Dante:
I hate these galas.
The fake smiles. The shallow conversations. The way everyone pretends money makes them better than the rest of the world. I would rather be working or visiting my grandfather at the hospital or doing literally anything else.
But Vittorio asked me to come. My grandfather is dying and he has so few requests left that I can't refuse him this one small thing.
So here I am. Wearing a tuxedo that costs more than most people's cars. Writing a check that will make the charity organizers weep with gratitude. Counting down the minutes until I can leave.
Then I see Marcus Hale grab his wife's wrist.
I'm standing near the bar when it happens. The prosecutor and his wife are across the room talking to some silver-haired society woman. His wife says something and smiles but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. I notice because fake smiles are my specialty. I've worn enough of them to recognize the real thing.
Hale's hand wraps around her wrist. From here it looks affectionate. A husband touching his wife. Normal.
Except I see her face go pale. See the way she goes very still. See how her smile freezes in place like a mask glued to her skin.
I know that stillness. My mother used to go still like that when my father came home drunk and angry. Going still meant maybe he wouldn't notice her. Maybe the violence would pass over.
It never did.
Hale is talking to his wife now. Leaning close like he's whispering something sweet. But his fingers dig deeper into her wrist and I watch her swallow hard. Watch her nod. Watch her play along with whatever game he's forcing her into.
My jaw tightens.
I've been tracking Marcus Hale for six months. Senior prosecutor with political ambitions and a reputation for being tough on crime. Everyone thinks he's a hero. But my security team found irregularities in his cases. Witnesses who disappeared. Evidence that vanished. He's dirty and I've been waiting for proof solid enough to destroy him.
Now I'm watching him hurt a woman in public and no one around them notices or cares.
The society woman walks away. Hale releases his wife's wrist and she doesn't rub it even though I can see the red marks from here. She's been trained not to acknowledge pain. My mother was trained the same way.
I should leave. This isn't my business. Hale's wife made her choices and I have enough problems without adding someone else's marriage to the list.
But then Hale leans close again and says something that makes her flinch. Makes her look toward the bathroom with panic in her eyes.
He's taking her somewhere private. Somewhere without witnesses.
My father did that too. Took my mother to their bedroom or the garage or anywhere the neighbors couldn't hear her scream. By the time she finally pressed charges her medical records read like a horror novel.
I watch Hale drag his wife toward the bathrooms. She's not fighting. Not resisting. Just following like she learned a long time ago that fighting makes things worse.
Something cold and familiar settles in my chest. The same feeling I got when Leo's kidnappers sent me his finger in a box. When I realized my negotiations failed and my little brother was already dead.
Rage wrapped in ice.
I set down my drink and follow them.
The hallway leading to the bathrooms is empty. Hale shoves his wife inside the women's room and the door closes behind them. I hear the lock click.
I should call security. Should handle this the legal way. But legal didn't save my mother until she was half dead. Legal didn't save Leo at all.
I wait.
Five minutes pass. Seven. Ten.
When the door finally opens Hale walks out alone. Adjusting his tie. Checking his phone. Looking completely calm like he didn't just spend ten minutes locked in a bathroom with a woman who's terrified of him.
He walks past me without a second glance. Why would he? I'm just another rich donor at another boring gala. He has no idea I've been building a file on his corruption for half a year.
I wait another minute. Then the bathroom door opens again.
She stumbles out. Riley Monroe. I know her name because I know everything about Hale's life. She's twenty-six. Orphaned at nineteen. Married Hale when she was twenty-four and hasn't been seen much since.
Now I understand why.
Her makeup is fresh but I can see the red mark on her cheek underneath the powder. Her lip is split and bleeding slightly despite the lipstick. Her hands shake as she tries to smooth down her dress.
She takes three steps and walks directly into me.
I catch her shoulders before she falls. She looks up and her eyes are the greenest I've ever seen. Wide and terrified and trying desperately to hide it.
This close I can see everything. The barely hidden bruise. The split lip. The way she holds herself like someone expecting the next blow.
My father's voice echoes in my memory. You made me do this. If you'd just listened. If you'd been better.
The rage in my chest turns Arctic cold.
"Who hit you?"
She blinks. Tries to pull away but I don't let go yet. Not roughly. Just enough to keep her from running before I get answers.
"No one. I'm fine."
The lie is automatic. Practiced. She probably doesn't even realize she's doing it anymore.
"You're bleeding."
"I bit my lip by accident. It's nothing."
I built a twelve billion dollar security empire on reading people. On knowing when someone is lying and why. Riley Monroe is lying because the truth is dangerous. Because admitting her husband beats her means facing consequences she can't handle.
"Was it your husband?"
Fear flashes across her face. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She tries to move past me but I block her path. Not touching. Just present. Immovable.
"Marcus Hale is your husband. Senior prosecutor. Political connections. Controls you like property."
The color drains from her face. "I need to go. He's waiting for me."
"Let him wait."
"You don't understand. If I'm late he'll—"
She cuts herself off but I hear everything she doesn't say. The threats. The punishments. The slow destruction of someone's soul one hit at a time.
My mother's face flashes in my memory. Black eye. Broken ribs. Lying to doctors about falling down stairs.
"He'll what?" My voice comes out colder than I intended. "Hit you again? Lock you in a room? Remind you that you're his possession?"
Riley stares at me like I just spoke her entire nightmare out loud.
"Please. Just let me go."
I should. Should let her make her own choices. But I'm thinking about my mother's funeral five years ago. How she died of a heart attack at fifty-three because years of abuse destroyed her body even after my father went to prison.
I'm thinking about Leo. About failing to save someone I loved.
I'm thinking I'm tired of watching people suffer when I have the power to stop it.
"I could kill him for you."
The words are out before I fully process them. But I don't take them back. I've killed before. Three men who murdered my brother. I didn't lose sleep then and I wouldn't lose sleep now.
Riley's eyes go huge. "What?"
"Marcus Hale. I could make him disappear. Quietly. Permanently. No one would find the body."
I mean it. Every word. One phone call and Hale becomes a missing person case that goes cold within a week.
"I don't want murder. I just want to leave."
There it is. The desperation I was looking for. She wants out. She just doesn't think escape is possible.
"Then leave."
"I can't! He has lawyers and judges and connections. I've tried three times and he always drags me back."
She's shaking now. Not from fear of me. From fear of hope. Hope is dangerous when you've been crushed too many times.
I study her face. The split lip. The bruise. The terror mixed with desperate courage. She reminds me of my mother before my father broke her completely. Still fighting even when fighting seems useless.
An idea forms. Crazy. Reckless. Exactly the kind of plan my cousin Adrian would call insane.
But it solves two problems at once.
I reach into my jacket and pull out one of my cards. The private number only family and critical business contacts have.
"There's another way."
She stares at the card like it might bite her. "What way?"
"Call that number tomorrow. I'll explain everything." I meet her terrified green eyes with my coldest stare. "But know this, Riley Monroe. If you call me, your life changes completely. No going back."
"How do you know my name?"
I allow myself a small smile. The kind that makes business rivals nervous.
"Because I make it my business to know things. And I've been watching Marcus Hale for a very long time."
I place the card in her hand. Her fingers close around it automatically. Then I walk away before I do something stupid like offer her protection right here in the hallway.
She needs to choose this. Needs to call me herself. Otherwise she'll always wonder if she traded one cage for another.
Behind me I hear her breathing speed up. Hear the soft rustle of expensive fabric as she looks down at the card.
I don't look back. Don't need to. I already know what's going to happen.
She'll go home with Marcus tonight. He'll hurt her again. Maybe worse than before. And tomorrow when the pain is fresh and the fear is overwhelming and the desperation finally outweighs the terror, she'll pull out that card.
She'll call.
And when she does, I'll make Marcus Hale regret every single time he put his hands on her.