Chapter 1 - THE MAN WHO WALKED PAST MY SISTER
The worst part of Diana telling me that nobody wanted me was not the insult itself. It was how ordinary she made it sound.
She said it beside a melting ice sculpture at the Aster Hotel, under chandeliers so bright they made every diamond in the ballroom look like a tiny weapon. A jazz quartet played near the windows. Waiters floated through the room with trays of champagne. Men whose names appeared on hospital wings and university buildings laughed too loudly at jokes they did not understand.
And my sister leaned close enough for her perfume to sting my eyes.
"Nobody wants you, Harper," she said. "You know that, right?"
I kept staring at the swan carved from ice because looking at her would make the tears come, and I would rather have walked barefoot into traffic than cry in front of Diana.
My feet already felt as if I had.
The silver heels she had "loaned" me were half a size too small. Each step had rubbed my skin raw until I could feel warm blood gathering at the backs of my ankles. The charcoal dress had also belonged to Diana. She said it looked better on someone with less personality.
I had almost stayed home.
Then Dad had called and reminded me that Callaway Development was in trouble. He did not say bankrupt. He never used ugly words if a more expensive one would do.
"We need the family together tonight," he had said. "Your sister is making important connections."
Translation: Diana needed to look desirable to a man with enough money to keep our father's company alive, and I was expected to stand nearby so she looked even brighter.
"Get me another martini," Diana said.
"I'm not your assistant."
"No. An assistant is useful."
I closed my eyes.
"Diana."
She smiled toward a passing donor while whispering through her teeth. "Three olives. And stand up straight when you come back. You look like a question mark."
I should have left then.
I wish I could tell you I did.
But I had spent twenty-seven years learning that peace in the Callaway family was purchased by swallowing the sentence you wanted to say. Our mother died when I was thirteen. After that, Dad treated Diana like the heir to something important and me like a clerical error.
So I picked up my glass of club soda and prepared to move.
That was when the air around us changed.
The music continued. No one announced anything. Yet conversations started dying from the center of the ballroom outward, one by one, as if someone were lowering the volume on the entire room.
Diana noticed first.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh my God."
Across the ballroom, people were stepping aside.
Victor Rossi walked through them.
I knew who he was because everyone in Chicago who worked anywhere near money knew the name. Rossi Maritime. Rossi Security. Rossi Capital. There were legitimate companies, disputed companies, and rumors nobody repeated within range of a microphone.
My father had one rule about Victor Rossi.
Never owe him.
Judging from the way Dad had been avoiding calls all week, I suddenly understood that rule may have been broken.
Victor wore a black tuxedo that fit him with the precision of armor. He was taller than I expected, broad through the shoulders, with dark hair brushed back and silver beginning at his temples. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow. He did not scan the room.
He looked directly at us.
At least Diana thought he did.
She straightened so quickly I almost laughed. The cruelty disappeared from her face. Her shoulders went back. Her smile became the one she used for photographers.
"He's coming here," she whispered.
"Maybe Dad borrowed more than he admitted."
"Don't be stupid."
Victor kept walking.
Diana adjusted the neckline of her red gown.
Five feet away, he slowed.
Diana stepped forward and offered her hand.
"Mr. Rossi. Diana Callaway. I've been hoping to meet—"
He walked past her.
Not around her politely.
Past her.
Her hand remained suspended in midair.
Victor stopped in front of me.
Every instinct in my body told me to move, but there was nowhere to go except into the ice sculpture.
His gaze dropped to the glass shaking in my hand.
"Put that down."
His voice was low enough that I almost wondered if I had imagined it.
"What?"
"The glass."
"I can hold a glass."
"I can see that."
His eyes moved lower.
To my shoes.
Heat rushed to my face.
The hem of the dress did not quite hide the red marks around my heels.
Victor's expression tightened.
He took the club soda from my hand carefully, as if he expected me to resist, and set it on the linen beside the swan.
Then he looked at Diana.
"You."
Diana's face brightened automatically. "Yes?"
"Get her coat."
The smile disappeared.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your sister's coat."
Diana stared at him.
"I don't fetch coats."
Victor tilted his head slightly.
Nothing else changed. He did not raise his voice. He did not threaten her.
Diana went pale.
"I'll get it."
She turned and walked toward coat check with the stiff, fast steps of a woman pretending she had chosen to obey.
I watched her go.
Then I looked at Victor.
"Why did you do that?"
"Because she's loud."
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
Almost.
Victor offered me his arm.
"We're leaving."
I stared at it. "We are absolutely not."
That earned me the faintest shift in his expression.
"You prefer staying here?"
"I prefer knowing why a man my father told me never to owe money to is trying to escort me out of a ballroom."
"Smart."
"That isn't an answer."
"No."
Behind him, I saw my father crossing the ballroom toward us with the look of a man who had just discovered a fire under his dining table.
Victor followed my gaze.
"Your father owes me three million dollars."
The number seemed so large it lost meaning.
I laughed once because my brain had nothing better to offer.
"That's not possible."
"It is."
"Dad said the bank loan was the problem."
"The bank loan is one of his problems."
My stomach tightened.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Nothing tonight."
I searched his face for mockery.
There was none.
"Then why are you here?"
Victor looked at my shoes again.
"Because you've been standing in pain for forty minutes while everyone around you pretended not to notice."
I went still.
"How long have you been watching me?"
"Long enough."
My father reached us before I could respond.
"Victor." His smile was thin and terrified. "What a surprise. I didn't realize you were attending."
"I wasn't."
Dad's eyes flicked toward me.
"Harper, go find your sister."
"No," Victor said.
One word.
My father stopped.
Something old and furious rose inside me. I had heard Dad tell me where to go, what to wear, which classes were practical, which boyfriends were embarrassing, which dreams were childish. Nobody had ever interrupted him before.
Dad lowered his voice.
"This is a family matter."
Victor finally looked at him.
"No, Malcolm. Your debt is a business matter. Harper is not collateral."
My breath caught.
Dad's mouth tightened.
"I never said she was."
"You didn't have to."
Diana returned holding my black coat. She looked between the three of us and immediately understood she had missed something important.
Victor took the coat from her, but instead of handing it to me, he draped it over my shoulders.
The gesture was unexpectedly gentle.
That frightened me more than if he had been cruel.
"Victor," Dad said, "we can discuss the payment schedule privately."
"We will."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
Dad relaxed half an inch.
Victor continued.
"With Harper present."
All three Callaways stared at him.
I shook my head first.
"Why me?"
Victor's eyes returned to mine.
"Because the documents your father used to secure my money carry your signature."
The ballroom seemed to tilt.
"I never signed anything."
"I know."
Dad took a step forward.
"That's enough."
Victor's face went cold.
"No. I think this is where enough finally begins."
He offered his arm again.
This time I looked at it differently.
Not like a rescue.
Like a door.
My feet hurt. My family was lying. A dangerous man had just told me my name was attached to three million dollars I had never seen.
I slipped my hand through Victor Rossi's arm.
Behind us, Diana whispered, "Harper, don't."
For the first time in my life, I did not turn around.
Victor led me through the ballroom while hundreds of people pretended not to stare.
At the doors, I finally asked, "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere you can take those shoes off."
"And then?"
"Then," he said, "I'm going to show you exactly what your family did with your name."
May you like
The doors opened onto a winter night.
And for once, I walked out of my father's world before he could tell me I wasn't allowed to leave.
