Chapter 20 - THE UNOPENED LETTER|
Three months later.
The winter snow fell softly over Boston, covering the city in a clean, quiet white blanket.
In the master study of the Beacon Hill brownstone, a warm fire crackled in the hearth. I sat at the massive mahogany desk, reviewing the final merger documents between Claire Provenance and the European Vance Trust.
Roman walked in behind me, wrapping his arms gently around my shoulders, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head.
"The harbor shipping routes are completely clear," Roman murmured into my hair. "No Morettis, no lingering debts. The city is quiet."
"For now," I smiled, leaning back against his chest, enjoying the deep, solid warmth of his presence.
Just then, Dominic knocked on the open door frame.
"Boss. Claire," Dominic said, his face unusually serious. "A courier just dropped this off at the front gate. It bypassed our London filters."
Dominic stepped forward, placing a thick, yellowed envelope on the mahogany desk.
It was sealed with red wax. Stamped into the wax was not the Vance crest, nor the Vale crest.
It was a crest I had never seen before—a serpent coiled around a broken dagger.
I picked up the envelope. Written across the front in dark, elegant calligraphy were two names:
To Roman Vale and Claire Harlow.
I sliced the envelope open with a silver letter opener and pulled out a single piece of heavy parchment.
I unfolded it.
Inside was a high-resolution photograph of Roman and me sitting together at the gallery opening two months ago. Red ink had been used to circle my face.
Beneath the photograph was a short, terrifying message:
Miles Harlow was not the one who owed Marco Moretti four million dollars. Miles was working for us. And now that he is dead, his debt falls on the woman who took his ring.
We are coming to collect.
Roman’s gray eyes darkened into lethal stone as he stared down at the paper. His hand gripped my shoulder with protective, unbreakable force.
I looked at the crimson ink, then up at Roman.
May you like
I didn't tremble. I didn't cry.
I simply smiled a cold, dangerous smile, picked up my pen, and wrote our reply across the back of the parchment.
