Chapter 1 - The Payment
“Tell him she settles the debt!” my stepfather shouted as he shoved me forward.
Vittorio Serrano stepped toward us and picked up the contract that had fallen beside my shoe.
A handwritten number appeared beneath my stepbrother’s signature.
$8,400,000.
Vittorio looked at me.
“This woman isn’t the payment.”
Nobody moved.
For one strange second, the courtyard outside Vittorio Serrano’s mansion became so quiet that I could hear my own breathing.
I was thirty-four years old, dressed in the dark emerald gown my mother had chosen for me because, according to her, Vittorio Serrano appreciated “presentation.”
Until that morning, I hadn’t understood what she meant.
Now I did.
My family had dressed me for delivery.
My stepfather, Charles Whitmore, stood several feet behind me in his expensive gray suit. Beside him was my mother, Elaine, pale and trembling. My twenty-eight-year-old stepbrother, Preston, kept his eyes fixed on the stone beneath his polished shoes.
Behind them stood a huge bald man in black.
One of Vittorio’s guards.
And in front of me stood the man everyone in Philadelphia seemed afraid to name too loudly.
Vittorio Serrano.
He was taller than I had expected.
Broad shoulders filled his black shirt. Tattoos disappeared beneath his sleeves and climbed the side of his neck. His long dark hair was pulled behind his head, and a heavy beard framed a face that seemed carved for intimidation.
But his eyes confused me.
They weren’t looking at me the way Charles had warned they would.
They were studying me.
“You brought her here voluntarily?” Vittorio asked.
Charles cleared his throat.
“We brought you what was promised.”
“I asked whether she came voluntarily.”
Charles’s expression tightened.
“This is a family matter.”
Vittorio glanced down at the contract.
“No. Eight-point-four million dollars belonging to me disappeared. That makes it my matter.”
Preston shifted behind my mother.
Vittorio noticed.
So did I.
Charles stepped forward.
“My son made a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“He made investments.”
“With stolen money.”
“We can discuss terminology later.”
Vittorio’s mouth almost curved into a smile.
It wasn’t friendly.
Charles pointed toward me.
“Rosalie is unmarried. She has no children. She understands the seriousness of the situation.”
My stomach twisted.
That was how my family had described my value.
Unmarried.
Childless.
Available.
I turned slowly toward my mother.
She couldn’t look at me.
That hurt more than Charles’s words.
Three hours earlier, she had entered my apartment carrying the emerald dress.
She told me we were attending an important dinner.
I had known Preston was in trouble. Everyone knew. For months, Charles had been taking mysterious calls. Preston had sold his sports car. My mother had stopped hosting charity dinners.
But nobody had told me why.
Then the black sedan arrived.
Only during the drive had Charles explained.
Preston had taken money from a company controlled by Vittorio Serrano.
Millions.
And Charles had somehow convinced himself that offering me would prevent something worse.
I had laughed when he first said it.
I genuinely thought it was a cruel joke.
Then nobody else laughed.
Vittorio folded the contract once.
Then again.
He walked toward Charles.
“You believed you could hand me a human being and erase eight million dollars?”
Charles swallowed.
“There were conversations.”
“Not with me.”
Charles’s face changed.
That was the first crack.
Vittorio turned toward one of his men.
“Marco.”
The bald guard immediately approached.
“Who negotiated this?”
Marco shook his head.
“Nobody from our side.”
My mother gasped softly.
Charles shot her a warning look.
I caught it.
So did Vittorio.
Something was wrong.
Something bigger than Preston stealing money.
Vittorio looked back at me.
“What did they tell you?”
I could barely find my voice.
“That Preston owed you money.”
“Anything else?”
“That if the debt wasn’t settled…”
I stopped.
Vittorio waited.
Charles interrupted.
“She understands.”
Vittorio’s head turned.
“Charles.”
One word.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Charles stopped speaking.
Vittorio looked at me again.
“What did they tell you would happen?”
I forced myself to answer.
“That my family could be hurt.”
My mother began crying.
Not loudly.
Just enough that I noticed.
Vittorio’s expression hardened.
“And they told you giving yourself to me would prevent that?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
Then something completely unexpected happened.
He opened his hands.
Not dramatically.
Not inviting me closer.
Simply showing me his empty palms.
“You don’t owe me anything, Rosalie.”
My throat closed.
I stared at him.
Behind me, Charles said, “We had an agreement.”
Vittorio’s eyes moved past me.
“We did not.”
“The intermediary—”
“What intermediary?”
Charles stopped.
Vittorio took one step sideways, positioning himself between me and my family.
It was subtle.
But unmistakable.
He was shielding me.
From them.
“Your son stole my money,” Vittorio said. “She didn’t.”
Preston finally looked up.
Fear flashed across his face.
Vittorio saw it.
“Come here.”
Preston didn’t move.
“Mr. Serrano—” Charles began.
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
Preston slowly stepped forward.
His hands shook.
“Did you take the money?”
Preston licked his lips.
“I borrowed it.”
Vittorio’s stare remained steady.
“Without permission.”
“I was going to return it.”
“With what?”
Preston had no answer.
Vittorio handed the folded contract to Marco.
“Who prepared this document?”
Marco examined it.
His expression changed almost immediately.
“This isn’t ours.”
Charles went pale.
My mother whispered, “Charles?”
He ignored her.
Marco turned the contract over.
“There’s a stamp.”
Vittorio took it back.
I saw his eyes narrow.
“What?” I asked.
He looked at me.
For the first time, something beyond anger appeared in his face.
Recognition.
“Where did your stepfather get this?”
“I don’t know.”
Charles backed toward the sedan.
Marco moved once.
That was enough.
Charles stopped.
Vittorio unfolded the document and pointed to a small embossed symbol near the bottom.
A crown wrapped around the letter S.
“Someone used my family seal.”
Preston whispered something.
I almost missed it.
Vittorio didn’t.
“What did you say?”
Preston shook his head.
“Nothing.”
Vittorio stepped closer.
“Say it again.”
Preston’s face drained of color.
“I said they told us you wouldn’t question it.”
“Who?”
Charles grabbed Preston’s arm.
“Enough.”
My mother suddenly stepped between them.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
Twenty-three years of marriage had trained my mother to obey Charles almost automatically.
But now she looked terrified enough to forget.
“Elaine,” Charles warned.
She ignored him.
She looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
My chest tightened.
“For what?”
Her lips trembled.
“We shouldn’t have brought you.”
“That’s a little late.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You put me in this dress.”
“I thought…”
She stopped.
“What did you think?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I thought he was sending you somewhere safe.”
Charles grabbed her wrist.
Vittorio’s voice became ice.
“Take your hand off her.”
Charles immediately released her.
My mother rubbed her wrist.
I stared at her.
“Who is ‘he’?”
She looked toward Charles.
He shook his head.
That answered more than words could.
Vittorio noticed the exchange.
“Marco. Close the gate.”
The enormous iron gates began moving.
Charles spun around.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding out why someone forged my seal.”
“You can’t keep us here.”
Vittorio looked almost amused.
“You brought yourselves here.”
The gates locked.
Preston began breathing faster.
Then I remembered something.
During the drive, Preston had spent the entire time clutching his jacket.
Not his phone.
Not his wallet.
His jacket.
And when he stepped forward moments earlier, I had seen the corner of something white inside his inner pocket.
Vittorio must have noticed too.
His eyes dropped toward it.
“What’s in your pocket?”
“Nothing.”
“Take it out.”
Preston stepped backward.
Charles moved between them.
“He doesn’t have to show you anything.”
Vittorio stared at Charles.
Then at Preston.
“Interesting.”
Marco approached.
Preston panicked.
He reached into his jacket.
My mother screamed.
But Preston didn’t pull out a weapon.
He pulled out an envelope.
Thick.
Cream-colored.
A black wax seal covered the flap.
The same crown.
The same letter S.
Vittorio’s expression changed completely.
“Give me that.”
Preston hesitated.
Then handed it over.
Vittorio broke the seal.
Inside was a photograph.
He looked at it.
And froze.
I watched the color disappear from his face.
“What is it?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
Marco leaned closer.
“Boss?”
Vittorio turned the photograph around.
My breath caught.
It showed me.
Not today.
Years earlier.
I was standing outside my college apartment.
Someone had photographed me without my knowledge.
A date had been written beneath the image.
Eight years ago.
My mother made a strangled sound behind me.
I looked at her.
She recognized it.
“Mom?”
She covered her mouth.
Vittorio flipped the photograph over.
There were six words written on the back.
He read them once.
Then again.
“What does it say?” I asked.
He looked directly at Charles.
Charles started running.
Marco caught him before he reached the sedan.
The photograph slipped from Vittorio’s hand.
I bent down and picked it up.
Then I read the message on the back.
DELIVER ROSALIE SERRANO TO HER FAMILY.
My heart stopped.
Serrano.
Not Whitmore.
Not my father’s surname.
Serrano.
I slowly looked toward Vittorio.
He was staring at me differently now.
My mother began shaking.
“Rosalie,” she whispered.
“What does this mean?”
She stepped toward me.
Charles shouted from Marco’s grip.
“Elaine, don’t!”
My mother ignored him.
“There’s something I should have told you years ago.”
Vittorio’s face hardened.
“Years ago?”
She nodded.
Then the mansion’s front door opened behind him.
An elderly woman appeared at the top of the staircase.
She looked across the courtyard.
She saw me.
The color vanished from her face.
Her hand tightened around the railing.
May you like
And then she whispered a name nobody there expected.
“Isabella?”
