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The fireworks bloomed overhead, showering white and gold sparks across the dark bay, but Clara’s eyes were locked on Aldo Falconee’s right coat pocket. / Chapter 1 / 10

Chapter 1 - The First ShotThe fireworks bloomed overhead, showering white and gold sparks across the dark bay, but Clara’s eyes were locked on Aldo Falconee’s right coat pocket.

The heavy, metallic sag of a silenced pistol was unmistakable to someone who had spent her adolescence cleaning bloodstains off the floorboards of safehouses. Aldo was moving with practiced, predatory ease, cutting through the periphery of the laughing, champagne-sipping crowd. He wasn't aiming for the guards at the perimeter; he was heading straight for the riser where Adrienne Marquetti stood with his new bride, Vivien.

"Stop!" Clara's voice was thin, swallowed instantly by the first thunderous crack of a mortar shell in the sky.

She lunged through the yew hedge, her fingers snagging on thick thorns, tearing the cheap fabric of her blouse. No one heard her. The string quartet played louder, swelling into a dramatic crescendo. Adrienne was leaning down to kiss Vivien’s cheek for the photographers. Aldo’s hand disappeared inside his coat.

Click.

Clara didn't think. She grabbed a heavy, stone-weighted garden torch from its iron bracket and hurled it with every ounce of fury she possessed.

The torch missed Aldo’s head by inches, shattering against a marble birdbath with a deafening CRASH. The stone shrapnel sprayed across the terrace, sending the closest guests screaming in terror.

"Assassin!" Clara finally screamed, vaulting the low stone wall. "He’s got a gun!"

Aldo’s reaction time was terrifying. Instead of freezing, his arm whipped out, the silenced barrel clearing his jacket like a striking viper. But the flying torch had thrown off his aim. The bullet meant for Adrienne’s spine shattered a crystal chandelier hanging above the dance floor, raining glass down on the screaming crowd.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Adrienne roared, his body instantly shifting into protective mode as he shoved Vivien behind him. His eyes scanned the chaos, landing first on the armed man, and then—with a jolt of utter disbelief—on the disheveled girl who had been thrown out of his estate only six hours ago.

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Detective Maria Santos tapped her fingernail against the glossy photograph spread across the metal interrogation table. The overhead fluorescent light hummed, casting a sterile, buzzing shadow over the room.

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Katherine did not cry when she walked into their immaculate suburban home. The silence of the empty house, which usually felt lonely on the nights Reginald claimed to be working late, now felt like a tactical advantage.

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"Clara?" Adrienne breathed, his voice dropping an octave into absolute danger.

Before Aldo could pull the trigger a second time, Adrienne’s chief enforcer, Matteo, tackled the older man from behind. The gun skidded across the flagstones, clattering right to the tips of Clara’s bruised, dirt-caked sneakers.

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