Chapter 3 - THE ENGAGEMENT I NEVER AGREED TO
Vincent wanted me nowhere near the exchange.
Naturally, I argued for twelve straight minutes.
“No.”
“You cannot keep saying no like it’s a complete strategy.”
“It is when the question is whether I hand you to kidnappers.”
“They want me.”
“They want leverage.”
“Tess is leverage.”
His jaw tightened.
Exactly.
Grandma watched us from the kitchen.
“You two argue like you’ve been married twenty years.”
“Grandma.”
“What?”
Vincent looked like he was fighting a smile.
I hated him slightly for that.
The kidnappers demanded we meet at an abandoned grain warehouse three miles outside town.
No police.
No visible security.
Me.
Vincent.
And the deed to Bennett Inn.
That last part mattered.
“They don’t just want the tunnel,” Vincent said.
“What else?”
“Ownership.”
“Why?”
“Because if they legally own the property, nobody questions construction.”
They could excavate.
Expand.
Hide anything.
Vincent’s security chief, Marco Bellini, placed a tracker inside the deed folder.
I looked at Vincent.
“If this goes wrong—”
“It won’t.”
“That is what men in expensive suits always say before things explode.”
He stared.
“You watch too many movies.”
“You arrived in a limousine with a diamond ring after a viral Mafia proposal.”
“Fair.”
We reached the warehouse at sunset.
Vincent walked beside me.
Close enough that his hand brushed mine.
“Scared?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I glared.
“That’s terrible comfort.”
“Fear keeps people alert.”
“Peach wine keeps people proposing to Mafia bosses.”
“Also useful.”
I almost laughed.
Then a door opened.
Tess sat tied to a chair.
Unhurt.
Furious.
“Daisy!”
I moved.
Vincent caught my arm.
A man stepped from the shadows.
Tall.
Silver hair.
Expensive boots.
Victor Cavallo.
I recognized him from local newspaper photos.
He smiled.
“The famous fiancée.”
“I’m not his fiancée.”
Vincent said:
“Careful.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“You proposed publicly.”
“This is not the time.”
Victor laughed.
“Adorable.”
He held out his hand.
“The deed.”
Vincent gave him the folder.
Victor checked it.
Then looked at me.
“You know why your grandfather refused us?”
“No.”
“He found something in the tunnel.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
Victor smiled.
“A ledger.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“What ledger?”
Victor looked pleased.
“So Anthony never told you.”
Vincent took one step forward.
“Tell me.”
Victor continued:
“Your grandfather and Daisy’s grandfather once moved money together.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Grandpa hated the Morettis.”
“Later.”
My heart pounded.
“What happened?”
Victor looked toward Tess.
“First, the girl.”
He cut her ropes.
Tess ran to me.
I grabbed her.
Then Victor backed toward a side exit.
“You’ll find the answer beneath the oldest peach tree.”
I frowned.
“What?”
He smiled.
“Ask Grandma what Henry Bennett buried there.”
Then the lights went out.
Gunfire erupted.
Vincent threw himself over Tess and me.
Marco’s men rushed in.
By the time emergency lights came on, Victor was gone.
But the deed remained on the floor.
And so did a small photograph.
Old.
Faded.
My grandfather stood beside a younger Anthony Moretti.
Between them was a woman.
Blonde.
Beautiful.
Holding a baby.
I turned it over.
One sentence was written on the back.
May you like
DAISY MUST NEVER KNOW WHO HER FATHER IS.
I stopped breathing.
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