Chapter 2 - THE SHADOWS OF THE CARRIAGE HOUSE
The music from the ballroom drifted across the damp New Orleans courtyard like a distant, mocking hum. Heavy cypress trees cast long, skeletal shadows against the white stucco walls of the old carriage house, a relic of the estate’s 19th-century history that had long since been converted into a storage space and private office.
Elias Ferraro did not blink.
The three hundred guests inside were still bathed in the amber glow of chandeliers, oblivious to the quiet collision happening near the service entrance. Elias stood six feet tall, his broad shoulders filling a custom-tailored midnight suit that cost more than Delphine Aubrey had earned in two years of scrubbing floors. Yet, his gaze wasn't fixed on the crystal towers or his terrified fiancée across the room.
His dark eyes were locked onto Delphine’s face.
“Repeat that,” Elias said. His voice was quiet, stripped of any performance, carrying the chilling, effortless authority of a man who commanded the city's docks without raising his voice.
“9:14,” Delphine repeated, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She kept her voice low, mindful of the open French doors twenty yards away. “She goes down the brick path every night at 9:14. Not through the house. Through the garden gate. She meets a man with a silver lapel pin. A pin shaped like an anchor.”
An anchor.
Elias’s fingers twitched against his cuff link. The symbol of Hion Ridge Partners—the shipping conglomerate that had slowly, systematically been buying up commercial berths along the Mississippi River, threatening the Ferraro family's century-old maritime monopoly.
“You’re the cleaning woman,” Elias said, his voice flat, neither dismissing her nor accepting her completely. “Delphine, right?”
“Yes, Mr. Ferraro.”
“People in my position don't usually take intelligence reports from the housekeeping staff.”
“People in your position usually don't look closely enough at the people cleaning their floors,” Delphine fired back, a sudden surge of defensive courage overriding her fear. Her hands tightened around the edge of her gray cleaning cart. “If you want to know what’s coming for your ports, your family name, and your life after you say ‘I do’ on Saturday, you’ll walk down that dark path right now. Because she isn't marrying you for love, Mr. Ferraro. She’s marrying you for a signature.”
Before Elias could answer, the heavy double doors of the ballroom swung open.
Camille Ashford stood on the threshold. Her champagne-silk gown caught the light, and her diamond earrings glittered like ice. But her smile was completely gone. Her eyes swept the room, instantly locking onto Elias standing beside the gray-uniformed maid.
For one split second, Camille’s expression twisted into something raw and venomous—a look of pure, unadulterated hatred directed straight at Delphine. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the mask of the blushing bride snapped back into place.
“Elias, darling!” Camille called out, her voice honeyed and light as she glided across the polished marble. “There you are. The mayor is asking for you by the terrace.”
Elias didn't look away from Delphine immediately. He held her gaze for another agonizing heartbeat, processing every detail—the trembling hands, the worn silver band on her finger, the fierce, protective intelligence burning in her eyes.
May you like
Then, slowly, he turned toward his fiancée.
“Tell the mayor to wait,” Elias said softly, his eyes never leaving Camille's face. “I have a sudden interest in historical architecture. Let’s go check out the carriage house.”
