Chapter 1 - The Trap in the Penthouse
The cold steel of Adrian’s wedding band pressed against the drywall right beside my ear. The hallway behind him reeked of cordite and burnt copper. Two of his lieutenants, men with scarred knuckles and heavy coats, stood guard near the elevators, keeping their eyes trained strictly on the floor. Nobody looked at Adrian DeLuca when his temper slipped into the quiet, lethal zone.
“How did you find me?” I asked again, refusing to let my chin tremble. I pulled the delicate silk of my bridal train away from his polished leather boots, but he didn't budge.
“You booked this room under your mother’s maiden name three days ago, Evelyn,” he whispered, his chest heaving under his unbuttoned tuxedo shirt. “You think you’re the only one who plans ahead? I pay every concierge from the Gold Coast to O’Hare. The minute your little rented Corolla pulled into the downtown loop, my dispatch had your plates.”
“Then why bring weapons?” I challenged, gesturing toward the smoking hallway. “Did you have to execute the hotel security just to demand your runaway bride?”
A dark, bitter humor flickered across his face. “Those weren't my shots, Evelyn. Those were the Marcone family. You walked out on our wedding in front of three hundred elite guests, including every capo on the Eastern seaboard. You made me look vulnerable. The vultures smelled blood within ten minutes of the bells chiming to an empty altar. I didn’t come here to drag you back in chains. I came here because you became an open target the second you stepped out of my perimeter.”
I laughed, a sharp, hollow sound that echoed off the high ceiling of the suite. “Your perimeter? You handed my seat to Lily Crawford! You put her in my dress’s reflection, in my Rolls-Royce, holding a bouquet, and told me to take the servant car. You made me an open target years ago, Adrian. You just didn't care until the cameras were watching.”
His jaw tightened so hard I heard the click of his molars. For a fraction of a second, guilt flashed behind the bruised fatigue in his dark eyes, but it was quickly replaced by stubborn defiance. “Lily was hyperventilating. Her congenital condition—""
“Lily was gloating!” I screamed, finally letting the rage shatter my composure. “She wore white, Adrian! A tailored ivory cocktail dress with diamond drop earrings identical to mine! She looked me dead in the eye through the tinted glass and smirked because she knew what she had proven: that no matter how many vows you prepared to say to me, she still held the leash!”
Adrian took a half-step back, running a hand through his ruined, ink-black hair. His tailored jacket hung askew, covered in grime and raindrops from the sudden Chicago storm. “She had an attack. She needed to be close to the hospital route. I made an executive call. It was ten minutes of highway driving, Evelyn. Why throw away three years of our lives over ten minutes?”
“Because those ten minutes showed me the next fifty years of my life,” I said, my voice dropping to an icy whisper. “A life where I come second to every cough, every phantom fainting spell, every calculated theatrical breakdown she stages the moment your attention drifts toward me. I am done competing for scraps at my own table.”
He stared at me, his chest rising and falling heavily. Outside, sirens wailed through the rain-slicked canyons of Michigan Avenue. Adrian turned his head toward the door, listening intently. His posture shifted instantly from desperate fiancé to tactical commander.
“Pack whatever you touched in this room,” he commanded quietly, slipping the pistol back into its shoulder holster beneath his jacket. “The local precinct is paid off, but the federal task force monitoring the cathedral isn’t. When the wedding blew up, the feds assumed a cartel war was starting. We have less than four minutes before this block is crawling with alphabet agencies.”
“I’m not going back with you,” I said, crossing my arms over the beaded lace bodice that felt more like armor than bridal wear.
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Adrian stepped forward, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made the air feel thin. He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing against my jawline with shocking gentleness, before his hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me firmly in place.
“You don't have to marry me today, Evelyn,” he breathed, his forehead resting lightly against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You can hate me. You can sleep in the opposite wing of the estate. You can throw every diamond I ever gave you into the Chicago River. But you are walking out of this hotel under my guard. Because if anyone puts a bullet in my bride, it means I’ve already stopped breathing. And I am nowhere near ready to die.”
