Chapter 4

The entrance hall was quiet for two seconds.

Luca laughed first. "The sole heir to the New York Moretti family has spent five years fetching coffee for people in Chicago?" He let go of my hand and spread his palms to the crowd. "Adrian, if you're going to lie, pick a name people might believe."

The laughter quickly swallowed the brief silence.

I did not look at any of them. I looked only at Selina. She knew I could enter safe houses closed to outsiders. She knew I never explained the guarantees that always arrived on time. She knew that in five years, nobody had dared draw a weapon at a table I was running.

Her gaze settled on the wax tablet for half a beat. One phone call would give her every answer.

"Selina," I said, "the port truce three days ago. The guarantee code is M-1. The Commission has someone on duty tonight. You can ask them yourself."

She closed her fist around the witness seal. "The Moretti heir would never get engaged to me under a false name."

"So your reason for refusing to verify anything is that I didn't love you the way an heir should?"

Her face paled, but she forced her voice colder. "Marrying a liar would be the real disgrace."

She had the medal and the wax tablet thrown into the fireplace.

The flames swallowed the medal quickly. The soldered edge blackened first, then collapsed into a shapeless lump. Only the surface of the wax tablet softened, slowly revealing a pattern of interlaced white vines beneath it. A few people recognized the old Moretti crest, and the laughter died down.

Luca pushed the tablet deeper into the coals with the fire tongs. "Stolen things can have patterns too."

Selina did not look again. "Throw him out through the front gate. From now on, anyone who lets him set foot on Bellini territory goes with him."

Music started again behind me as I walked down the estate steps. Our five-year engagement stayed in the fire with the medal. I did not call my father or ask the Moretti family to destroy anyone.

I went to the abandoned phone booth on the corner. The glass was streaming with rain, and in the distance I could see three green lights at the Chicago port. They meant Bellini cargo was still moving under the White Seal's guarantee.

I took the second wax tablet from the notebook's lining, pressed my still-bleeding palm to the pattern of white vines, and dialed the Commission's overnight recording line.

"Identity verification," the voice on the other end said.

"M-1."

A few seconds later the clerk's tone turned distinctly respectful. "Verified. Mr. Moretti, please state your request."

"Withdraw every undisclosed guarantee held in the Bellini family's name."

"First confirmation. Do you withdraw every undisclosed guarantee issued for the Bellini family?"

"Yes."

"Second confirmation. Do you accept that the relevant agreements will undergo re-verification, which may result in suspended operations, denied payments, or the collapse of truces?"

I looked at the cut the ring had left in my hand. "Yes."

"Third confirmation. Do you understand that this will reveal the existence of the lawful seal holder to the Commission?"

For five years, I had been afraid my name would poison what we had. Only tonight did I understand that what made our relationship unable to survive scrutiny was not the name Moretti. It was my habit of paying prices for Selina that she knew nothing about.

"I understand. Confirm the withdrawal."

The muffled thump of a stamp came down the line.

"White Seal withdrawn, effective at midnight. The first truce agreement has been frozen."

The first green light at the distant port went out.

The second flickered twice, winking in and out through the rain.