Chapter 1 - The Woman in Blue
A woman wrapped her arms around Luca Moretti and whispered, “Smile. Someone is aiming at you.”
Luca reached for the black invitation card inside his jacket.
A tiny red number had been written across its back.
His private security code.
The stranger knew something she should not have known.
Luca did not move.
That was the first rule he had learned from men who survived long enough to become feared.
Never react before you understand what the other person wants.
The woman leaning against him was in her early thirties, curvy, dark-haired, and dressed in a royal-blue satin gown that caught the chandelier light every time she breathed. Her face was unfamiliar. That bothered him more than the warning.
Luca knew almost everyone in the ballroom.
Politicians.
Developers.
Bankers.
Lawyers.
Men who pretended their money had never touched organized crime.
Women who smiled at Luca because their husbands had warned them not to stare.
Two hundred guests had gathered forty floors above Manhattan for the Bellmont Children's Foundation gala. Beyond the windows, the city glittered beneath them.
Luca had arrived twenty-three minutes earlier.
His security team had swept the building.
His driver was downstairs.
Two men were positioned near the elevators.
Another was watching the service corridor.
Nobody should have been able to aim anything at Luca Moretti without being noticed.
Yet the woman had just told him someone was.
“Put your hand on my waist,” she whispered.
Luca's eyes hardened.
“You're very demanding for a stranger.”
“Your other option is getting shot.”
She smiled.
To anyone watching, she appeared to be flirting.
Luca slowly placed his hand around her waist.
Her muscles were rigid beneath the silk.
She was afraid.
That mattered.
People who were part of an assassination usually behaved differently when standing inches from the target.
“You have five seconds,” Luca murmured.
“Three o'clock. Upper balcony.”
He resisted the instinct to look.
“Distance?”
“About eighty feet.”
“Weapon?”
“I didn't stay long enough to ask.”
“Who are you?”
“Dance.”
Luca almost smiled.
“That's not a name.”
“It's the reason you're still breathing.”
The orchestra shifted into a slow arrangement.
The woman took his hand.
“Stand up.”
He did.
Several guests noticed.
That was useful.
Luca Moretti dancing with an unknown woman was more interesting than whatever might be happening on a balcony.
She guided him between the tables.
His hand remained on her waist.
“Closer,” she whispered.
Luca pulled her toward him.
She looked startled.
“Your idea.”
“Don't enjoy it.”
“I haven't decided whether you're saving me or setting me up.”
“Then stay alive long enough to decide.”
They reached the dance floor.
Other couples moved around them.
Luca positioned himself naturally, using her body and the rotating dancers to block the balcony's sightline.
His gaze drifted toward a champagne tower.
The reflection in its polished base gave him a distorted view of the upper level.
Curtains.
A waiter.
A doorway.
Then movement.
Someone stepped backward into darkness.
Luca's jaw tightened.
The woman felt it.
“You saw him.”
“I saw movement.”
“That's enough.”
“No. It isn't.”
His eyes found Matteo Rinaldi, Luca's head of security, near the western doors.
Luca gave the smallest possible signal.
Two fingers against the woman's back.
Matteo immediately touched his earpiece.
The woman noticed.
“Don't send anyone upstairs.”
“Too late.”
“Call him back.”
“Why?”
“Because the shooter isn't alone.”
Luca looked directly into her eyes for the first time.
Brown.
Focused.
Terrified, but disciplined.
“Explain.”
“I saw two men.”
“Where?”
“One upstairs. One near your security team.”
That changed everything.
Luca's gaze moved across the room without appearing to search.
His security detail consisted of people who had worked for the Moretti family for years.
Matteo.
Dario.
Enzo.
Paolo.
Men Luca trusted with his home, his schedule, and sometimes his life.
“Which one?”
“I couldn't see his face.”
“Convenient.”
“I wasn't planning on saving you tonight.”
“Then why did you?”
Something changed in her expression.
Pain.
Not attraction.
Not fear.
Pain.
“Because I know what happens if they succeed.”
“Who are they?”
She hesitated.
That was the first mistake she had made.
Luca tightened his hand slightly around hers.
“Name.”
“Not here.”
“You walked into my arms and told me someone wants me dead. We're past privacy.”
“Believe me, we're not.”
The music continued.
People laughed.
Champagne glasses clinked.
Nobody screamed.
Nobody ran.
The absurd normality of the ballroom made Luca more alert.
A waiter approached carrying champagne.
The woman stiffened.
“Don't.”
Luca saw it.
“What?”
“Don't take a glass.”
The waiter came closer.
Luca turned them smoothly.
They passed him.
“Do you suspect every waiter in Manhattan?” Luca asked.
“No.”
“Just that one?”
“He was upstairs five minutes ago.”
Luca's expression remained unchanged.
“Now we're getting somewhere.”
The woman looked toward the windows.
“Your car can't leave through the main entrance.”
“How do you know which car is mine?”
“I know more about you than I wanted to.”
“And I still don't know your name.”
“Eva.”
“Last name.”
“Conti.”
Luca stopped moving for half a beat.
Conti.
The name belonged to a family that had once been powerful in Brooklyn.
That power had disappeared after an internal war twelve years earlier.
“Marco Conti's daughter?”
Eva's eyes flashed.
“You knew my father?”
“Everyone knew your father.”
“My father trusted the Morettis.”
The words carried accusation.
Luca's face cooled.
“Careful.”
“That's what he did.”
“What?”
“Trusted your family.”
The song was ending.
Applause spread around them.
Eva leaned closer, appearing to kiss Luca's cheek.
“Don't look directly at him.”
Luca felt her breath against his ear.
“Who?”
“The man near the service doors.”
Luca continued smiling.
“Describe him.”
“Gray tuxedo. Silver cuff links. Forty-five, maybe fifty.”
Luca knew immediately.
Victor Salerno.
Investor.
Political donor.
Longtime associate of Luca's late father.
And someone Luca had shaken hands with twenty minutes earlier.
“You're wrong,” Luca said.
“I hope so.”
Victor lifted his champagne glass from across the ballroom.
A casual toast.
Luca returned it.
Victor smiled.
Nothing about the exchange looked unusual.
Eva's hand tightened around Luca's shoulder.
“Why is he watching your exits instead of watching us?”
Luca didn't answer.
Because she was right.
Matteo appeared at the edge of the dance floor.
His expression told Luca something had gone wrong upstairs.
Luca excused himself from the nearest couple with a charming nod and led Eva toward a quieter alcove.
Matteo joined them.
“Boss.”
“Talk.”
“Balcony is empty.”
“Evidence?”
“Tripod marks. Open window. No weapon.”
Eva exhaled.
Matteo looked at her.
“And she is?”
“The reason you checked the balcony.”
Matteo's expression became suspicious.
“She could be the reason there were tripod marks.”
Eva laughed once.
“No offense, but if I wanted Luca dead, I wouldn't warn him first.”
“People do strange things.”
“Then search me.”
Luca looked at Matteo.
“No.”
Both stared at him.
Luca extended his hand toward Eva.
“Bracelet.”
Her expression changed.
It was almost imperceptible.
But Luca saw it.
“Why?”
“Because you've touched it four times since approaching me.”
Eva slowly removed the diamond bracelet.
She handed it to him.
Luca examined the clasp.
Heavy.
Too heavy.
He pressed the side.
A tiny compartment opened.
Inside was a black electronic device no larger than his thumbnail.
Matteo reached for his weapon.
Eva stepped backward.
“Don't.”
“What is this?” Luca asked.
“A receiver.”
“For what?”
“The frequency they were using upstairs.”
Matteo took it and studied the tiny display.
A sequence of numbers appeared.
Luca recognized one.
His private security channel.
His eyes lifted.
“You're monitoring my people.”
“No,” Eva whispered.
“Someone else is.”
Luca looked toward Matteo.
Matteo's face went pale.
Only six people had access to that frequency.
Luca.
Matteo.
Four senior security men.
No outsiders.
“Change the channel,” Luca ordered.
Matteo did.
The receiver changed simultaneously.
All three stared at it.
Eva whispered, “Now you understand.”
Someone wasn't merely listening.
Someone had compromised the entire system.
Luca scanned the ballroom.
Victor Salerno had disappeared.
“Find Victor.”
Matteo touched his earpiece.
No answer came.
He tried again.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
“Dario isn't responding.”
“Find him.”
Matteo hurried away.
Luca took Eva by the wrist.
“You're coming with me.”
“I was hoping you'd say thank you.”
“You'll get gratitude after I know you're not involved.”
“Charming.”
They moved toward a private corridor.
Eva suddenly stopped.
“What?”
“Your invitation.”
Luca removed it.
She pointed to the red number.
“Where did you get that?”
“It was waiting at my table.”
“That number isn't just your security code.”
“What is it?”
Eva stared at him.
“My father wrote the same number in his journal the night he died.”
Luca felt something cold settle in his chest.
Marco Conti had been murdered twelve years earlier.
His death had started the collapse of the Conti organization.
Luca's father had always claimed it was an internal betrayal.
“What exactly did your father write?”
Eva swallowed.
“47-11.”
Luca looked down.
47-11.
The same number.
Then footsteps approached.
Matteo appeared at the end of the corridor.
But he wasn't alone.
Two security men were carrying Dario between them.
Blood stained Dario's collar.
He was barely conscious.
Luca rushed forward.
“Who did this?”
Dario struggled to focus.
His lips moved.
Luca bent closer.
Dario whispered one name.
“Salerno.”
Then his hand grabbed Luca's jacket.
“Don't trust—”
His eyes shifted past Luca.
Toward someone standing behind him.
Luca slowly turned.
The private corridor door had opened.
May you like
Victor Salerno stood there.
And he was smiling.
