When he stopped three steps above her, she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze.
“Emilia Moretti,” he said.
He said her name the way a judge might read a verdict.
“Anthony Moretti’s daughter in my house, in a wedding dress, before breakfast.” His expression did not change. “That is not a sentence I expected to say today.”
“They’re going to kill me,” Emilia said. “And they’re going to make it look like you did it.”
For the first time, one of the guards glanced at another.
Dominic looked at her for one long, level moment. Then he said, “Explain.”
The command steadied her more than pity would have. Pity blurred things. Pity invited collapse. A direct order made her mind gather itself.
“Four hours ago,” she said, swallowing hard, “I was at St. Catherine’s, in the bridal suite, waiting for the ceremony. My maid of honor stepped out to get champagne. The door didn’t latch all the way. I heard Vincent speaking in the hall with two of his men.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Vincent Barrett.”
“Yes.”
The name tasted poisonous now. Vincent Barrett, heir to an empire built on ports, trucking contracts, protection rackets disguised as logistics, and old-style brutality dressed in modern wealth. The marriage had been negotiated for six months. A strategic union, her father called it. Stabilization. Expansion. Legacy. Emilia had called it a burial and kept that thought buried with her.
“He said the wedding only needed to happen for appearances,” she continued. “He said to let my father believe the alliance was solid, then give it a few weeks and arrange an accident. Stairs, brake failure, something clean. He said when my body was found there would be evidence leading back to you. Enough that my father would come after you without stopping to ask questions.”
Silence spread through the entry hall.
A house like this knew how to hold silence. It sat inside the beams and banisters, inside the old rugs and the polished floors, until it felt less like the absence of sound and more like judgment.
Dominic descended one more step. “Why would Vincent want a war between me and Anthony Moretti?”
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