Chapter 1 - The Letter That Came Too Late
At twelve seventeen, the only thing on Dante Lombardi’s desk was an envelope.
No briefing folders. No revised seating plan for the cathedral. No note reminding him to eat before the next meeting. Beyond the penthouse windows, rain swept across Boston Harbor, turning the lights along the water into broken gold.
He knew the handwriting before he picked it up.
Gemma Thorne usually addressed him as Mr. Lombardi on anything that might pass through another person’s hands. On this envelope, she had written only his name.
Dante opened it.
Effective immediately, I resign from my position as executive assistant to Dante Lombardi. All current matters have been transferred to the appropriate department heads. My access credentials are enclosed.
Do not look for me.
Beneath the signature lay her building pass.
For several seconds, he remained standing beside the desk.
Tomorrow, he was supposed to marry Bianca Falcone. The marriage would bind two powerful families, settle disputes along the waterfront, and satisfy men who called fear stability when they benefited from it.
Gemma had organized the wedding.
Gemma, who remembered the anniversary of his brother’s death without making him discuss it. Gemma, who had spent five years learning which silences meant leave him alone and which meant do not let him remain alone.
He looked at the final sentence again.
Not Please forward my last payment.
Not I wish you well.
Do not look for me.
He called her.
Straight to voicemail.
The second call did the same.
Dante went into the corridor, where Enzo Russo was reviewing security arrangements with a tablet.
“Where’s Gemma?”
Enzo looked up. “She left before nine.”
“Alone?”
“As far as I know.”
“Find out.”
Dante reached the elevator before Enzo caught up.
“The cathedral briefing—”
“Waits.”
“Dante, you cannot disappear tonight.”
The elevator arrived.
Dante stepped inside, then looked back.
“I’m going to her apartment. If she calls, tell me immediately.”
Enzo saw the paper in his hand.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
It was an answer Dante rarely gave.
Twenty minutes later, he stood beneath the awning of Gemma’s Back Bay building, rain sliding from his coat. The night concierge looked startled, then troubled.
“Mr. Lombardi. Miss Thorne came in a little while ago. She seemed—”
“What?”
“Unwell. I offered to call someone. She said she only needed to get upstairs.”
Dante was already moving.
On the fourteenth floor, he knocked once.
“Gemma.”
No answer.
Three years earlier, after an electrical fault had filled her kitchen with smoke, she had given him a spare key for emergencies. He had carried it ever since, without admitting to himself why he had never passed it to security.
He used it now.
The apartment was dark except for a narrow light at the end of the hall.
“Gemma?”
An umbrella stand lay on its side. Her coat had fallen near the door. The small rug in the passage was twisted beneath a shoe.
Then he heard something scrape against the floor.
He reached the bedroom doorway.
Gemma sat beside an open suitcase, one shoulder against the wardrobe. Her face was pale, her blouse torn, a folded towel pressed beneath her arm.
She was trying to push a thick folder beneath the lining of the case.
“Don’t,” she whispered when she saw him.
Dante dropped to his knees.
“What happened?”
Her fingers tightened on the folder.
“You have to leave.”
He reached for his phone.
She caught his wrist with surprising desperation.
“Not your people. Not yet.”
Lightning moved across the window.
In that brief white light, he saw the seal embossed on the folder.
A falcon carrying a dagger.
The Falcone crest.
May you like
And beneath Gemma’s trembling hand, a photograph slid halfway free.
It was his brother.
