggest a significant dose.”
“For who?”
Mateo hesitated.
“For someone your size, maybe fifteen to twenty minutes before severe impairment. Possibly unconsciousness.”
Camilla stared at the floor.
Adeline’s stomach turned.
Enzo looked at her.
“Whose glass was it?”
She couldn’t answer.
He stepped closer.
“Adeline.”
Camilla whispered, “Don’t.”
Everyone looked at her.
Camilla realized what she had done.
Enzo’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t what?”
“Pressure her.”
“You seem concerned.”
“I’m concerned because this is becoming a circus.”
Mateo’s phone rang again.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked directly toward the center of the ballroom.
“We recovered camera footage from the champagne station.”
Beatrice stiffened.
Adeline saw it.
So did Enzo.
Mateo continued.
“The angle is partially blocked by the flowers, but we can see the glass being prepared.”
Camilla whispered, “Prepared by who?”
Mateo looked at her.
“We can’t see the face.”
Camilla exhaled.
Then Mateo added:
“But we can see the hand.”
Silence.
“A woman’s hand. Large emerald ring.”
Adeline’s gaze dropped involuntarily.
Beatrice wore an emerald ring on her right hand.
She slowly covered it with her left.
Enzo noticed.
Mateo noticed.
Half the room noticed.
Beatrice smiled.
“You cannot possibly think—”
Adeline interrupted.
“It wasn’t her.”
Every head turned.
Beatrice looked stunned.
Enzo stared.
“You’re sure?”
Adeline nodded.
She could feel her pulse hammering.
“I saw who did it.”
Camilla’s face drained.
Enzo stepped toward Adeline.
“Who?”
She looked around the room.
At Beatrice.
At Camilla.
At the closed doors.
At people whose names appeared on hospital wings and university buildings.
Then she saw someone standing behind Mateo.
A man in his sixties.
Silver hair.
Dark tuxedo.
A small scar beside his mouth.
Enzo’s godfather.
Vincent Rourke.
Chairman of Marchetti Consolidated.
The man Enzo had introduced earlier that evening as “the closest thing I have left to a father.”
Vincent smiled at Adeline.
Barely.
A warning.
Her father’s voice returned from fourteen years ago.
Never trust the man who smiles when everybody else is afraid.
Adeline’s mouth went dry.
Because she had heard that sentence before.
May you like
And now, for the first time in fourteen years, she remembered exactly who her father had been talking about.
Vincent Rourke.
