Chapter 3

Forty-seven guests arrived at the Romano estate on Saturday evening.

State senators, shipping executives, foundation trustees, attorneys, and men Vittorio introduced only as old friends filled the ballroom. Every one of them had passed a background check I had designed. Every table had been placed according to a security plan I had written.

My name wasn't on the invitation.

Aunt Francesca fastened an emerald brooch to Bianca's gown. "Your grandmother wore this the night she joined the family committee. After tonight, no one will question who represents the next generation of Romanos."

Applause rose around them. I stood by the side entrance with an earpiece tucked beneath my hair, monitoring the security channel.

The seating plan was mine. The emergency routes were mine. Bianca's speech and financial presentation were mine. She received the champagne and camera flashes; I checked exits and solved problems before anyone noticed them.

An older guest held out his empty tumbler without looking at me. "Another bourbon, sweetheart."

I glanced at Elena. She had heard him. She merely tilted her chin toward the bar.

The message landed exactly as intended. Whatever my last name might be, I wasn't family tonight. I was staff with better clothes.

I took the glass, crossed to the bar, and handed it to a server. "Mr. Halloran would like another."

"I thought you were one of Vittorio's girls," the server whispered.

"So did I."

Bianca stepped onto the small stage and began reading the speech I had polished. Her voice steadied after the first paragraph. Behind me, two women spoke over the clink of silverware.

"The elder one has Vittorio's eyes."

"Keep your voice down. Alessia still doesn't know."

"After twelve years?"

"Elena says it's easier to manage her this way."

I kept my back to them and held the untouched bourbon without spilling a drop.

The secret wasn't something no one dared discuss. It was something everyone discussed as long as I wasn't supposed to hear.

After the speech, Bianca presented my risk report as an example of the foundation's new strategic planning. A gray-haired trustee waited until she finished, then leaned toward Marcus.

"Did Bianca really produce this?"

Marcus gave the answer he had probably rehearsed. "It was produced by the Romano family office."

The trustee smiled without humor. "I asked which Romano."

Across the room, my father's jaw tightened.

Halfway through dinner, Francesca stopped me beside the gallery. "The committee papers are still in the conference room. Bring them to your father, and don't touch anything that doesn't belong to you."

"What doesn't belong to me?"

"Committee seats. Trust rights. The inheritance." Her patience snapped. "You're an adopted girl who landed on her feet. Try acting grateful."

"Then why are you so nervous?"

Her face went still. Before she could answer, Marcus appeared between us. "Francesca, Vittorio needs you at the head table. Alessia, get the files."

It was less an interruption than a warning.

Arthur, the estate's aging butler, was clearing water glasses from the conference room. He had served the Romanos for thirty years. He was also the man who had carried me out of the hospital twelve years earlier.

I closed the door behind me. "Arthur, was I adopted into this family when I was six?"

His hands stopped over the silver tray. "Miss Alessia—"

"It's a yes-or-no question."

He lowered the glass carefully. "Mr. and Mrs. Romano brought their own daughter home from the hospital. I believed they would tell you when the doctors said you were ready."

The answer still hit like a punch, even though the birth record had already proved it. A government document was ink on paper. Arthur had buttoned my coat, brought soup when I was sick, and stood outside my room when nightmares from the crash woke me. He had watched me beg strangers not to send me away.

"Who knew?"

"The accident team, the attorneys, the senior relatives, and the older estate staff."

"Bianca?"

His eyes closed briefly. "Your mother told her when she was eight."

"So every time I apologized because I was scared they'd throw me out, all of you knew exactly what I was afraid of."

"Your father said the arrangement protected family stability."

"That's not what I asked."

Arthur looked down. "Yes. We knew."

"And you all went along with it."

He didn't defend himself. Somehow, that hurt more than another excuse.

I picked up the committee files and returned to the ballroom. Bianca was accepting a toast beneath the chandelier. When she saw me, her smile faltered for half a second.

She knew that I knew. I could see it on her face.

After the last guests left, she came to my room still wearing the emerald brooch. "Thank you for tonight. I would've crashed and burned without you."

"When did you find out?"

Her fingers tightened around the brooch. "Find out what?"

I waited. I didn't rescue her from the silence or offer her a softer question.

Bianca looked toward the hallway. "Is this about Scotland? You're probably stressed because you're leaving."

"Is that your answer?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

At the door, she paused. "Wherever you go, you won't forget me, right? You're my sister."

She still couldn't say my real sister.

"Good night, Bianca."

My laptop chimed after the door closed. An email from Montrose appeared on the screen.

[Your student visa support documents have passed final review. Campus housing is available from Sunday afternoon.]

I tucked my backup phone and cash into the inside pocket of my coat.

Outside, workers were already taking down the gala lights.

For years, leaving had been my worst fear. Now the only thing that frightened me was staying.