Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER AT THE TABLE
Roman did not speak for eleven minutes.
Harper knew because she counted.
The convoy moved north through Manhattan while rain began tapping against the tinted windows.
Roman stared at the photograph.
His younger brother, Luca Rossi, had worn that silver ring since their mother died.
Harper knew the family mythology.
Luca was the charming Rossi.
Roman inherited their father’s discipline. Luca inherited their mother’s smile.
At thirty-one, Luca handled legitimate investments, charity foundations, and political relationships. He appeared at galas. He remembered birthdays. He tipped waiters obscenely well.
More importantly, he was one of perhaps six people Roman trusted.
“Could be another ring,” Roman finally said.
Harper looked at him.
“You don’t believe that.”
Roman’s gaze hardened.
“Evidence first.”
“Good.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“What?”
“That might be the healthiest sentence you’ve said since I met you.”
Marco coughed from the front seat.
Roman ignored him.
The convoy entered an underground garage beneath a luxury hotel Roman quietly controlled.
Harper was taken upstairs to a penthouse safe floor.
She expected armed guards and surveillance monitors.
She did not expect pajamas.
A shopping bag waited on the bed containing women’s clothing in several sizes.
Harper lifted a silk blouse.
“Who picked this?”
Roman stood near the doorway.
“Someone from the hotel.”
“You sent someone shopping while we were being shot at?”
“You can’t spend three days in duck socks.”
Harper threw the blouse at him.
He caught it.
“Those socks were comfortable.”
“They were disturbing.”
She nearly smiled.
Nearly.
Then she remembered someone wanted her dead.
Roman placed the blouse down.
“We need to identify who accessed the archive.”
“We?”
“You know my schedules, personnel, access procedures, and administrative systems better than anyone.”
“I quit.”
“Yes. Your resignation has been extremely inconvenient.”
“Good.”
Roman looked at her.
Harper expected anger.
Instead, he said quietly, “I deserved that.”
That stopped her.
Roman Rossi did not apologize.
He barely acknowledged gravity.
Harper studied his face.
“Who are you?”
“Don’t become sentimental.”
“There he is.”
They spent the next six hours reconstructing the breach.
Harper remembered every staff rotation from the previous month. Roman remembered every access authorization.
At 4:30 p.m., Harper discovered the first impossible detail.
Her credentials had not been stolen after she resigned.
They had been duplicated three months earlier.
“Someone planned this,” she said.
Roman leaned over her shoulder.
His cologne mixed with coffee.
Harper shifted away.
Roman noticed but said nothing.
The duplicated credential had been used only twice before.
Both times during meetings attended by Luca.
Roman called Marco.
“Bring Luca.”
Harper caught his wrist.
“No.”
Roman looked at her hand.
She released him.
“If Luca is involved, bringing him here tells him we know.”
“He’s my brother.”
“And if he isn’t involved, accusing him destroys your relationship.”
Roman’s mouth tightened.
“So what do you suggest?”
“Act normal.”
“You called me toxic and quit yesterday.”
“That was normal for me.”
A laugh came from the doorway.
Both turned.
Luca Rossi stood there.
He was handsome in a softer way than Roman, wearing an expensive camel coat and carrying two coffees.
“Should I come back after the divorce?”
Harper’s stomach dropped.
Roman became perfectly still.
“How did you get upstairs?”
Luca lifted the coffees.
“I own twelve percent of the hotel.”
He smiled at Harper.
“I heard you resigned.”
“News travels.”
“In this family? Faster than disease.”
Luca offered her a coffee.
She stared at it.
“Relax. If I intended to poison you, I’d buy better coffee.”
Roman took the cup from his hand and placed it on the table.
Luca’s smile changed.
Barely.
Harper saw it.
So did Roman.
“What happened to your head?” Luca asked.
“Glass.”
“Harper throwing things already?”
“Occupational hazard,” Harper said.
Luca laughed.
For twenty minutes, conversation remained casual.
Then Luca left.
Roman waited until the elevator doors closed.
“He knew.”
Harper nodded.
“He knew I was here.”
“I told no one.”
“Marco?”
“Would die first.”
From the doorway Marco said, “Preferably not today.”
Harper walked to the window.
Something still bothered her.
Luca was too obvious.
If he had duplicated her credentials, why wear a recognizable ring while committing the breach?
Unless he wanted to be seen.
“Roman.”
He looked up.
“What if someone is framing Luca too?”
Silence.
Harper returned to the photograph.
The reflection.
The hand.
The ring was visible with almost theatrical clarity.
“Your cameras are positioned above the archive entrance. Whoever did this knew exactly where the blind spots were. Yet they allowed the ring to appear.”
Roman understood.
“Deliberate misdirection.”
“Exactly.”
“Then Luca might be the target.”
“Or bait.”
Roman immediately called his brother.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Marco tried.
Nothing.
Roman’s expression changed.
“Find him.”
Security teams scattered.
At 7:12 p.m., Luca’s car was discovered abandoned near the East River.
The driver was unconscious.
Luca was gone.
A phone lay on the back seat.
One video had been saved.
Roman played it.
Luca sat tied to a chair in an empty warehouse.
Blood marked his mouth.
A distorted voice spoke behind the camera.
“Bring Harper Lane to Pier 19 at midnight.”
Roman stopped the video.
“No.”
Harper stared at the screen.
“They want me.”
“They’re not getting you.”
“Your brother—”
“Is my responsibility.”
Harper turned toward him.
“That sentence is exactly why everyone around you is terrified to make decisions.”
Roman’s eyes darkened.
“Do not turn this into a management review.”
“You’re trying to control everything again.”
“I am trying to keep you alive.”
“And Luca?”
Roman said nothing.
Harper stepped closer.
“If someone wants both of us destroyed, the last thing we should do is behave predictably.”
Roman stared at her.
Then, unexpectedly, he asked, “What would you do?”
For two years, Harper had waited for those words.
Not an order.
A question.
She looked at the warehouse image.
“Give them exactly what they asked for.”
Roman’s face hardened.
“No.”
Harper smiled.
“But not the Harper they’re expecting.”
At 11:58 p.m., a black sedan rolled toward Pier 19.
Harper sat alone in the back seat.
At least, that was what anyone watching would believe.
Beneath her coat was a transmitter.
In nearby buildings, Roman’s security teams waited.
The sedan stopped.
Harper stepped onto wet pavement.
A warehouse door opened.
Inside, Luca remained tied to the chair.
Harper moved forward.
“Where is she?” Luca shouted.
Harper stopped.
She had expected him to ask why she came.
Instead he had asked where is she.
A woman stepped from behind him.
Harper recognized the gray blazer immediately.
Her blazer.
The woman removed her hood.
Harper’s breath caught.
She knew that face.
Everyone in Roman’s organization did.
Roman’s former fiancée.
The woman who had supposedly died three years earlier.
May you like
Isabella Rossi smiled.
“Hello, Harper.”
