Chapter 4 - The Midnight Audit
The heavy oak doors of Carmine’s private study slammed shut behind us with a satisfying, airtight thud.
The moment we were alone in the dimly lit room, the cool, untouchable facade I had maintained all evening at the Met began to crumble. My shoulders dropped, my knees suddenly felt like water, and I leaned back against the heavy mahogany door, letting out a long, shuddering breath.
Carmine discarded his tuxedo jacket over the back of a leather armchair, loosened his black silk bow tie, and walked over to the mahogany sideboard where a crystal decanter of amber bourbon sat beside heavy-bottomed glasses.
“Drink this,” he said, pouring two fingers of liquor and handing it to me without asking.
I took the glass, my fingers brushing against his. The alcohol burned my throat on the way down, sending a wave of heat through my veins that steadied my racing pulse.
“Harrison Sterling,” I said, staring into the amber liquid in my glass. “He’s the one who trapped Liam. He bought my brother’s promissory notes from a lower-level loan shark and inflated the interest rate by four hundred percent to force a corporate takeover of our family’s old land holdings in Queens.”
Carmine didn't look surprised. He poured a glass for himself, took a slow sip, and leaned against the edge of his desk.
“I know,” Carmine said quietly.
I looked up sharply. “You knew? Before tonight?”
“I’ve known since the day I bought the debt,” he replied, his dark eyes steady. “Sterling thinks he operates outside my perimeter because he wears a Brioni suit and sits on museum boards. He’s been trying to squeeze my real estate acquisitions in Long Island City by using predatory lending against small-business owners.”
“And you let him?”
“I never let anyone do anything, Josephine,” Carmine corrected gently. “I simply wait until they hang themselves with their own rope. And tonight, you handed him the knot.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, the midnight-blue silk of my dress whispering in the quiet room. “You didn't marry me just because you wanted a wife, Carmine. Or because of some romantic impulse at a charity gala. You brought me into your house because you needed someone who could read between the lines of Sterling’s corporate balance sheets while your enforcers handled the physical side of the operation.”
Carmine set his glass down on the desk. He pushed away from the wood and walked toward me, his footsteps silent on the Oriental rug. He stopped just a foot away, towering over me, his gaze intense and unblinking.
“You give yourself too little credit, and too much cynicism,” Carmine said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that made my skin tingle. “Yes, you have a brilliant mind for ledgers. Yes, you understand financial forensics better than half my capos on Wall Street. But do you really think I would chain myself to someone for the rest of my life just to balance my books?”
“Then why?” I demanded, my voice rising slightly. “Why me? Out of all the women in New York—out of all the polished, aristocratic debutantes your mother wanted you to marry—why the Juilliard dropout drowning in her brother’s debt?”
Carmine reached out. His large, warm hand cupped the side of my face, his thumb lightly brushing across my cheekbone. The touch was so tender, so completely at odds with the violent world he commanded, that it completely disarmed me.
“Because when I walked into that ballroom three nights ago, everyone else in the room was looking at me with either greed or terror,” Carmine whispered, his eyes searching mine. “You were the only person in the room who looked at me like I was just a man playing a bad song. And when I asked you to dance, you didn't plead. You didn't cry. You asked me if I was going to kill your brother if you stepped on my foot.”
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He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“I fell in love with you right then, Josephine. The ledgers and the debt were just the excuse I needed to make sure you couldn't run away.”
