Elias came home before midnight with rain on his coat and blood on his cuff.
He always looked most like himself after violence — calm, elegant, untouchable. A Falcone don could order a man buried before dinner and still ask whether I had eaten.
When he entered my room, I was sitting by the window with a blanket around my shoulders. The wedding program was hidden beneath the cushion beside me.
He paused at the door. “You’re awake.”
I lifted my tablet and wrote, I couldn’t sleep.
His gaze softened. He came to me, touched the side of my face, and brushed his thumb along my cheekbone. “Nervous about the wedding?”
I looked at him.
He was so good at pretending.
For three years, he had looked at me like that. As if I were precious. As if I were the only soft thing in his violent world.
I wrote, Can we visit my mother tomorrow?
His hand stilled.
Only for a second, but I saw it.
“The capital clinic is better for her,” he said. “The doctors don’t want visitors until her condition stabilizes.”
You moved her without telling me.
“I was going to tell you.” His voice remained gentle. “The harbor roads were flooding. It was safer.”
Then let me call her doctor.
His expression cooled. “Lydia, don’t make this difficult.”
There it was.
The man beneath the tenderness.
The door opened before I could answer. Adriana walked in without knocking, wearing a cream silk robe and my mother’s black pearl veil draped over her hair.
My mother’s veil.
The one piece of my family Elias had returned to me after the crash.
Adriana touched the pearls with false shyness. “I hope you don’t mind. Elias said I could wear it for the performance rehearsal. He thinks it suits my voice.”
My fingers curled around the tablet.
Elias glanced at me. “It’s only for the ceremony. Don’t be petty.”
Petty.
My mother’s veil was on another woman’s head, and I was petty.
Adriana stepped closer and smiled. “Lydia, you’ve always been generous with me. Your songs, your time, even your name. I’m sure you won’t mind one little veil.”
My name.
She said it softly, but she knew exactly where to press.
Elias turned to her. “Go downstairs. I’ll be there soon.”
Adriana looked disappointed. “You promised to review the Nocturne contract with me.”
The room fell silent.
Elias’s eyes sharpened.
I lowered my gaze before he could read my expression.
Adriana realized she had said too much. She gave a quick laugh. “I mean the performance contract. I’m so nervous lately. I keep saying things wrong.”
She left.
Elias watched the door close, then turned back to me. “Rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
After he left, I waited ten minutes before slipping out of bed.
Elias’s study was on the second floor behind a locked walnut door. I had known the passcode for years because he once trusted me enough to let me bring him files.
Or maybe he had simply believed a mute woman with no allies would never dare use it against him.
The lock clicked open.
I found the contract in the second drawer of his desk.
It was not a performance agreement.
It was an intellectual property transfer.
Every composition registered under Nocturne, past and future, would legally belong to Adriana Hale’s entertainment company after the Falcone-Moretti alliance ceremony. My signature line was already prepared. So was my mother’s medical authorization form, attached as “security collateral.”
If I signed, Adriana would own my music.
If I refused, my mother’s treatment could be terminated.
I took photos of every page.
Then I heard Elias’s voice in the hallway.
I barely had time to hide behind the bookcase before the study door opened.
Elias entered with Julian.
Julian sounded annoyed. “You’re pushing too fast. Lydia isn’t stupid.”
“She’s loyal,” Elias said. “There’s a difference.”
“She’ll notice the Nocturne transfer.”
“She’ll sign if her mother’s life depends on it.”
Julian was quiet for a moment. “And after the wedding?”
“Adriana becomes Nocturne publicly. Lydia stays out of sight until the Moretti assets are settled.”
Julian’s voice dropped. “And if Lydia refuses to stay?”
Elias answered without emotion.
“Then she disappears.”
My hand tightened around my phone.
This time, it was recording.
After they left, I returned to my room and opened the unknown number again.
Before I could type, another message arrived.
If you want your mother alive, stop trusting the man who calls you his bride.
I replied, Who are you?
The answer came a minute later.
Dante Vitale.
My breath caught.
Dante Vitale was the head of the Vitale family, Falcone’s greatest rival. He owned half the city’s ports, three private security companies, and a music empire that no one could prove was used for money laundering.
I typed, Why are you watching me?
His reply was short.
Because I know who Nocturne is, Miss Moretti. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.
I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.
For three years, Elias had hidden me behind Adriana.
But Dante Vitale had known where to look all along.
