Vows of Vengeance

Five years ago, Elena Rossi had died. Tonight, she walked back into the Voss world wearing another woman's name. The thought should have felt satisfying. It did not. Vera Kane paused just beyond the entrance of the ballroom, one gloved hand resting lightly against the strap of her clutch. Around her, Chicago's most expensive suits moved beneath crystal chandeliers, carrying glasses of champagne and conversations that could ruin lives before dessert was served. She counted exits. Two visible. One behind the service corridor. Security at the main doors. Another pair positioned near the staircase. She counted cameras next. Then faces. Then weapons. Only after that did she allow herself to look for him. Damian. Her eyes found him almost immediately. He stood at the far end of the ballroom, surrounded by men who watched him more than they watched one another. Five years. Five years since she had last seen him. Five years since the world had buried Elena Rossi. And somehow, Damian Voss looked exactly like the man who had haunted every nightmare she had refused to admit she still had. No. Not exactly. He was harder now. His dark hair was cut short and severe, his black suit fitted perfectly over broad shoulders. There was a permanent tension in his jaw that had not been there when she knew him. Or perhaps it had been there all along, hidden beneath the man she had loved. Loved. The word arrived without permission. Vera's fingers tightened around her clutch. She forced it away. Damian Voss was not her husband. He had not been her husband for five years. He was the reason she had come back. The reason she had spent years becoming someone Elena Rossi would barely recognize. The reason she had learned how to lie without blinking. She lifted her chin. Vera Kane had arrived. And Elena Rossi was dead. She repeated that to herself once. Then again. Until it sounded almost true. She moved into the ballroom. Nobody stopped her. That was the first victory. The second came when a member of the Voss security team glanced at her identification and stepped aside without question. Vera had expected nothing less. Her cover had been built too carefully. Every document. Every account. Every piece of history had been constructed to survive scrutiny. She had spent five years preparing for a room like this. Five years preparing for him. And yet the moment Damian turned his head and his eyes landed on hers, every carefully rehearsed thought vanished. He looked at her. Not through her. At her. Vera held his gaze. She refused to be the first one to look away. Damian's expression did not change. But his hand moved. His thumb turned the signet ring on his finger once. Twice. A nervous habit. She remembered it. She hated that she remembered it. He had worn that ring after his father's death. She used to tease him about how often he turned it when he was thinking. Once, he had caught her hand around his and placed the ring against her palm. One day, he had said, you'll stop trying to figure me out. She had laughed. She had believed him. Vera blinked. The memory disappeared. Good. She had not crossed half a continent and spent five years building a new identity just to become sentimental in the first thirty seconds. She looked away first. Not because she was afraid. Because she had a mission. She moved farther into the room, accepting a glass she had no intention of drinking. The Voss family operated like a machine. Everything had a place. Everyone had a purpose. She watched the room without appearing to watch it. Damian remained at the center. Power followed him naturally. He did not need to demand attention. People simply gave it. That was different too. Five years ago, Damian had been the heir. Now he was the man everyone waited for. The head of the Voss family. The man Elena had once trusted with her life. The man she believed had helped take her father's. Her pulse steadied. That was what mattered. Not the memories. Not the ring. Not the familiar shape of his shoulders. The mission. She took one slow breath. Then Damian began walking toward her. Vera's body went still. He stopped a few feet away. Up close, the changes were worse. There were faint lines around his eyes that she did not remember. A small scar near his right temple. His eyes were exactly the same. That was the problem. "Vera Kane." His voice was lower than she remembered. She kept her expression neutral. "Mr. Voss." His gaze moved over her face. Not in the way a man admired a woman. In the way a strategist assessed a threat. Good. That was easier. "I was told you were joining us tonight." "I was told you were expecting me." One corner of his mouth moved. Barely. "You're direct." "I find it saves time." "Most people find it safer to waste mine." "Then most people are not very efficient." His eyes sharpened. For one terrible second, Vera thought he had recognized her. Then he said, "You have an interesting reputation." "Reputation is usually more useful than the truth." "And which one am I getting tonight?" "The one you paid for." Silence. Something almost like amusement flickered across his face. It disappeared just as quickly. "You're confident." "I prepared." "For what?" She looked directly into his eyes. "For the opportunity." He studied her another moment. Then his gaze dropped briefly to her hands. She resisted the urge to hide them. Her wedding ring was gone. It had been gone for five years. There was no reason he should notice the absence of something he had watched her wear every day. His attention returned to her face. "Enjoy the evening, Ms. Kane." "I intend to." He turned away. Vera released a breath only after he was several steps away. She hated herself for needing to. The first contact had gone well. Too well. She had expected anger. Fear. Something. Instead, she had felt the old instinct to watch him. To understand what he was thinking. To know whether he was tired. Whether he was angry. Whether he had eaten. Five years, and her mind still remembered the smallest useless things. She crushed the thought. A movement near the far side of the room caught her attention. One of the security doors had opened. A man entered carrying a folder. He handed it to another member of the security team. The exchange lasted less than ten seconds. Vera watched. The second man frowned. Then looked toward the main corridor. Wrong. She narrowed her eyes. The event had been carefully controlled. The security rotation she had studied before arriving did not match what she was seeing. Someone had changed the access pattern. She set down her untouched glass. Damian was already speaking to someone nearby. Vera walked toward him. "Mr. Voss." His conversation stopped. He looked at her. "What?" "Your west corridor security rotation changed eight minutes ago." His expression hardened. "How do you know that?" "Because your current guard is standing in the wrong position." Damian glanced toward the corridor. "Why?" "The previous rotation kept the corridor covered from both angles. This one leaves the service entrance exposed for approximately twenty seconds every cycle." "You're sure?" "I counted." His eyes remained on hers. Then he looked toward one of his men. A quiet instruction followed. The security guard moved. A second man took his place. The gap disappeared. Damian looked back at Vera. "You noticed that from across the room." "Yes." "Why?" "Because nobody else was watching." His jaw tightened. Not anger. Interest. "You've done this before." "Something like it." "Where?" She smiled faintly. "That would depend on how much you are willing to pay for the answer." For the first time, his expression changed. Not much. But enough. Vera had seen that look before. Damian had just become interested. She should have been pleased. Instead, she felt something dangerous loosen inside her chest. Because once, long ago, she had loved that look. She stepped away. "Excuse me." "Vera." She stopped. Hearing her assumed name in his voice felt wrong. He had never called her that. Never could. Not really. She turned. "Yes?" His gaze lingered on her. "Nothing." She waited. He said nothing more. So she walked away. The rest of the evening passed without incident. That was almost worse. Vera had expected the Voss world to feel different after five years. It didn't. The music was too elegant. The champagne was too expensive. The smiles were too polished. And beneath everything sat the same old truth: Nobody here trusted anyone. It was the language she understood best. She kept her distance from Damian. Or tried to. Every few minutes, she felt his eyes on her. She never looked back. Not until she heard him laugh. The sound stopped her. Not because it was unusual. Because it was familiar. She turned before she could stop herself. Damian stood with his back partly toward her. Someone had said something. His head tipped slightly. A quiet laugh escaped him. For one brutal instant, she was somewhere else. New Orleans. A smaller house. Rain against the windows. Damian sitting across from her, laughing because she had accused him of being incapable of making coffee without turning the kitchen into a disaster. The memory was so vivid that her throat tightened. She looked away. No. That man was gone. Or perhaps she had simply been wrong about him. Her father was dead. Her marriage was dead. Elena was dead. She had buried all three. She would not dig them back up because Damian Voss happened to laugh the same way. Vera reached for her coat. The mission's first objective had been completed. She had entered the Voss circle. Damian knew her name. He knew her value. That was enough for tonight. She made it almost to the exit. "Leaving?" His voice came from behind her. Vera stopped. Of course. She turned slowly. Damian stood several feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other resting near his signet ring. "I have an early morning." "That sounds inconvenient." "For you?" "For someone who just arrived." "I've seen what I needed to see." "And what did you see?" She held his gaze. "An organization that needs better security." A faint smile touched his mouth. "You're very difficult to impress." "I am not here to be impressed." "No." The smile disappeared. "I suppose you're not." Something in his voice changed. Vera felt it. He was no longer making conversation. He was studying her. She kept her face still. "Is there something else?" "Yes." He stepped closer. Not enough to touch her. Enough that she could smell his cologne. The same one. Five years. And he still wore the same scent. Her stomach twisted. Damian noticed. His eyes narrowed. "You do that." "Do what?" "Nothing." He stared at her. Vera forced herself not to move. He tilted his head slightly. "There is something about you." Her heartbeat kicked. "What?" "I don't know." "Then perhaps there is nothing." "Perhaps." He looked at her for another long moment. Then his gaze shifted toward the door behind her. "You remind me of someone." The room seemed to go silent. Vera's fingers curled around the edge of her clutch. She made herself breathe. "Who?" Damian's eyes returned to hers. For a moment, he looked less like the head of the Voss family and more like the man she had known before everything went wrong. His voice was quiet. "Someone who has been dead for five years." Vera forgot how to breathe. Damian said nothing more. Neither did she. Because for the first time since Elena Rossi had died, Vera wondered whether she had made one fatal mistake. She had thought coming back would be the dangerous part. She had been wrong. The dangerous part was being seen.