Chapter 6 - THE ARCHITECT OF REVENGEFor the next ten days, the penthouse suite at the Hawthorne Grand became war room headquarters.
Dante’s lieutenants—men with broken noses, tailor-made suits, and eyes that never stopped moving—came and went at all hours of the night. They brought blueprints of the Grand Promenade, bank ledgers, guest lists, and audio recordings.
I sat at the center of it all, a glass of dark scotch in my hand, going over every detail with surgical precision.
"We have three hundred guests attending," I said, pointing to the seating chart spread across the table. "Table One: Eleanor, Lydia, and Arthur’s parents. Table Two: The judges and politicians my mother invited to show off her social standing. Table Three: The press."
Dante leaned over my chair, resting one hand on the back of my seat, his chin inches from my hair. "The media wall will be set up in the main foyer. Your mother hired three society photographers to cover the event for the Chicago Tribune."
"Good," I said, cold satisfaction blooming in my chest. "I want high-resolution photos of everything."
"And the video screens?" Dante asked. "The ones set up behind the altar for the 'childhood photo slideshow' your mother insisted on?"
I looked up at him, a dark smile playing on my lips. "The thumb drive is ready. It doesn't contain childhood photos. It contains the security footage from my hallway the afternoon I caught Arthur and Lydia."
Dante let out a low, appreciative chuckle. "And the financial ledgers?"
"They'll be printed on the back of the dinner menus," I said. "Three hundred copies, bound in silk ribbon. Every guest will have a detailed breakdown of where my father's six-million-dollar insurance policy went while they eat their filet mignon."
Dante looked at me for a long moment, his dark eyes filled with an intensity that made my pulse race. "You are far more ruthless than I gave you credit for, Nora Vane."
"I had good teachers," I murmured.
He didn't move away. Instead, his hand slid from the back of the chair to the nape of my neck, his warm fingers weaving through my hair. The air between us became thick, heavy with an electric tension that had been building since the night I walked into his bar.
"After Saturday," Dante said quietly, his voice dropping into a deep, vibrating whisper, "it will all be over. Your mother will be bankrupt. Arthur will be ruined. Lydia will never be able to show her face in this city again. What will you do then?"
I looked at his lips, then back at his eyes. "I don't know," I admitted softly. "I've spent my whole life being Eleanor's daughter and Arthur's fiancée. I don't know who I am without them."
"You are Nora," Dante said, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jawline. "And if you want... you can stay right here."
Before I could answer, his phone buzzed loudly on the glass table.
Dante didn't break eye contact with me as he reached out and slid the phone to his ear. "Speak."
May you like
A frantic voice came through the speaker—so loud I could hear every word.
"Boss! We have a problem! Eleanor Vane just met with Julian! They know about the video drive! They're planning to burn the venue down tomorrow night before the ceremony!"
