Chapter 1 - THE WIFE HE NEVER MENTIONEDThe glamorous woman waited until our server placed two untouched glasses of water between us.
Then she folded her hands on the table and said, “Dominic is still my husband.”
For several seconds, the café continued around me as if nothing had happened.
Milk hissed beneath the espresso machine.
Silverware struck porcelain.
A little girl near the window laughed because her father had put whipped cream on her nose.
I heard every sound with painful clarity, yet I could not seem to understand the seven words the woman had just spoken.
“You introduced yourself as his ex,” I finally said.
“I am his ex in every way that matters.”
“That is not what you just said.”
“No.” Her mouth curved into a humorless smile. “It isn’t.”
Her name was Vivienne Moreau. She wore a white silk blouse, a black pencil skirt, and a diamond bracelet that probably cost more than everything in my apartment. Even seated, she had the posture of someone who had been taught never to reveal weakness in public.
Nothing about her looked wounded.
That made her warning feel more dangerous.
I leaned back in my chair. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Dominic won’t.”
“You don’t know what he’s told me.”
“He told you he runs import companies.”
My silence answered for me.
Vivienne looked almost sympathetic.
“He told you his marriage ended years ago, but the papers haven’t been finalized.”
“He never told me he was married.”
Something cold moved behind her eyes.
“That sounds like Dominic.”
I wanted to stand up.
I wanted to leave before she could put another crack in the version of him I had allowed myself to believe.
Instead, I stayed.
“What happened between you?”
“We were married six years ago. Our families had spent twenty years cutting pieces from each other. The marriage stopped the war.”
“An arranged marriage.”
“A strategic one.”
“Were you in love with him?”
Her gaze drifted toward the café window.
“Love was not included in the contract.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the only answer you’re entitled to.”
The words stung, but I refused to look away.
“What does any of this have to do with the man in the gallery?”
For the first time since she sat down, Vivienne’s composure slipped.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
“The dead man was my brother.”
My stomach turned.
The memory returned in flashes.
The abandoned upper gallery of the old Marlowe Hotel.
Dust-covered paintings leaning against walls.
My camera in my hands.
A gunshot.
A man pitching backward over the broken railing.
Dominic standing above him with blood on his collar.
“You’re saying Dominic killed your brother.”
“I’m saying Julian died because of Dominic.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Does the difference matter?”
“Yes.”
“It won’t when you’re standing beside the next body.”
I pushed my chair back.
Vivienne reached across the table and caught my wrist.
Her grip was stronger than I expected.
“Claire, wait.”
I froze.
I had never told her my name.
The reservation was under hers. Dominic had never introduced us. I had walked into the café after receiving a handwritten note at the library that said only, There are things you deserve to know.
“How do you know who I am?”
Her fingers loosened.
“Dominic has known who you are from the beginning.”
“He saw my library badge.”
“I don’t mean your name.”
Every instinct in me sharpened.
“What do you mean?”
Vivienne studied me for a moment. Then she opened her purse and removed a photograph.
The picture had been taken outside the Boston Public Library.
I was walking down the front steps carrying a paper bag and an umbrella. The photograph was recent. Maybe two weeks old.
A second image showed me outside my apartment.
A third showed my best friend, Sophie, climbing into my car.
I stared at them.
“Dominic took these?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“The same people who were watching the gallery.”
The café suddenly felt too open.
Too many windows.
Too many people I had not noticed.
Vivienne gathered the photographs and slid them back into her purse.
“Julian stole something before he died,” she said. “Something people have killed to find.”
“What?”
“A list.”
“What kind of list?”
“The kind that can destroy judges, police commissioners, senators, union leaders, and men whose names never appear in newspapers.”
“I don’t have a list.”
“You had a camera.”
My throat tightened.
“Dominic erased the pictures.”
“He erased the files on the camera.”
“That’s where the pictures were.”
“Are you sure?”
I thought of the wireless backup application Sophie had installed after I lost a memory card during a trip to Maine.
My photographs uploaded automatically whenever my camera connected to a recognized network.
The gallery had been part of the old Marlowe Hotel, closed for renovation.
The hotel’s network might still have been active.
Vivienne watched realization spread across my face.
“Dominic came to the library because he discovered one of your photographs had been copied to a remote account.”
“He came to ask whether I told anyone.”
“He came to find out whether you knew what you had.”
My pulse beat hard in my neck.
“What was in the photograph?”
“A reflection. A face. Perhaps a code. Dominic wouldn’t tell me.”
“And you expect me to believe you’re warning me out of kindness?”
“No.” Vivienne picked up her purse. “I’m warning you because every person Dominic loves becomes a weapon someone else can use against him.”
“You said love wasn’t part of your marriage.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Then why do you care what happens to him?”
Her expression became unreadable again.
“Because love is not the only thing that creates loyalty.”
She stood.
I remained seated.
“Is he dangerous to me?” I asked.
Vivienne looked down at me.
“Dominic is dangerous to everyone.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.” She put on her sunglasses. “He will never deliberately hurt you.”
Relief tried to rise inside me.
Vivienne destroyed it with her next sentence.
“But he will burn this city to the ground if someone else does.”
She walked toward the door.
“Vivienne.”
She stopped.
“Who was watching me?”
Before she could answer, the café window shattered.
The first gunshot sounded like a plate breaking.
The second struck the wall behind my chair.
Someone screamed.
People dropped beneath tables.
Vivienne moved faster than I did. She grabbed my shoulder and dragged me to the floor as another bullet tore through the front glass.
“Kitchen!” she shouted.
We crawled behind the counter. A barista lay curled beside the refrigerator, crying into both hands.
Vivienne reached beneath her skirt and pulled a small pistol from a holster strapped to her thigh.
I stared at it.
“You brought a gun to coffee?”
“You agreed to meet a mafia wife.”
“Ex-wife.”
“Not legally.”
Another shot struck the espresso machine.
Steam burst into the air.
Vivienne fired twice toward the broken window.
“Move!”
She shoved open the kitchen door.
We ran past sacks of flour and metal shelves. A cook crouched beside the freezer, speaking frantically into his phone. The emergency exit stood twenty feet away.
A black silhouette appeared behind the frosted glass.
Vivienne raised her weapon.
The door flew inward.
Dominic entered with a gun in one hand.
His dark eyes found me immediately.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
He crossed the distance between us, took my face between his hands, and searched for blood as if he did not trust my answer.
“Dominic,” Vivienne said sharply.
He looked at her.
His expression changed.
Not surprise.
Fury.
“What did you do?”
“I told her the truth.”
“You brought her into the open.”
“I didn’t arrange the sniper.”
“You chose a café with street-facing glass.”
“I chose a public place because I assumed even your enemies would hesitate to kill civilians.”
“You assumed wrong.”
The way they spoke told me something their words did not.
This argument was old.
They knew each other’s anger too well.
A bullet struck the kitchen door behind Dominic.
He turned and fired through the glass without hesitation.
A man cried out in the alley.
Dominic grabbed my hand.
“We’re leaving.”
I pulled away.
“You’re married.”
His eyes cut toward Vivienne.
She lifted her chin.
“Claire—”
“Are you married?”
“This is not the place.”
“Yes or no?”
Another burst of gunfire erupted outside.
Dominic stepped closer until his body shielded mine.
“Yes.”
One word.
The same word he had used when I confronted him about being a mafia boss.
Yes, he had lied.
Yes, he was married.
Yes, I had been stupid enough to believe the tenderness between us meant I was finally seeing the real man beneath the danger.
I slapped him.
The sound cracked through the kitchen.
Vivienne’s eyebrows rose.
Dominic did not move.
A red mark appeared across his cheek.
“You deserved that,” I said.
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No.”
“You kissed me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“You slept in the chair outside my apartment because I had a nightmare.”
“Yes.”
“You let me think—”
My voice broke.
I hated him for hearing it.
Dominic lowered his gun.
“What did you think?”
“That maybe I mattered.”
Something changed in his face.
“You matter more than you understand.”
“Then explain it.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
The rear window exploded.
Dominic threw himself over me. Glass sprayed across his back. Vivienne returned fire while a black SUV tore into the alley.
A side door opened.
Two men in dark tactical clothing jumped out.
Dominic pushed me toward the emergency exit.
“Go with Marco.”
A broad man with a scar beside his mouth appeared behind him and caught my arm.
I resisted.
“Dominic!”
“Go!”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be behind you.”
It sounded like a promise.
I no longer knew what his promises were worth.
Marco dragged me into a second SUV parked beside the kitchen entrance. Vivienne climbed in after us. Dominic remained in the alley, firing toward the attackers with two men from his security team.
The vehicle accelerated before he joined us.
I twisted toward the rear window.
“Where is he?”
“He’ll take another car,” Marco said.
“That is not what he told me.”
“It was the safest option.”
“For whom?”
No one answered.
Vivienne sat opposite me, one hand pressed against her upper arm.
Blood seeped between her fingers.
“You’re hurt.”
“Glass.”
I reached toward her.
She pulled away.
“I can manage.”
“Let me see.”
She studied me, then lowered her hand.
A piece of glass had cut through her blouse. The wound was shallow but bleeding heavily. I grabbed a clean cloth from the vehicle’s medical kit and pressed it against her arm.
Vivienne’s gaze rested on my face.
“He was right,” she said quietly.
“About what?”
“You do look at people as if they’re still human.”
“Is that supposed to explain why he didn’t kill me?”
“No.” She winced as I tightened the cloth. “It explains why he’s afraid of you.”
I almost laughed.
“Dominic Wolfe is not afraid of me.”
“He was raised by men who taught him every relationship was a transaction. You make him want something he cannot buy, threaten, or control.”
“What?”
“Forgiveness.”
The SUV turned sharply into a tunnel.
My phone rang.
Sophie’s name appeared on the screen.
I answered immediately.
“Claire?” Her voice shook. “Where are you?”
“I’m safe.”
“Police are at the library. Someone broke into your apartment. They said there was a shooting downtown.”
“Are you home?”
“No. I’m at the library. I came to find you.”
My heart stopped.
“Sophie, leave.”
“What?”
“Get out of the building right now.”
A man’s voice spoke faintly behind her.
Sophie went silent.
“Sophie?”
Her breathing changed.
“Claire,” she whispered, “there’s someone here.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Marco reached for it.
I pulled it against my chest.
“We have to go back.”
“No.”
“My friend is in the library.”
“We cannot confirm that.”
“I heard someone.”
Vivienne looked toward Marco. “Turn around.”
“Dominic ordered us to take both of you to the house.”
“Sophie is innocent.”
Marco’s expression did not change.
“I have orders.”
I leaned forward.
“Dominic came into my library four days after he let me walk away from a murder scene. He knew my schedule. He knew where I lived. He knew about the backup photographs before I did.”
Marco remained silent.
“You work for him,” I continued. “So tell me whether he would obey an order if someone he cared about was trapped.”
His jaw shifted.
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because he is Dominic.”
“And right now, he isn’t here.”
Vivienne reached across the vehicle and struck a button beside the driver’s shoulder.
A partition lowered.
“Take us to the library,” she said.
The driver glanced at Marco.
Marco swore.
“Dominic will kill me.”
Vivienne leaned back against the seat.
“Only if we survive.”
The SUV changed lanes.
My phone vibrated again.
A message arrived from Sophie’s number.
It contained a photograph.
Sophie sat tied to a chair in the library’s history aisle. Her mouth was covered with tape. A man stood behind her holding a gun against her temple.
Beneath the image were eleven words.
BRING THE GALLERY PHOTOGRAPH, OR YOUR FRIEND BECOMES THE NEXT WITNESS.
I looked up at Vivienne.
“I don’t have the photograph.”
She glanced at the dark screen of my phone.
“No,” she said.
May you like
Her face had gone pale.
“But someone believes you do.”
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