Chapter 2 - Something Sewn Into the Hem
Aria moved away from the window so quickly that her hip struck the dressing table.
A perfume bottle toppled and shattered across the floor.
She barely heard it.
Grant Mercer had been Victor Sterling’s personal security officer since Aria was eleven. He had stood outside the study while her father threatened donors, judges, and city officials. He had driven Caleb home after nights when her brother returned with blood on his cuffs. He had waited in the hallway while Aria learned what happened to daughters who embarrassed the Sterling name.
Grant did not make threats.
He delivered consequences.
Aria crossed the room and dropped beside her wedding dress.
The ivory train was nearly eight feet long, hand-stitched by a designer in Manhattan who had charged more for the gown than most Americans earned in two years. Victor had chosen it because the high collar concealed fingerprints. The long sleeves hid the bruises on her wrists. The thick skirt prevented anyone from noticing how badly she trembled.
But Aria had chosen one detail herself.
A narrow strip of fabric sewn into the lowest layer of the hem.
Her fingers searched for the tiny knot.
A knock came at the door.
Aria froze.
“Aria?” Dante’s voice.
She stood too quickly, nearly falling.
The brass key hidden inside the hem slipped from her fingers and landed beneath the bed.
“May I come in?”
She stared at the door.
Dante waited.
He did not try the handle.
“I saw someone outside,” she called.
The door opened only after she unlocked it.
Dante entered alone.
He had changed into dark trousers and a charcoal sweater. Without the tuxedo, he looked less like the king of Boston’s underworld and more like a man who had not slept. Yet there was nothing ordinary about the way he scanned the room, taking in the broken glass, the open curtains, and the wedding dress spread across the carpet.
“Where?”
“Near the trees.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall. Gray uniform. Dark hair.”
“Did you recognize him?”
Aria hesitated.
Dante noticed.
“Aria.”
“He works for my father.”
Dante pulled out his phone. “Nico, seal the property. No vehicles leave. Check every maintenance worker.”
He ended the call and moved toward the window without exposing himself to the glass.
“What is his name?”
“Grant Mercer.”
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante looked at the wedding dress.
Aria stepped between him and the bed.
The movement was small, but it answered his question.
Dante’s gaze returned to her face. “He pointed at the dress?”
She said nothing.
“Whatever you brought into this house,” Dante said, “Victor believes it is important enough to place a man inside my security perimeter.”
“I didn’t ask for your protection.”
“No. You did not.”
“I never wanted this marriage.”
“Neither did I.”
Aria flinched at the bluntness.
Dante’s expression softened slightly. “That was not an insult.”
“Then what was it?”
“The truth. We were both traded for something our families wanted.”
“And now?”
“Now someone has entered my home to frighten my wife.”
The word affected her more than it should have.
His wife.
Not his property.
Not the Sterling girl.
His wife.
Dante crouched beside the shattered perfume bottle and began gathering the larger pieces of glass.
Aria stared at him. “What are you doing?”
“Preventing you from cutting your feet.”
“Don’t you have servants for that?”
“I have hands.”
She did not know how to respond.
A burst of static sounded from the small device clipped to Dante’s belt.
“Movement near the west wall,” Nico reported. “One suspect heading toward the service road.”
Dante stood.
“Stay inside.”
Aria’s fear transformed into anger. “You don’t get to order me.”
His eyes met hers.
For one terrible second, she expected rage.
Instead, Dante nodded once. “You are right. Let me say it differently. A dangerous man is on the property. I would prefer that you remain somewhere secure until we find him.”
The correction disarmed her.
“Where are you going?”
“To find him.”
Dante reached the doorway.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
Aria looked at the bed. The key lay beneath it, invisible from where he stood.
“Grant won’t let himself be captured.”
“Everyone thinks that until Nico catches them.”
“You don’t understand. Grant has spent his entire life cleaning up my father’s problems. If he believes he has failed, he will do anything to avoid being questioned.”
Dante’s face became unreadable.
“You are warning me not to underestimate him.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Then he left.
Aria locked the door and crawled beneath the bed.
Her fingers found the key near the wall.
It was smaller than her thumb, made of old brass, with the number 317 engraved on one side.
Her mother had given it to her three days before she died.
One day, Catherine Sterling had entered Aria’s room without makeup. Purple bruises covered her cheek. She had pressed the key into her daughter’s palm and whispered, “When the house finally burns, this is how you walk out.”
Aria had been fifteen.
The official report said Catherine died after losing control of her car on an icy road.
Aria never believed it.
Years later, she discovered that box 317 belonged to a private vault company in downtown Boston. She had never reached it. Her father tracked every phone call, every bank transaction, every mile driven by the family vehicles.
The wedding had provided her first opening.
Grant had somehow learned about the key.
A gunshot cracked outside.
Aria dropped flat.
Another shot followed.
Men shouted in the courtyard.
She rushed to the window but forced herself to remain beside the wall.
Below, guards converged near the conservatory. Nico emerged from the trees with his weapon drawn. Two men dragged someone across the wet grass.
Grant.
His gray uniform was torn, and blood darkened one sleeve. He was conscious, furious, and fighting despite the four men restraining him.
Dante walked beside them.
Even from the second floor, Aria felt the force of his anger.
Grant suddenly looked up.
He saw her silhouette behind the curtain.
Then he smiled.
It was not a defeated man’s smile.
It was the expression of someone who had already completed his assignment.
Aria turned toward the wedding dress.
The fabric near the waist had been cut open.
Someone had entered the room before she awakened.
The hidden key in her hand was safe.
But a second object had been removed from the gown.
A small photograph of her younger sister, Elena.
On the back, Aria had written the address of the private academy where Elena lived during the school year.
May you like
Grant had not come for the key.
He had come to discover where Victor Sterling’s youngest daughter could be found.
