Chapter 4

I bought a new phone with cash. A prepaid burner from a corner store that didn't ask questions. I bought a new laptop from a pawn shop, wiped it myself, installed nothing I didn't need. If Vincent wanted to track me now, he'd have to work for it.

The night before the auction, I sat in my narrow room and replayed the South Ward deal from memory. Every detail I'd absorbed in the last life, floating above the wreckage of my own existence, watching Vincent's empire crumble and rebuild.

The land. The bid. The three hundred million. And then, three months later, the archaeological survey that found human remains dating back to the 1700s. A colonial burial ground. Sacred ground. Untouchable.

Vincent had won the bid in both lives. In the first one, it had nearly destroyed him—capital frozen, investors panicking, the vultures circling. He'd survived, barely, by liquidating everything else and calling in favors from people who'd rather have seen him dead.

This time, he wouldn't survive.

The auction was held at the St. Regis. Crystal chandeliers, waiters circulating with champagne, the city's power brokers performing wealth and influence for each other's benefit. I found a seat in the back, dressed in a navy suit that was two seasons old but well-cut. I wanted to be seen. I wanted Vincent to know I was there.

He arrived late, Vanessa on his arm in a red dress that cost more than my rent for a year. His entourage fanned out behind him—associates, lawyers, the usual collection of men who laughed at his jokes and watched his hands. He worked the room like he owned it, shaking hands, accepting murmured congratulations for deals that hadn't closed yet.

His eyes found mine across the crowd.

For a moment, something flickered. Not surprise—Rebecca had probably told him I'd be here. But something else. Curiosity, maybe. The faint irritation of a man who'd swatted a fly and found it still buzzing.

He raised his glass to me. A toast. A mockery.

I raised my water glass back.

The bidding started at a hundred million. Climbed fast. By two hundred, most of the room had dropped out. By two-fifty, only Vincent and one other firm remained—Cavanaugh Properties, an old-money operation that had been developing the city since before the Moretti name meant anything.

Vincent's man signaled. Two hundred seventy-five.

Cavanaugh countered. Two hundred eighty-five.

Vincent didn't hesitate. Three hundred.

The room went quiet. That was the number. The ceiling I'd told Dominic, the number I'd watched Vincent authorize in the last life after weeks of internal debate. He'd gone higher than his advisors recommended, convinced the parcel was worth the premium. Convinced he was smarter than everyone else in the room.

Cavanaugh folded.

"Three hundred million, going once. Twice."

The gavel fell.

"Sold to Moretti Holdings."

Applause. Vincent stood, accepting handshakes, Vanessa beaming at his side like she'd done something other than look expensive. He made his way toward me through the crowd, and people parted for him the way they always did.

"Adriana." He stopped a foot away, close enough to feel his presence but not close enough to touch. "Enjoy the show?"

"Congratulations," I said. "Three hundred million. Bold number."

"Bold is what I do." He smiled. "You should understand that by now. I take risks. You make dinner reservations."

Vanessa appeared at his elbow, her hand sliding possessively up his arm.

"Vinny, who's this?"

"No one, sweetheart." He didn't look at her. His eyes stayed on mine. "Just someone who used to matter."

They walked away. I watched them go, and I let myself smile.

Used to matter. You have no idea, Vincent. No idea what I matter to now.

The auction aftermath was champagne and networking, the kind of event I'd hosted a hundred times as Vincent Moretti's wife. I'd stood in rooms like this, making small talk with wives who pitied me and businessmen who underestimated me, keeping my face pleasant and my opinions to myself.

Now I stood at the edge of the crowd, a glass of sparkling water in my hand, and waited.

I didn't have to wait long.

The doors opened at exactly 4:47 PM—I checked my watch—and a woman in a gray suit walked in, flanked by two uniformed officers. She had the bearing of someone who'd delivered bad news to powerful men before and wasn't intimidated by the prospect.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Her voice cut through the chatter. "I'm Dr. Helena Vance, City Archaeological Commission. I'm here to inform you that the South Ward parcel—the property auctioned here today—has been flagged by our office."

Vincent turned. His face was already changing, the smug satisfaction draining away.