Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN THEY ERASEDThe wedding stopped without anyone formally announcing it.
He barely had time to register the white dress, tangled hair, and tear-streaked face before her small body struck his chest.
His hand moved on instinct.
For most of his adult life, instinct had meant violence.
Tonight, it meant catching a child before she hit the marble floor.
“Please,” she gasped.
Her fingers twisted into the front of his black jacket.
“Please save my mom.”
Lorenzo froze.
Behind him, two of his security men stepped through the entrance.
Neither spoke.
They knew better.
The ballroom beyond the double doors glittered with chandeliers, champagne glasses, white roses, and nearly two hundred guests.
It was supposed to be the social event of the year.
The wedding of Adrian Vale, heir to one of Chicago’s oldest shipping fortunes, and Camille Ashford, whose family had spent thirty years trying to convince the city they were richer than they actually were.
Lorenzo had almost refused the invitation.
Then Camille’s father had called personally.
So Lorenzo had arrived carrying a bouquet of white roses for the bride.
Now those roses hung forgotten at his side.
He crouched.
“What’s your name?”
The little girl struggled to breathe through her sobs.
“Lena.”
“How old are you, Lena?”
“Seven.”
“And where is your mother?”
Lena looked toward the ballroom doors.
Fear changed her entire face.
Lorenzo followed her gaze.
“What happened?”
“She said Mommy had to leave.”
“Who said that?”
Lena shook her head.
“Tell me.”
The child leaned closer.
“The lady in the white dress.”
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
“The bride?”
Lena nodded.
Before he could ask another question, something crashed inside the ballroom.
A tray.
Then came a woman’s voice.
“You were warned.”
Lena flinched violently.
Lorenzo stood.
One of his guards, Matteo, took a step forward.
“Boss?”
Lorenzo handed him nothing.
He was still holding the roses.
“Stay here.”
Lena grabbed Lorenzo’s hand.
“No!”
Her voice cracked.
“Don’t leave me.”
He looked down.
For reasons he could not explain, the sight of her tiny hand wrapped around two of his fingers struck harder than any bullet ever had.
“I’m not leaving you.”
He opened the ballroom doors.
Conversation died almost instantly.
Guests turned.
At the center of the room, beside an overturned silver tray, a young woman in a black catering uniform was kneeling on the floor.
One side of her face was red.
Her dark hair had come loose.
Standing above her was Camille Ashford.
The bride.
Camille looked spectacular in lace and diamonds.
She also looked furious.
“You do not belong here,” Camille hissed.
The kneeling woman stared at the floor.
“I was assigned to this section.”
“I told you to disappear before the ceremony.”
Lena made a sound beside Lorenzo.
“Mommy.”
The woman looked up.
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
He knew her.
Not well.
Not recently.
But he knew her.
Elena Marquez.
Eight years earlier, when Lorenzo had been bleeding behind a nightclub after an ambush, Elena had been a twenty-year-old nursing student who found him before his men did.
She had pressed her coat against the wound.
She had stayed when any sensible person would have run.
And when Lorenzo tried to give her money afterward, she refused.
“You don’t owe me anything,” she had said.
Lorenzo had never forgotten her.
Apparently, Camille had.
Elena saw him now.
Her face lost what little color remained.
“Lorenzo?”
Camille turned.
Their eyes met.
For one long second, nobody moved.
Then Lorenzo looked at Elena’s reddened cheek.
He looked at Lena clinging to him.
And finally he looked back at the bride.
The roses slipped from his hand.
They struck the marble floor.
Camille’s mouth opened.
“Lorenzo, I can explain.”
He stepped forward.
His voice was quiet.
That frightened people more than shouting ever had.
“What did you do?”
Camille laughed nervously.
“It’s nothing. She’s an employee who became hysterical.”
“She hit my mommy!” Lena cried.
Every face in the ballroom turned toward the child.
Camille’s expression hardened for half a second.
It was enough.
Lorenzo saw it.
So did Elena.
And so did Adrian Vale, the groom, who had just entered from the opposite hallway.
“What is going on?”
Camille hurried toward him.
“Adrian, thank God. This woman caused a scene.”
Elena stood slowly.
“I didn’t.”
Camille spun toward her.
“You came here deliberately.”
“I work here.”
“You came here to embarrass me.”
“Camille—”
“You should have stayed gone.”
Lorenzo heard the sentence differently from everyone else.
Stayed gone.
Not leave.
Not get out.
Stayed gone.
His gaze sharpened.
“What does that mean?”
Camille went still.
Elena closed her eyes.
“Nothing.”
But Lena tugged Lorenzo’s hand.
“My mommy knows him.”
“Knows who?”
Lena pointed.
Not at Adrian.
At Camille’s father.
Victor Ashford.
The older man stood near the head table, his champagne glass frozen halfway to his mouth.
Lorenzo turned.
Victor’s face told him everything.
Fear.
Recognition.
And guilt.
Lorenzo had walked into the ballroom expecting a wedding.
Instead, he had found a frightened child, a woman from his past, and a secret powerful people had apparently spent years trying to bury.
He picked up one crushed white rose from the floor.
Then he looked directly at Victor Ashford.
“What did you do to them?”
Nobody answered.
May you like
Lena’s hand tightened around his.
And Lorenzo understood, with complete certainty, that nobody was getting married until he found out.
