Chapter 1 - The Ultrasound in His Tuxedo
“Eight weeks.”
I whispered the words while staring at the ultrasound in my shaking hand.
Mateo Duca arrived minutes later and found a broken name tag inside Brandon Hayes’s tuxedo.
Three words were written across the back.
“Maeve knows nothing.”
Brandon’s wedding was already a lie.
At 11:42 p.m., I sat on the edge of the velvet stool in the bridal suite, unable to move.
The ultrasound was still in my hand.
My maid of honor’s name was printed beneath the grainy black-and-white image.
Gemma Rhodes.
Eight weeks.
My best friend.
My fiancé’s favorite person to call whenever he claimed he was “too busy” to answer me.
I looked toward the ivory wedding gown hanging beside the window.
I had designed every inch of it myself.
The neckline.
The sleeves.
The hand-dyed tulle.
Every stitch had been chosen because I wanted to feel beautiful when I walked down the aisle.
Brandon had never understood that.
“You’d look slimmer in black.”
His voice returned to me with painful clarity.
Then another memory.
“Maybe no sleeves, Maeve.”
And another.
“You’re lucky I’m not shallow.”
He had laughed after saying it.
I had laughed too.
I had spent years mistaking humiliation for intimacy.
My fingers tightened around the ultrasound.
Three weeks earlier, Brandon had brought a stack of financial documents to my restoration studio.
“Just boring insurance renewals,” he had said.
He highlighted the signature lines.
I signed.
He kissed my forehead.
Now I wondered what exactly I had agreed to.
I looked at my engagement ring.
Then at the ultrasound.
Then back at the ring.
Slowly, I pulled the ring from my finger.
It left a pale circle around my skin.
I placed it beside the ultrasound.
“No more.”
I stood.
My knees nearly gave out.
I caught the vanity.
For several seconds, I simply breathed.
Then I grabbed my coat.
I didn't call Brandon.
I didn't call Gemma.
I didn't call my mother.
I needed to get away before I said something I couldn't take back.
Chicago's rain hit me the moment I stepped outside.
Cold water soaked through my shoes as I walked without knowing where I was going.
I ended up beside a private dining club I had passed dozens of times.
Then headlights turned into the alley.
A black Maybach stopped.
A frightened man stumbled from the passenger side.
“Mateo, please.”
Another man stepped out.
Tall.
Broad.
Dark overcoat.
Silver-gray hair.
He didn't rush.
He didn't need to.
Everyone in old Chicago circles knew the name Mateo Duca.
Businessman in public.
Something much more dangerous in private.
His older brother had been murdered five years earlier.
After that, Mateo had taken control of the Duca empire.
People who once laughed at the Duca name stopped laughing.
Mateo looked toward me.
His steel-gray eyes moved from my soaked hair to the paper in my hand.
“You're having a terrible night.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I said, “I didn't see anything.”
“You're a bad liar.”
“I'm cold.”
“You're furious.”
“That too.”
His gaze dropped to my bare finger.
“Where's your ring?”
“Gone.”
“Good.”
I looked up sharply.
He didn't explain.
Instead, he asked, “What's your name?”
“Maeve Callahan.”
His expression changed.
“Callahan Textile Restoration?”
“How do you know me?”
“Is your fiancé Brandon Hayes?”
My stomach dropped.
“How do you know Brandon?”
Mateo studied me for several seconds.
Then he said, “Brandon Hayes owes one of my companies two-point-four million dollars.”
“No.”
“He does.”
“My fiancé is a real estate attorney.”
“Your fiancé is a real estate attorney who decided he was also a developer, investor, gambler, and liar.”
I stared at him.
“What does any of that have to do with me?”
His expression hardened.
“More than you realize.”
Before I could answer, a phone began ringing inside Mateo's coat.
He glanced at the screen.
His face went completely still.
Then he looked at me.
“Maeve.”
“Yes?”
“Who gave you that ultrasound?”
May you like
I opened my mouth.
But Mateo was already staring past me at the entrance to the alley, because a second black vehicle had just stopped there...
