Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Pulled the Devil’s Tie
“Don’t move!” one of the guards shouted as Emma Carter stumbled forward and yanked Lorenzo Duca’s black necktie tight around his throat.
The most feared man in Chicago caught her before she hit the floor and looked down at the torn edge of a twenty-thousand-dollar Persian rug.
A single gold thread had pulled loose beside the stitched initials L.D.
Then Lorenzo smiled.
This wasn’t going to be an ordinary wedding.
Emma did not know whether she should apologize, run, or simply accept that her mother would soon have to choose a flattering photograph for her obituary.
She remained frozen with one hand wrapped around Lorenzo’s tie and the other pressed flat against his chest.
And what a chest.
That was an extremely inappropriate thought to have while six armed men appeared ready to shoot her.
She immediately replaced it with a more practical one.
I am going to die because of a rug.
“Mrs. Carter.”
Lorenzo’s voice was low.
Calm.
That somehow made him more frightening.
Emma slowly lifted her eyes.
He was enormous.
Not merely tall.
Enormous.
At six-foot-five, Lorenzo Duca looked as though someone had taken a normal businessman and built him specifically to terrify other businessmen.
Broad shoulders filled his tailored black jacket.
His white shirt had opened slightly at the collar when Emma attacked his tie by accident.
Dark wavy hair fell just enough across his forehead to soften a face that otherwise looked carved from something harder than stone.
Emma swallowed.
“Yes?”
His gaze dropped toward her hands.
She followed it.
“Oh.”
She released him immediately.
Lorenzo inhaled.
Behind him, one guard muttered something in Italian.
Emma stepped backward.
Her heel touched the same rug.
She wobbled again.
Lorenzo caught her elbow before disaster could repeat itself.
“If you’re going to murder me, Mrs. Carter,” he said, “I’d prefer you wait until after the wedding.”
Nobody laughed.
Emma stared at him.
Then she noticed the faintest movement at the corner of his mouth.
He was joking.
The terrifying mafia boss was making a joke.
“I wasn’t trying to murder you.”
“So I should blame the carpet?”
“Yes.”
His eyebrow rose.
Emma pointed down.
“That thing tried to kill me first.”
One of the guards coughed.
Another looked away suspiciously fast.
The two elegant women standing near the doorway stared at Emma with expressions somewhere between horror and fascination.
Emma recognized one of them.
Sabrina Wells.
Twenty-seven.
Model.
Daughter of a senator.
She had reportedly lasted twelve minutes at dinner with Lorenzo before claiming she had a migraine and leaving through the kitchen.
The brunette beside her was Celeste Marchand, heiress to a hotel fortune.
She had lasted nine minutes.
Emma had read both stories online while sitting in a parking lot eating fries and wondering why she had agreed to come here.
Every article described Lorenzo in the same words.
Dangerous.
Brutal.
Unforgiving.
Feared.
They never mentioned that he had a sense of humor.
Or that his eyes were not black, as photographs suggested.
They were dark brown.
Warm brown.
At least when he was amused.
His attention returned to the rug.
“Matteo.”
A guard stepped forward.
“Boss.”
“Have someone fix that edge.”
Emma blinked.
“You’re blaming the rug?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“It has already attacked one guest.”
“I’m not technically a guest.”
The room became quiet again.
That was the problem.
Emma Carter was technically a bride.
Or at least a prospective one.
The invitation had arrived four days earlier.
Not in a romantic envelope.
Not with flowers.
It had come through Harrison & Cole, the legal firm handling her late father’s debts.
Mrs. Emma Carter is requested to attend a private matrimonial meeting at the Duca residence.
She had read it three times.
Then she had called the lawyer and asked whether “matrimonial meeting” was wealthy-person language for kidnapping.
The answer had not comforted her.
Her father, Peter Carter, had owned a small freight company before dying eight months earlier.
Emma had inherited the company.
She had also inherited everything buried beneath it.
Loans.
Contracts.
Threats.
And one agreement her father had apparently signed with the Duca organization years before.
If Carter Freight defaulted completely, the Duca family could take control.
Instead of doing that, Lorenzo had offered another arrangement.
Marriage.
Not because he loved her.
They had never met.
According to the attorney, several powerful families were pressing Lorenzo to marry because an alliance would stabilize his position after the recent death of his uncle.
Emma’s father had once saved the life of Lorenzo’s father.
The old families considered the Carter name acceptable.
Emma considered the entire situation insane.
Yet she had come.
Because eighty-three employees depended on Carter Freight.
Because foreclosure notices had been arriving every week.
And because desperation made strange doors look reasonable.
Lorenzo studied her.
“You came knowing why you were invited.”
“Yes.”
“And you still walked through the door.”
“I almost fell through it.”
That tiny almost-smile returned.
Emma hated how proud she felt about causing it.
Lorenzo looked toward the others.
“Out.”
Sabrina blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“All of you.”
Celeste stared at Emma.
“But we were told—”
“Plans changed.”
The guards began escorting the guests from the foyer.
Emma watched them go.
“Wait.”
Lorenzo turned.
“You’re sending them away because I tripped?”
“No.”
“Because I nearly strangled you?”
“No.”
“That seems like it should count against me.”
“It does.”
“Good.”
“Just not enough.”
Emma folded her arms.
That caused his attention to flick briefly downward.
She wore the emerald-green gown her sister had insisted she buy two years ago for a wedding that never happened.
It fit her curves closely.
Emma had almost changed clothes six times before coming.
Rooms like this had a way of making a woman her size feel like she had entered incorrectly.
Sabrina had been slender and perfect.
Celeste looked sculpted.
Emma had spent half her life being told she would be beautiful if she lost weight.
Lorenzo did not appear to be comparing her to anyone.
He seemed to be studying her because he could not understand her.
That was different.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked.
Emma almost laughed.
“I am.”
“No.”
“I assure you, internally, things are not going well.”
His expression remained still.
“People who fear me avoid my eyes.”
Emma looked straight into them.
“My father taught me that looking down doesn’t stop bad things from happening.”
Something changed.
Small.
But real.
“Your father spoke highly of mine,” Lorenzo said.
“My father barely spoke about your family.”
“He was protecting you.”
“From you?”
“Perhaps.”
That answer was too honest.
Emma looked toward the staircase.
“Mr. Duca—”
“Lorenzo.”
“I don’t think we should get married.”
“Neither do I.”
She stared.
“Well. Excellent.”
He walked past her.
Emma watched him cross toward a side room.
After three steps, he glanced back.
“Come.”
“I thought we just agreed not to marry.”
“We agreed we should not.”
“That sounds fairly final.”
“It rarely is.”
Emma followed because apparently she had misplaced every survival instinct she possessed.
His study was quieter than the foyer.
Dark wood.
Leather chairs.
No obvious weapons.
That probably meant the weapons were expensive enough to be hidden.
Lorenzo poured water into two glasses.
“No whiskey?” Emma asked.
“You nearly killed me sober.”
“Fair.”
He handed her one.
“Your father’s debt disappears whether you marry me or not.”
Emma stopped.
“What?”
“I cleared it this morning.”
She set the glass down carefully.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“My company—”
“Remains yours.”
“Why?”
“Peter Carter helped my father when nobody else would.”
“You don’t erase seven million dollars because someone once helped your dad.”
“I can.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Lorenzo leaned against the desk.
Emma suddenly saw exhaustion under the confidence.
He had probably been meeting potential wives all week.
The thought almost made her feel sorry for him.
Almost.
“My uncle died three months ago,” he said.
“I heard.”
“He controlled several alliances. Since his death, some men believe my position is vulnerable.”
Emma frowned.
“You?”
“Apparently.”
“That seems optimistic of them.”
A genuine laugh escaped him.
One short sound.
Emma smiled despite herself.
Then Lorenzo became serious.
“A marriage would stop certain families from attempting to arrange one for me.”
“Poor you.”
“You sound unsympathetic.”
“You invited women to audition for a wedding.”
“I did not arrange this.”
“You still showed up.”
“So did you.”
Emma opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Annoying man.
Lorenzo moved behind the desk.
“There is another reason I wanted to meet you.”
He removed a thin envelope from a drawer.
Emma recognized the handwriting immediately.
Her father’s.
Her chest tightened.
“What is that?”
Lorenzo placed it between them.
“It was delivered to me the morning after your father died.”
She reached toward it.
Lorenzo placed two fingers over the envelope.
“Before you open it, understand something.”
“What?”
“Your father did not die owing my family money.”
Emma stared at him.
“He did.”
“No.”
“I’ve seen the accounts.”
“The accounts were altered.”
A cold sensation moved through her.
“By whom?”
“That is what I’ve spent eight months trying to determine.”
Emma looked at the envelope again.
Her name was written on the front.
Emma.
Nothing else.
“Why didn’t you give me this earlier?”
“Because somebody has been watching you.”
Her breath stopped.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
Emma reached for the envelope.
This time Lorenzo allowed it.
She broke the seal.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
Her father’s handwriting shook slightly across the page.
Emma,
If Lorenzo Duca ever gives you this letter, then I was right about what they were planning.
Do not trust the financial records.
Do not sell the company.
And whatever you do, never tell anyone what I hid inside—
The sentence ended.
The bottom half of the page had been torn away.
Emma stared.
“Where is the rest?”
“That is how it arrived.”
She turned it over.
Nothing.
Her pulse accelerated.
“Who would tear it?”
“Someone who knew what your father was trying to tell you.”
Emma sat down.
Everything she had believed about the last year suddenly felt unstable.
The debt.
Her father’s death.
The strange contracts.
Lorenzo’s invitation.
“You knew this when I arrived?”
“Yes.”
“And the marriage?”
“Was supposed to make whoever is watching you believe you were under my control.”
Emma slowly raised her head.
“You were using a fake wedding to lure someone out.”
“Yes.”
“And nobody thought to mention that to the bride?”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“Before the vows.”
Emma threw a cushion at him.
Lorenzo caught it.
For the first time, the feared man of Chicago looked genuinely surprised.
“You are unbelievable.”
“You threw furniture at me.”
“It was a pillow.”
“In my home.”
“You deserved it.”
Lorenzo stared at the cushion.
Then at her.
Emma started laughing.
She could not help it.
The situation was too absurd.
Her father’s secret letter.
A mafia boss.
A fake marriage.
A homicidal carpet.
She laughed until tears appeared.
And then suddenly she was crying for another reason.
Her father.
Lorenzo did not move closer immediately.
That surprised her.
Most people rushed to stop grief because it made them uncomfortable.
He waited.
When Emma finally wiped her face, he quietly offered a handkerchief.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I ruined it.”
“I own others.”
“Of course you do.”
He almost smiled.
Then a knock struck the study door.
Matteo entered.
His face had changed.
“Boss.”
Lorenzo straightened.
“What happened?”
Matteo glanced at Emma.
Then placed a phone on the desk.
“A photograph was delivered to the east gate.”
Lorenzo picked it up.
Emma saw the picture.
Her blood went cold.
It had been taken less than an hour earlier.
Emma stepping from her car outside the mansion.
Someone had drawn a red circle around her face.
On the back were five words.
Lorenzo read them silently.
Emma took the photograph from his hand.
The message said:
THE WRONG CARTER CAME TODAY.
Emma looked up.
“What does that mean?”
Nobody answered.
Then Matteo’s phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His face drained of color.
“Boss…”
Lorenzo’s voice hardened.
“What?”
Matteo turned the phone toward him.
“The west gate camera just caught someone entering the property.”
Emma looked at the image.
A man was walking toward the mansion.
May you like
A man she had watched being lowered into the ground eight months earlier.
Her father.
