Chapter 2 - The Woman in Emerald
Luca did not answer immediately.
That frightened me more than if he had lied.
He glanced toward the bakery windows, where two of his guards stood beside the SUVs pretending not to watch every passing vehicle.
“Close early tonight.”
“No.”
“Giana.”
“You don't get to walk into my business, say the name of a man everyone in Miami is afraid of, and then give me an order without an explanation.”
His jaw tightened.
“Stahl has been testing routes at the port.”
“And?”
“And yesterday he tested one of mine.”
I folded the towel.
“Meaning?”
“A driver is in Jackson Memorial. Two others disappeared.”
The baby moved.
Luca noticed my hand go automatically to my stomach.
His expression softened for half a second.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen and rejected the call.
I saw the name.
Camille.
I knew Camille Laurent.
Everyone did.
She was beautiful in the deliberate way expensive things were beautiful. Blonde hair. French mother. Palm Beach father. Charity boards, gallery openings, photographs beside politicians and athletes.
And, years before Luca met me, she had been Luca’s lover.
“You should answer.”
“It can wait.”
“It apparently couldn't wait yesterday. She called during dinner.”
Luca's eyes met mine.
“Camille's foundation leases property from one of our companies.”
“Then I hope the lease is fascinating.”
“Giana.”
I smiled.
It wasn't a kind smile.
“I am not jealous of a lease.”
He stepped closer.
“You are the only woman I have ever asked to share my name.”
That should have reassured me.
Instead, I noticed what he had not said.
I removed my apron.
“Go handle Preston Stahl.”
“Come home before six.”
“I'll consider it.”
He kissed my forehead.
Then he crouched, pressed his palm gently against my belly, and spoke quietly.
“Tell your mother she is impossible.”
Our son kicked.
Luca almost smiled.
For one moment, he was simply my husband.
Then he stood, and Luca Fontana returned.
By noon, I wished I had made him stay.
A black envelope arrived with no return address.
Inside was a photograph.
Luca.
Camille.
They stood outside a hotel in Brickell three nights earlier.
His hand was around her arm.
Her face was close to his.
On the back, someone had written:
ASK YOUR HUSBAND WHAT HE SAVED HER FROM.
Mateo read my expression from across the kitchen.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Giana.”
I put the photograph into my purse.
“Nothing I can't ask my husband myself.”
But Luca did not come home for dinner.
At seven twenty, he texted.
Meeting. Lock the doors. I'll explain tonight.
At eight, Camille Laurent appeared on television leaving a charity event.
At eight fifteen, someone shot at her car.
By nine, Luca's security team had moved her.
To our house.
I learned that because I came through my own front door and found Camille standing in my living room wearing an emerald silk dress.
The same woman from the photograph.
The same woman whose name had appeared on Luca's phone.
Luca stood beside the fireplace.
“What is she doing here?”
Camille looked embarrassed.
Luca did not.
“She isn't safe at her apartment.”
“Miami has hotels.”
“Not secure ones.”
“You own three.”
“Stahl knows that.”
Camille stepped forward.
“Giana, this isn't what—”
I raised one hand.
“This conversation is between my husband and me.”
She stopped.
Luca dismissed the guards.
Only Camille remained.
I stared at him.
“Now.”
He poured water rather than whiskey.
That worried me.
“Camille's father kept financial records for Stahl.”
“Kept?”
“He died Sunday.”
The anger inside me cooled enough for fear to enter.
Luca continued.
“Before he died, he sent Camille a drive containing account records, payments, shipment numbers, names.”
“Why you?”
“Because he knew I was already trying to push Stahl out.”
“And the photograph?”
“I pulled Camille out of the hotel after Stahl's men found her.”
Camille spoke quietly.
“Luca saved my life.”
I looked at her.
Then at my husband.
“And you couldn't tell your pregnant wife?”
“The fewer people who knew—”
I laughed once.
“You brought the secret into our home.”
His face hardened.
“Because this house is protected.”
“Then tell me where the drive is.”
Silence.
Camille looked at Luca.
That tiny movement told me everything.
“She doesn't know?”
Camille whispered.
“Know what?”
Luca said her name sharply.
“Camille.”
Too late.
I stepped toward him.
“Know what?”
Camille swallowed.
“The drive isn't with me.”
My husband's face became unreadable.
I felt cold.
“Where is it?”
Camille's eyes dropped.
“Your bakery.”
I stared at Luca.
He said nothing.
My bakery.
The one place he had promised never to use.
My mother's place.
Mine.
“You put Stahl's evidence inside Gallo's?”
“I didn't.”
“Then who did?”
“Camille's father.”
I turned toward her.
She looked terrified now.
“My father knew your father, Giana. He hid something there years ago. He believed no Fontana enemy would search a Gallo property.”
The room tilted.
“My father died twelve years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then what does he have to do with this?”
Camille reached into her purse.
She removed an old brass key.
My father's initials were scratched into it.
A.G.
I stopped breathing.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father.”
“Why?”
“He told me if anything happened to him, I should find you.”
Luca moved closer.
I stepped away.
Camille's next words barely rose above a whisper.
“Because Preston Stahl didn't come to Miami for Luca.”
She placed the key in my palm.
“He came for what your father hid.”
A vehicle exploded beyond the front gates.
Every window shook.
Luca reached me before the glass stopped vibrating.
His men shouted outside.
Another explosion lit the driveway.
Luca drew his weapon.
May you like
And Camille whispered the sentence that turned my marriage into a battlefield.
“He came for you.”
