Chapter 1 — The Truth Hidden Beneath Lace
The room fell silent except for Harper's trembling breaths.
Enzo couldn't move.
He had seen men carved apart with knives.
He had watched friends bleed out in alleyways.
He had buried his own brother.
None of it prepared him for the scars covering his wife's back.
Some were old.
Some had healed crooked.
Others crossed each other in neat parallel lines that could only have come from years of deliberate punishment.
Harper stayed curled on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.
"I'll be quiet."
"I won't cry."
"Please..."
"Don't use the belt."
Enzo's jaw tightened.
"I don't own a belt," he said quietly.
She didn't answer.
She didn't believe him.
That realization hit harder than any punch.
He slowly removed his tailored suit jacket and draped it across her shoulders without touching her skin.
She flinched anyway.
"Look at me."
Nothing.
"I said look at me."
Slowly, cautiously, Harper raised her eyes.
"I didn't do that to you."
"I know."
Her answer came automatically.
Like someone repeating words she'd learned to survive.
"But you think I will."
She closed her eyes.
Silence answered for her.
Enzo stepped back instead of closer.
"No one touches you tonight."
She looked confused.
"You'll have your own room."
She blinked.
"You... don't want revenge?"
His expression hardened.
"I still want revenge."
His eyes shifted toward the mansion windows.
"But I think I've been aiming at the wrong person."
For the first time since their wedding, Harper cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just silent tears falling onto the ruined lace at her feet.
An hour later Enzo stood inside his private study.
His oldest adviser, Marco Romano, stared at the medical photographs spread across the desk.
"They're years old," Marco said.
"No."
Enzo slid one scar sketch closer.
"They're repeated."
Marco looked up.
"Someone kept doing this."
Enzo nodded once.
"Find every nanny."
"Every tutor."
"Every housekeeper."
"Every driver."
"Anyone who ever worked inside the Whitcomb estate."
Marco frowned.
"You think Preston—"
"I don't think."
Enzo interrupted.
"I know."
"And tomorrow..."
May you like
His voice turned cold.
"...we start digging."
