The air inside the Hawthorne Grand suite tasted like cold peppermint and leather. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Lake Michigan was a slab of gray slate, reflecting a winter sky that looked bruised and low.

The Grand Promenade ballroom was breathtaking. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the soaring ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over three hundred white ghost chairs. Huge arrangements of snow-white lilies filled the air with a sweet, heavy scent that felt almost suffocating.

My mother, Arthur, and Lydia stood near the altar with the wedding officiant. None of them had slept in forty-eight hours. Eleanor’s eyes were sunken, dark circles heavy beneath her thick makeup. Lydia looked frail, her hands trembling as she held her bouquet of white roses. Arthur looked like a man walking toward a firing squad.

They had tried to run. But Dante’s men were posted outside their homes, their offices, and their banks. They had nowhere to go. The trap was locked, and the key had been thrown away.

"All right," the wedding coordinator said, completely unaware of the war raging beneath the surface. "Let's run through the entrance one more time. Nora, when the music starts, you'll walk down the center aisle..."

The grand double doors at the back of the ballroom swung open.

I walked in.

I wasn't wearing a casual rehearsal dress. I wore a sleek, floor-length gown of liquid black silk, split to the thigh, with five-inch red heels that clicked rhythmically against the polished marble floor. Around my neck was the four-million-dollar Moretti black diamond.

Beside me walked Dante Moretti, looking impossibly dangerous in a custom black tuxedo.

Eleanor gasped. "Nora! What is the meaning of this dress?! This is a rehearsal! You're supposed to wear white!"

I stopped at the foot of the altar, looking up at my mother.

"White is for purity, Mom," I said smoothly, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. "I thought black was more appropriate for what's dying tomorrow."

Lydia stepped forward, her face twisted in a mixture of fear and jealousy. "Nora, please! Stop this! We can work something out! We'll give you the money back! Every cent of the forty-one thousand! Just cancel the wedding!"

"Cancel the wedding?" I asked, feigning surprise. "Why would I cancel? Three hundred of Chicago's most prominent citizens have accepted their invitations. The mayor is coming. The press is already set up outside. It's going to be the event of the decade."

Arthur took a tentative step toward me, his voice cracking. "Nora... please... I love you... I made a terrible mistake, but we can fix this..."

Dante stepped forward, placing his arm lightly around my waist. The sight of his tattooed hand resting possessively on my hip made Arthur wince as if he’d been slapped.

"Arthur," Dante said, his voice quiet and lethal. "If you say the word 'love' to her again, I will have my men pull your teeth out one by one with pliers."

Arthur swallowed hard, stepping backward until he bumped into the altar rail.

"Now," Dante said, looking at the terrified wedding coordinator. "Continue the rehearsal."

Later that night, back in the penthouse suite, I stood on the balcony overlooking the illuminated city skyline. The wind blew my black silk dress around my legs, but I didn't feel the cold.

Dante stepped out onto the balcony behind me, holding two glasses of aged cognac. He handed one to me, his fingers brushing against mine.

"Tomorrow," he said quietly.

"Tomorrow," I agreed, taking a slow sip. The liquor burned warmly down my throat.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, looking down at me.

I looked out at the city—at the towering skyscrapers, the endless lights, the vast expanse of dark water beyond.

"I spent my whole life being afraid, Dante," I said, turning to face him. "Afraid of disappointing my mother. Afraid of losing Arthur. Afraid of not being enough. But tonight... I feel completely fearless."

Dante set his glass down on the balcony railing, stepped closer, and cupped my face in both of his warm, strong hands.

"You are the most remarkable woman I have ever met, Nora Vane," he whispered.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was deep, intense, and filled with a raw, electric passion that had been building between us since the moment I sat down in his filthy neighborhood bar. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting myself get lost in the heat of his mouth, the scent of his skin, and the strength of his body pressed against mine.