THE BRIDE WHO FLED TO HER FATHER’S DEADLIEST ENEMY AND FOUND A THRONE OF HER OWN

“We’re ready to move,” he said.

Her stomach tightened. “Against Vincent?”

“Against the story he’s trying to write.” Dominic sat on the edge of the desk, close enough that she could smell cedar and rain on his jacket. “Nathan Voss has been watched for forty-eight hours. He’s dirty. We’ll pick him up tomorrow. But exposing Voss inside my organization only proves Vincent wants leverage over me. It doesn’t prove he plans to kill you.”

“I can prove that.”

“To me, yes.” He shook his head. “Not to Anthony Moretti.”

At the mention of her father, the old ache returned, familiar as scar tissue. Anthony Moretti loved his family in the way powerful men often love things that belong to them: sincerely, possessively, and with very little curiosity about their inner lives. He had raised Emilia to be poised, observant, and useful, never understanding that those traits might one day be turned against the plans he made for her.

“He still won’t believe me,” she said.

“He will if the timing humiliates him enough.”

She looked up sharply.

Dominic met her gaze without apology. “Your father can survive betrayal. Men like him almost expect it. What he cannot bear is looking like a fool in front of witnesses. So we give him evidence in a setting where dismissing you would cost him face.”

“You’ve arranged a meeting.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Fear moved through her, cold and immediate. Yet under it, strangely, there was relief. The waiting had become its own kind of suffocation. Action, even dangerous action, at least had edges she could press against.

“Where?”

“A restaurant in New Haven called The Harbor Room. Neutral enough to keep everyone honest for ten minutes.”

“There’s no such thing as honest in our world.”

Dominic’s mouth curved faintly. “Then let’s say measurable.”

He handed her a folder. Inside were printed communications, financial transfers, surveillance logs, and a timeline connecting Vincent to Nathan Voss. Not enough alone to hang a conspiracy on, but enough to force an investigation. Enough, perhaps, to wedge doubt into the machinery of her father’s certainty.

“You’ll tell Anthony what you heard,” Dominic said. “Then you’ll give him this. If he’s the man you say he is, pride will do the rest.”