lding, the cold air doing little to sober her up. She stepped to the

sat a matte black Maybach. Its windows were tin

. His eyes, however, were not on the page. They were fixed on the slender figure across the street, tracking her eve

trench coat pulled tight around her, and a look of pained, obsessive longing crossed his

e front passenger seat. "Sir, should

Not yet," he said, his voice a low ru

tal ashtray built into the armrest.

ic. "Contact Iris Mann. Extend an invitation for

re a match with the Montgomery family. Everyone in this ci

's the perfect Trojan horse. A beautiful, ambitious di

, a yellow cab fi

Brianna into the back se

ickled the back of her neck, the distinct sensation of being watc

at the edges of her memory-the shape, the way it sat in the darkness, the almost imperceptible

if she could see him, as if her gaze had pierced the tinted glass a

oisy engine momentarily blocking her view. For one heart-stopping mo

still fixed on the spot where the Maybach sat. Then she shook her head

ghts disappeared into

said softly, his eyes still fixed o

nd was still unconscious, lost in a drunken sleep that would likely leave her with no memory of the night. Ele

wear-something elegant but understated, something that would

reach the highest shelf, where out-of-

dged something hidden behind it. A deep blu

rpet with a soft th

was a vintage Patek Philippe watch. A m

tch. She had hidden it away eight years ago, after she married Avon, and sh

d knelt on the floor. Her fingers trembled as she reached o

ould see, and yet she hesitated-as if not looki

, steel case were two s

.

clutched the watch to her chest, pressing it against her h

al wave. A flood of a life she had forced herself to forget.

here in the dark, holding this watch, she knew the truth: she had never stopped mi

gh Avon's cold rage, through Brianna's drunken revelations-finally broke free, ho

She didn't know how much time had passed. All she knew was the w