CHAPTER 16: The Trap

"Help you?" I repeated, wiping the last of the tears from my cheeks. "I’m a librarian, Julian. I organize books. I don't fight mafia wars."

Julian walked over to the wall safe hidden behind a massive abstract painting. He punched in a code, and the panel slid open with a hiss.

"I don't need a soldier, Vivian," he said, pulling out a black velvet jewelry box and a small, silver device. "I need a distraction."

He returned to the center of the room and placed the items on the coffee table.

"Luca Vencetti is angry," Julian explained, his voice clinical. "I burned his docks. He lost millions in shipment inventory this morning. He is desperate, and desperate men make mistakes."

"So what is the plan?" I asked, eyeing the silver device. It looked like a detonator.

"Tomorrow night is the annual Emerald Gala. It’s the biggest charity event in the city. Neutral ground. Everyone will be there—politicians, police commissioners... and Luca."

Julian looked at me. "We are going to walk in the front door. We are going to dance. We are going to look like the golden couple of the century. And then..."

"Then?"

"Then I am going to leave you alone," Julian said. The words clearly tasted bitter in his mouth. "For five minutes. I will stage a phone call and step out to the balcony. You will remain on the dance floor. Alone. Vulnerable."

My stomach churned. "You want him to try and take me."

"He won't be able to resist," Julian said. "He thinks you are the key to his family’s lost territory. If he sees you unprotected, he will make a move. And the moment he steps out of the shadows to grab you... my team will take him."

It was a trap. And I was the cheese in the mousetrap.

"And if your team is too slow?" I asked quietly.

Julian’s jaw tightened. "I won't be slow."

He picked up the black velvet box and opened it. Inside sat a necklace—a stunning, heavy diamond choker with a large sapphire in the center. It was beautiful, but it looked cold.

"This," Julian said, lifting the necklace, "contains a GPS tracker and a microphone. I will hear every breath you take. I will know exactly where you are within an inch."

He walked behind me. "Lift your hair."

I hesitated. This was madness. I was agreeing to be bait for a man who had killed my mother.

But then I remembered Luca’s voice on the phone. We were trying to extract her. The lies. The manipulation. If I didn't end this now, I would spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.

I lifted my hair.

Julian clasped the cold metal around my throat. His fingers lingered on the back of my neck.

"I promise you," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "If he gets within five feet of you, I will put a bullet in his brain before he can blink."

I turned to face him. The diamonds felt heavy, like a collar.

"I have a condition," I said.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "You are negotiating?"

"If we do this," I said, my voice steady, "if we take him down... I want the truth. The whole truth. I want to know exactly who my mother was and why the Vencettis want me so badly. No more secrets. No more 'protecting' me from my own history."

Julian studied my face. He saw the fear, but he also saw the resolve.

"Deal," he said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card.

"The gala is black tie. Mrs. Davis has already arranged for a stylist to come in the morning. Buy a dress that stops traffic."

He looked me up and down, his gaze darkening with that familiar heat.

"Wear red," he commanded. "The Vencettis hate red. It reminds them of the blood they owe me."

The next twenty-four hours were a blur of preparation.

I didn't sleep. I spent the night pacing the guest room (I couldn't bring myself to sleep in Julian's bed after the revelation), rehearsing my role.

Smile. Dance. Look vulnerable.

When the stylist arrived the next afternoon, she brought a rack of gowns, but Julian had already made the choice.

It hung on the door of the wardrobe like a second skin.

It was a crimson silk gown, backless, with a neckline that plunged dangerously low. It was the kind of dress that started wars.

I put it on. I looked in the mirror.

The woman staring back wasn't Vivian the librarian. She was Vivian Thorne, the wife of the Devil. The diamond choker glittered at her throat, a leash and a shield all in one.

"You look..."

I turned. Julian was standing in the doorway. He was wearing a tuxedo that fit him to perfection, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. He had stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes swept over me, devouring the red silk, the exposed skin of my back, the curve of my waist. He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to. The hunger in his eyes said it all.

He walked into the room, the air crackling with tension. He stopped inches from me.

"Change," he rasped.

"What?" I blinked. "You chose this dress."

"I made a mistake," he growled, reaching out to touch the bare skin of my waist. His hand was hot. "If you walk into that room looking like this, I might kill any man who looks at you before Luca even arrives."

My heart pounded. "We have a plan, Julian. We have to stick to it."

He stared at me, his pupils blown wide. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I thought he was going to rip the dress off and cancel the whole damn mission.

Then, he took a deep breath and stepped back, his mask of control slamming back into place.

"You are right," he said, his voice tight. "We have a plan."

He offered me his arm.

"Let’s go catch a killer."