Chapter 3

I walk out the compound gates.

A black Maybach is parked on the shoulder.

Roman leans against the car door. He looks me up and down. His jaw tightens.

"This it?"

He takes in my washed-out T-shirt. The frostbite scars on my wrists. His face hardens.

"The Lucchettis did this?"

I don't answer. I open the door and slide in.

"Hospital first." Roman says, starting the engine. "Your hands need work. Now."

I agreed, but I couldn’t help thinking of Dante.

Three years.

One thousand and ninety-five days.

I waited for him.

He didn't remember.

Fine. Let him never remember.

---

Six months later. Manhattan.

Top floor of Sinclair Tower. I stand at the window, looking down at the whole city.

Roman pushes the door open.

"The Lucchettis are here."

"Let them wait."

"Ms. Sinclair," Roman raises an eyebrow. "Look at you. All grown up."

I turn and smile. "In a negotiation, whoever waits longer loses."

He shakes his head. Slides a folder across my desk.

"The Lucchetti buyout. Their latest offer—twenty percent higher than last week. And Dante came himself. He wants to talk to you."

Dante.

I roll the name around on my tongue. When I say it out loud, nothing inside me shakes.

"Send him in."

---

The boardroom.

Dante sits across from me. Sharp black suit. Sharper eyes. Three years harder around the jaw.

The second he sees me, his eyes widen.

"Raven?"

I flip open the folder. Don't look up.

"Mr. Lucchetti. Pleasure."

"How are you here?" His voice is rough. He's staring like I'm a ghost. "You're supposed to be at the compound."

I lift my eyes. Calm.

"My three years are up. Didn't you know?"

His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

I notice something: the corner of a yellowed piece of paper sticking out of his suit pocket. Folded. Unfolded. Folded again. So many times the edges are frayed soft.

I don't ask.

"Let's hear your offer, Mr. Lucchetti."

He doesn't move. His eyes are glued to my face. Like he's trying to dig something out of it.

"You've changed."

"Three years does that." I close the folder. "Your offer is thirty percent above your rival's, Mr. Lucchetti. That's not a deal. That's a mistake."

He's quiet for a beat. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out that yellowed thing. Pushes it across the table.

I see it clearly now.

His diary. From when he was eighteen.

My pupils shrink.

He found it.

"I read it last night," Dante says. His voice is tight. Every word clipped. "Your name is on every damn page."

I don't speak.

"Raven. I wrote that I was going to marry you."

"But you forgot."

"I remember now."

"Too late."

I stand up. Gather the papers.

"Mr. Lucchetti. We can't accept your offer. Please leave."

He shoves back from the table. His chair screeches across the floor.

"Raven!"

I don't turn around.

"I read it. All of it." His voice is shaking now. "I was on my knees in the rain, begging you to stay. I carved your name into my wrist. I said — if I ever betrayed you, may God strike me dead."

I stop walking.

His footsteps come closer. He's coming after me.

"Those three years. What did they do to you up there? What did my mother do? Why the hell did I let them send you?"

"Go ask your mother yourself. Don't come crawling to me."

I push the door open.

Behind me: "Raven! Let's start over!"

The door swings shut.

In the hallway, Roman is leaning against the wall. Watching my face.

"You crying?"

"No."

"Your eyes are red."

"It's the AC."

Roman sighs. "What did he say?"

I step into the elevator. Check my mascara in the mirror. Make sure the wetness is gone.

"Nothing. He said nothing."

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