“Ms. Winthrop will see you now,” the blonde receptionist at the counter said.


    Margo insisted on meeting at her business, Marriage Ink, a full-service bridal shop. Allegedly, they did everything from the cake, the flowers, invitations, and the venue.


    It was all a front.


    I knew they used their print shop to print counterfeit money. But who would dare rat out the madame who was the matchmaker to the wealthy and powerful?


    They owned the French Gothic Revival architectural building built in the 1920s. The fa?ade was a French pastry shop that bore a red-and-white awning typical of the business. A wedding cake—an architectural feat of pistachio green, pink, and gold—sat proudly in their window disy.


    The blonde led me through a hallway. Floor-to-ceiling ss made up one wall and provided views to the flower shop, but she didn’t lead me there. She led me to a srium.


    I wasn’t a stranger to sriums being used as meeting ces. We had one at the De Li mansion where stories were told about how my grandfather had settled mob business in there. I expected Margo to be surrounded by bodyguards, but then again, a swarm of security would call too much attention to herself. And Margo liked to operate discreetly. Still, I was surprised I wasn’t asked to leave my weapons in a lockbox before meeting her. After all, I’d been simmering with a low-hum aggression against her for hiding Sloane.


    She better have a good excuse.


    When the receptionist announced me, she didn’t look up from the bouquet of purple flowers she was arranging in a faded green container.


    “Dominic.”


    “Ms. Winthrop.”


    “I think you should call me Margo.”


    I didn’t respond. I wasn’t saying another word until she gave me her eyes. She finally looked at me. A ck apron protected an expensive ivory suit. She was in ck heels. Not the attire of someone working as a florist.


    “You were the one who paid Sloane to go away.”


    She shrugged. “Yes.”


    “And you also told Kirill where to find her.”


    “I needed you and Sloane back in Manhattan.”


    “And the answer was to send Kirill after us?”


    “You’re back, aren’t you?”


    I scoffed, “You don’t just send the pakhan of the Zahkarov bratva to do the work of a soldier.”


    Her eyes glinted with mock amusement. “I don’t deal with soldiers. I sent a pakhan for a don. You should be thankful I respected you that much.”


    “And Kirill just did your bidding?”


    “I told him I could help him clear Kolya’s name. And before you ask more questions—yes, he threatened me first to hand over what he wants.”


    “No one threatens Margo Winthrop.”


    “Isn’t that what you’re here to do?”


    “That depends, Margo,” I taunted. “That depends what your interest in Sloane is. She’s a pawn for sure, but will it keep her safe?”<fn88ff> Find the newest release on FindN()vel</fn88ff>


    “I’m doing you a favor.”


    “By keeping Sloane away from me? If you really cared for her, you should have turned her over to me.”


    “Really?” Sheughed in a mocking way that grated over my nerves. Margo set the shears on the table, stood back, and surveyed the damn flowers. “I see how you cared for her. Let me remind you of that scene in front of the Hummingbird Room.”


    I flinched. That time I viciously rejected Sloane. But how…


    Margo sighed. “You should know by now I have eyes everywhere.”


    She shed the gardening gloves and tapped them together. “Your mother was keen on a marriage between you and Aralina Zahkarov.”


    “I already told her no.”


    “Be that as it may, she’s not giving up. Carlotta isn’t one to be dissuaded easily. She’s made it a sport to manipte the men in her life. She’s a Moretti after all and you’re half of that side.”


    I wasn’t going to tell her about my mother’s depression issues. She probably knew but I wasn’t going to add to that knowledge. So I simply stared at her, waiting for her to borate.


    “From the start I was not in favor of the match,” she said. “And you were apathetic about it. I was curious why. I got my answer on New Year’s Eve.”


    Fucking hell, Luca noticed too. Who else did?


    “Kirill asked me to find a way to kill the match. He wasn’t too keen on his innocent sister marrying a deviant like you.”


    “Deviant?” I barked augh. “Kirill is one to talk.”


    At this, Margo’s mouth gave a slight smile. “Right. That’s another reason why he was willing to go to the Outer Banks. He wanted to make sure you return to Manhattan with Sloane and forever dispel any hope of a match between you and his sister.”


    She lowered the gloves on the table, smoothing them out before giving me her attention. “Anyway, you do business with Grigori and it’s my assumption it’s to find a way to get the properties back. After all, Grigori is in charge of them. And then I find out Sloane was their cleaner and how her brother was entangled with the bratva. Quite a pickle you’vended yourself in, Dom.


    “I looked into Sloane’s background. I see what draws you to her. I’ll have you know, Grigori sees Sloane as amodity, too.”


    “Fucker.”


    “She’s not the usual age that his clients go for, but she fits the requirements of a particr one.” She stared at me.


    “Who?”


    She walked over to the wall and hung the apron on the hooks, letting me stew in my frustration. “I’ve debated whether I should reveal a name, but despite the distaste in my mouth of what he has be, he was once my client. I would be breaking the covenant.”


    “Fuck your covenant,” I growled and moved menacingly toward her. Those damned covenants. Margo liked to use the archaic term for her contracts. Nothing was simply a verbal agreement. Everything needed to be signed. Even the numerous truces with the Russian mafia. “Give me a name.”


    She raised a brow. “Or what, Dominic? Shoot a sixty-year-old woman?”


    “Strangling you would be more satisfying.”


    She emitted a tinklingugh that only incensed the reflexes of my fists. Margo Winthrop was more than an ice maiden, she was forged of steel and I wondered how she managed to have two powerful ex-husbands. One of them was dead. She probably had the poor bastard killed. Mental note to have Trevor do more research on this woman.


    Her mouth curved in a derisive smile. “Then you’re no better than the man who strangled Sloane.”


    “You know about Anton?”


    “The night it happened. But can you say the same about yourself?” she said. “So tell me, who has Sloane’s best interests at heart?”


    “Who is she to you? Why do you care about her?”


    She moved around the tables full of flowers. Instead of answering me, she said, “Do you know why Sloane downys her looks with frumpy clothes and pale makeup?”


    “Of course. She works for the mob. She didn’t want them interested in her for her physical attributes.”


    “Typical men. All surface level.” She moved to the edge of a potting shelf and extracted a single key from her suit’s tiny pocket to unlock a drawer. She lifted a picture out of it and handed it to me.


    A grainy photograph. Like it was from surveince footage, but I could make out Sloane and an older woman beside a dumpster. “What am I looking at? This is Sloane… Is the woman her mother?”


    “She was sixteen here. They used to clean for the old-monied folks of Manhattan. The client used Sloane of theft because the woman’s husband fancied her. She purposely threw her jewelry in the trash and dered it stolen. Maliciously suggested that Sloane and her mother go dumpster-diving to look for it or she would call the police.


    “It was an emerald ne worth seven figures, a family heirloom, but she threw it away to make a point to Sloane and her husband.”


    I was speechless with outrage and disbelief.


    “No charges were pressed. The ne was found, but Sloane and her mother were cklisted and found work with criminal organizations. But I have a feeling that’s why Sloane downyed her looks. At sixteen, when she was about to blossom into a woman, her beauty was used against her. It was used to shame her. She and her mom nearly ended up on the streets because of it. Billy was still in rehab. Harriet helped them. After all, she helped cover up the murder of Sloane’s father. That’s why I don’t think Sloane will remain angry at Harriet forever.”


    “I want names!” I roared, uncontrolled fury coalescing into words, otherwise I would end up breaking every piece of pottery in this room.


    But Margo remained unfazed and continued to stare at me stoically. “Wealth, power, and social imbnce separate you from the woman you love. But we know money doesn’t rule the world. Power does. And don’t tell me that’s the same. You have all the money, but you still can’t get through to a woman of Sloane’s spine. Do you know why I put her near a beach? She had bottles of sleeping pills beside her.”


    “You fucking bitch.” My chest rose and fell with all the fear that had festered inside me with Sloane’s proximity to the ocean. Many times I wanted to hide the prescription drugs by Sloane’s nightstand but she needed them.


    “I had to make sure she was worth my time.”


    I deleted the space between us. Margo’s icy veneer cracked and the first signs of wariness stole over her face. “You maniptive fucking bitch! She could have died.”


    “She made a choice to live,” Margo enunciated, sidestepping away from me while narrowing her eyes in warning. “Survival of the fittest has always been the motto of my business. I’m tired of powerful men and women choosing trophy wives and husbands and weakening the gene pool my family took centuries to cultivate. They procreate and produce entitled offsprings who wouldn’t know how to wipe their asses without help. Who are mentally incapable of handling stress without running off to mommy and daddy to fix their problems or getting strung out on coke.” She huffed. “I found the best matches are from crossing old money with new money or the ruthless bosses of the underworld.”


    “You make it sound like breeding horses.”


    She shrugged. “Call it whatever you like. But it’s a perfect metaphor. The problem with your ilk is to be careful not to end up with psychopathic mass murderers. See my dilemma?”


    I would have chuckled if I wasn’t so damn irritated.


    “Why am I here?” I asked. “If you won’t tell me anything at all about how to help Sloane, then why call me here?”


    “I need to know how far you’re willing to go for her. Is she someone you think you could marry?”


    I wanted to say yes. I didn’t understand my feelings for Sloane. “I want to keep her in my life. Make her a priority.”


    Her mouth twisted in derision. But her eyes drilled into me and excavated the guilt I thought I had buried about how I had let Sloane down.


    “You still can’t say it, can you?”


    “I think I love her. Why else would I stalk her in the Outer Banks?”


    “It’s not the same. Is your obsession more than your love for her?”


    “I don’t follow.”


    “Are you willing to put her needs above yours?”


    “Yes.”


    “Good. Because my price isn’t cheap and I need you to follow my instructions.”


    “Price for what?”


    “To be her fairy godmother.”


    I snorted a roughugh. Margo Winthrop was amusing. “You got to be fucking kidding me. I don’t want Sloane to change.”


    “I can make a beautiful woman like Sloane perfect to be at your side in public.”


    “What? Give her a new identity? Not gonna happen. She’s perfect the way she is.”


    “For someone in your position, you are incredibly na?ve.”


    I’d had enough of Margo’s bullshit and turned around. “This is a waste of time.”


    “Dominic,” she called as I made a move to leave. “She’s perfect for you, but she has to believe it.”


    “How?” I spun on her, piqued by how she zeroed in on the problem I was trying to figure out. Deep inside, I knew the matchmaker wouldn’t have gotten into her esteemed, veritably untouchable position without shrewd insight into the underpinnings of the world we lived in. “Are you saying you have a n? Let’s hear it.” Because she was right. These revtions exposed the root of Sloane’s insecurity. That was why my guilt surged back with a vengeance. My words about slumming exacerbated her feelings of inadequacy. It was making me sick to my gut.


    “For starters, I sent you an invoice.”


    My phone buzzed. “Two hundred fiftyrge for a flower arrangement. Am I cleaning money for you?”


    She shrugged. “That includes a deposit for services and the money I gave Sloane.”


    “I didn’t realize I was hiring you.”


    “You just did.”