Chapter 2 - THE FUNERAL PROGRAM
Roman reached inside the inner breast pocket of his charcoal tuxedo jacket. He did not pull out a weapon or a velvet ring box. He withdrew a single, heavy sheet of cream cardstock, folded in thirds, and held it out to her.
Tessa hesitated. The storm rattled the panoramic glass panes behind him, the low rumble of thunder vibrating through the reinforced floor. Slowly, she reached out and took the paper.
It was printed on high-end embossed linen, the kind she usually ordered for high-profile political galas and executive funerals. The Castell crest—a silver falcon clutching a broken dagger—was stamped in gold foil at the very top. Beneath it, in crisp, elegant calligraphy, were the words:
In Loving Memory of Roman Alexander Castell
Beloved Son, Dedicated Leader, Taken Too Soon
Private Memorial Service – St. Michael the Archangel Basilica
Tessa stared at the words until the letters blurred. Her pulse surged into her throat, a deafening drumbeat that drowned out the muffled bass from the ballroom downstairs.
"What is this?" she whispered, her fingers digging into the edges of the cardstock. "Is this some kind of sick joke, Roman?"
"Turn it over," he said. His voice had flattened into that chilling, clinical register he reserved for planning retaliations.
Tessa flipped the card. On the back, printed in the same immaculate typography, was an order of service. Pallbearers: Richard Bishop, Julian Bishop, Captain Miller of the Chicago Police Department’s Organized Crime Division. And at the bottom, an italicized line that made the air leave her lungs completely:
In lieu of flowers, the Bishop-Castell Syndicate requests donations be directed to the newly consolidated North American Transit Authority.
"It was found in Chloe’s bridal suite forty minutes ago," Roman said, stepping closer until the clean, familiar scent of sandalwood and gunpowder surrounded her. "Tucked inside a leather portfolio along with the revised charter for the merger. They aren't waiting for a natural transition, Tessa. They aren't even waiting for the wedding next month."
"Tonight?" Tessa’s mind was already racing, shedding five years of romantic hurt in a fraction of a second as her operational instincts took control. She had built his intelligence apparatus. She knew the layout of every security choke point in the building. "The engagement party. Everyone is here. The city’s entire power structure is downstairs."
"If I die tonight, Richard Bishop steps into the vacuum as the grieving father-in-law under the commission’s emergency protocols," Roman explained, his dark eyes locked onto hers with unwavering intensity. "Captain Miller seals the investigation before the coroner even arrives. Chloe inherits my private holdings through the prenuptial agreement Bishop’s lawyers slipped into the third revision."
"The revision you had me verify last week," Tessa realized, a cold wave of horror washing over her. "The clause about irrevocable trust distribution upon sudden incapacitation prior to solemnization. I flagged it. I told you it was non-standard."
"And I signed it anyway," Roman said grimly, "because if I had fought that clause, Bishop would have known we suspected him. He would have altered the timeline and struck before we were ready."
Tessa dropped the card onto his desk. Her hands were steady now. The emotional ache that had driven her to write the resignation letter was suddenly buried beneath a wall of cold, analytical adrenaline. She looked at Roman—at the subtle tension in his broad shoulders, the way his fingers hovered near the concealed holster beneath his arm.
"How are they planning to do it?" she asked.
"A cocktail," Roman replied simply. "A private toast in the VIP lounge right after the midnight announcement. Richard Bishop insisted on bringing a 1945 Romanée-Conti from his personal cellar. Just him, Chloe, Julian, and me. No security inside the room. Family only."
"Potassium cyanide or a synthetic paralytic?" Tessa pulled her phone from her bag, unlocking the encrypted surveillance dashboard she had designed herself. "If it's synthetic, it won't show up on a standard toxicology screen unless the medical examiner specifically runs a mass spectrometry test. And since Miller controls the coroner's office—"
"It will be ruled a sudden massive cardiac arrest brought on by stress and congenital defects," Roman finished. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "Now you know. You can walk out that door right now, Tessa. I unlocked it. The elevator is clear. There's an unmarked town car waiting in the underground garage with false credentials, three passports, and bearer bonds in the glove compartment. You can leave the city and never look back."
Tessa looked at the open doorway, then back at the man who had pulled her out of the shadows five years ago. He had lied to her. He had broken her heart into a thousand pieces by sliding a diamond onto another woman's finger. But he had also walked into an ambush to keep the crosshairs off her back.
May you like
She reached out, grabbed the brass handle of the heavy mahogany door, and pulled it shut until the latch clicked into place. Then, without taking her eyes off Roman, she turned the deadbolt.
"Nobody kills you on my shift," Tessa said softly. "Now tell me what we're doing about the wine."
