Chapter 1 - THE FIRST MORNING WITHOUT ME
At 6:12 a.m., Nico Moretti discovered something eighteen million dollars in security equipment hadn't prevented.
I was gone.
He called my name from our bedroom.
Once.
Then again.
By the third time, he was standing in the walk-in closet, staring at the empty spaces between my clothes.
My expensive dresses remained untouched.
The diamonds were still in the safe.
And his black card sat on top of the jewelry like a final insult.
According to Arthur, Nico stood there for nearly a minute without speaking.
Then he asked, “Where is she?”
Arthur didn't answer immediately.
“Nico—”
“Where?”
“She left at 12:45.”
Nico looked toward the security monitor.
There I was.
Black duffel bag.
Gray hoodie.
Ugly combat boots.
Walking through the basement delivery entrance without looking back.
Nico watched the footage twice.
Then he noticed the timestamp.
12:45 a.m.
Ten minutes after he'd told Arthur he would forget my name by Friday.
Arthur's expression hardened.
“She heard us.”
Nico stared at the screen.
For three years, he'd believed I would always be waiting.
Dinner warm.
Lights on.
His favorite water beside the bed.
Me pretending not to notice the blood on his cuffs.
Now there was nothing.
He called my phone.
Disconnected.
He called again.
Then a third time.
Arthur finally spoke.
“You said you wouldn't care.”
Nico turned.
“Don't.”
“You said you'd change the locks.”
“Arthur.”
“And forget her name.”
Nico slammed his fist against the desk.
“Enough!”
Arthur didn't flinch.
For the first time in fifteen years, his most trusted lieutenant looked at him without fear.
“She loved you, Nico.”
Nico's expression changed.
“She knew what my life was.”
“She knew what you did for a living. She didn't know you thought she was disposable.”
Silence.
Then Nico whispered, “I didn't mean it.”
Arthur shook his head.
“You said it because you thought she wasn't listening.”
Meanwhile, I was sitting inside a cheap hotel room in Queens, eating crackers from a vending machine.
My eyes were swollen.
My phone was new.
My future was terrifying.
But I was free.
At least, that was what I believed.
At 8:17 a.m., someone knocked on my hotel door.
Three sharp knocks.
Then a woman's voice.
“Miss Bennett?”
I froze.
Nobody here knew my real surname.
I'd registered using my middle name.
I approached the door without opening it.
“Who is it?”
“My name is Evelyn Cross. I'm an attorney.”
My heart pounded.
“What do you want?”
The woman lowered her voice.
“I represent someone who left you an inheritance.”
I stared at the locked door.
“I think you have the wrong person.”
“No,” she replied.
“Your name is Hannah Bennett. Your mother was Margaret Bennett.”
My blood turned cold.
My mother had died six years earlier.
May you like
Then the attorney said something that made me grip the doorframe.
“Hannah, your mother didn't leave you money. She left you evidence that could bring down the entire Moretti family.”
