Chapter 1 - The Papers That Came Every Thursday
June Bellante slammed the courthouse drawer shut and whispered, “Not again.”
Matteo DeLuca walked through the records office and saw the cream-colored envelope in her hand.
A black number had been written beneath the courthouse seal.
Four.
Matteo stopped walking.
Someone knew exactly how many warnings June had received.
Every Thursday for four weeks, someone had left divorce papers for June Bellante.
Not threats.
Not demands.
Divorce papers.
The first envelope had appeared beneath the windshield wiper of her ten-year-old Honda.
The second had been slipped between the pages of a civil filing she had personally stamped.
The third had waited inside her apartment mailbox even though the building superintendent swore no visitor had entered.
And now the fourth sat in her hand while the most feared man in northern New Jersey stood six feet away.
June stared at the number.
Matteo stared at her.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
That was how Matteo DeLuca frightened people.
He did not need to raise his voice.
He did not need to threaten anyone.
He simply became still.
June had watched hardened attorneys stumble over their own names beneath that stare.
She had watched detectives suddenly remember appointments elsewhere.
Yet June had never been particularly good at being intimidated.
Perhaps because she had spent eight years working behind courthouse glass, watching wealthy men, desperate mothers, furious spouses, frightened witnesses, arrogant lawyers, and criminals discover that bureaucracy did not care how powerful they thought they were.
“Are you going to explain why you’re staring at my envelope?” she asked.
Matteo’s dark eyes moved from the number to her face.
“Are you going to explain why you’re hiding it?”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“You put it behind your back.”
June glanced at her right hand.
She had.
“That was involuntary.”
“June.”
She hated the way he said her name.
Not because it sounded threatening.
Because it sounded personal.
Six weeks earlier, Matteo DeLuca had appeared at her counter to obtain certified copies of documents related to a family trust dispute.
People had noticed immediately.
Matteo was difficult not to notice.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark hair brushing his collar.
A beard threaded faintly with gray.
A black suit that probably cost more than June’s car.
And the kind of reputation that made people lower their voices when saying his last name.
DeLuca.
Construction companies.
Restaurants.
Shipping contracts.
Private security.
Rumors about other businesses nobody ever described directly.
Matteo had been called many things in newspapers without ever being convicted of anything serious.
Businessman.
Suspected organized-crime figure.
Philanthropist.
Person of interest.
June had called him “sir” and told him his paperwork was missing page seven.
He had stared at her.
She had stared back.
“Page seven,” she had repeated.
He had smiled.
That had apparently been the beginning of everything.
Now June dropped the envelope onto her desk.
“There. Nothing hidden.”
Matteo picked it up.
She tried to stop him.
“Matteo.”
He opened it.
His face changed almost imperceptibly.
June watched his eyes move across the document.
PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
The petitioner’s name had already been typed.
June Bellante DeLuca.
The respondent’s name appeared beneath it.
Matteo Antonio DeLuca.
The marriage did not exist yet.
Not legally.
Not until tomorrow morning.
Matteo lowered the papers.
“Who knows?”
June crossed her arms.
“About tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“You. Me. Your attorney.”
“My attorney does not send anonymous divorce papers.”
“Comforting.”
His jaw tightened.
“Who else?”
“The clerk scheduled to witness the civil ceremony.”
“Name.”
“Absolutely not.”
“June.”
“You don’t get to interrogate courthouse employees because somebody has a weird sense of humor.”
“This isn’t humor.”
“Then what is it?”
Matteo placed the papers flat on her desk.
“A message.”
June looked at him.
“So I gathered.”
He pointed at the number four.
“That wasn’t on the others.”
She stiffened.
“How do you know?”
Matteo’s gaze lifted.
June realized her mistake immediately.
She had never told him there had been others.
“June.”
“Don’t.”
“How many?”
She exhaled.
“Four.”
“When did the first arrive?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“And you said nothing.”
“We weren’t married.”
“We still aren’t.”
“Exactly.”
“That changes tomorrow.”
June laughed once.
The sound contained no humor.
“Only on paper.”
Something unreadable moved across his expression.
That was the arrangement.
On paper.
Matteo needed a wife.
June needed money.
The explanation sounded ugly when reduced to those terms, but life had stopped giving June elegant choices months earlier.
Her father had died leaving medical bills, tax debt, and the small Belleville house where June’s mother still lived under threat of foreclosure.
June’s younger brother, Anthony, had made matters worse by borrowing money trying to save the family plumbing business.
From the wrong people.
Very wrong people.
Matteo had made the debt disappear.
In exchange, he needed June Bellante to become June DeLuca for twelve months.
His grandfather’s trust contained an old-fashioned clause requiring Matteo to be legally married before he could assume controlling authority over several family companies.
Normally, Matteo could have found a willing socialite within an afternoon.
But his grandfather’s will contained another complication.
The wife could not receive compensation directly from the DeLuca estate.
She needed independent income.
No criminal record.
No financial relationship to Matteo before the engagement.
And the marriage had to be considered legally valid.
June fit every requirement.
More importantly, she already knew enough about legal records not to ask unnecessary questions.
The arrangement was straightforward.
One year.
Separate bedrooms.
Public appearances when necessary.
Her mother’s mortgage would be paid through a legitimate settlement involving Anthony’s business debt.
After twelve months, June and Matteo would quietly divorce.
Nobody would get hurt.
That had been the theory.
Then the envelopes began.
Matteo picked up the divorce petition.
“Tomorrow is postponed.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“No?”
“I already requested the morning off.”
“That is your concern?”
“My concern is that I agreed to something, and I’m doing it.”
“Someone is trying to frighten you.”
“They’re succeeding at irritating me.”
“You think this is small.”
“I think canceling gives whoever sent these exactly what they want.”
Matteo watched her for a long moment.
“You’re not afraid of me.”
June leaned against the desk.
“Should I be?”
“Most people are.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Then he folded the papers once.
“Tomorrow happens as planned.”
“I just said that.”
“But afterward, you move into my house immediately.”
“That wasn’t the agreement.”
“It is now.”
“You don’t get to rewrite contracts verbally.”
“You want an amendment? My attorney will have one drafted within an hour.”
June shook her head.
“I have clothes. My mother needs—”
“Your mother will have security.”
She froze.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Matteo, she doesn’t even know what kind of man you are.”
His expression sharpened.
“What kind of man am I?”
June regretted the sentence.
Not because she feared him.
Because she did not actually know the answer.
She knew the rumors.
She knew the newspaper photographs.
She knew there were men who stepped aside when Matteo entered a room.
She knew his right hand carried scars across the knuckles.
She knew he had once donated two million dollars to a pediatric hospital and refused to attend the ceremony.
She knew three prosecutors had tried and failed to connect him to crimes committed by people who worked for distant branches of his family.
But she did not know Matteo.
Not really.
“Complicated,” she said.
For the first time, he smiled fully.
It transformed his face.
“That’s diplomatic.”
“I work for the courts.”
“You process filings.”
“I process people who think rules don’t apply to them.”
His smile vanished.
“Then understand this rule.”
He leaned slightly closer.
“If someone threatens you because of me, I handle it.”
June held his gaze.
“And if the person threatening me is one of your relatives?”
Silence.
Matteo’s eyes changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
June noticed it.
“You’ve considered that.”
“My family does not like surprises.”
“I’m a courthouse clerk from Belleville marrying the man expected to control a fortune. I’m guessing I qualify.”
“Some of them will believe you’re after money.”
“I am.”
His eyebrows lifted.
June shrugged.
“We’re pretending, remember?”
A strange tension entered his face again.
Then footsteps sounded outside the office.
June glanced toward the door.
Her supervisor, Mrs. Kaplan, had gone downstairs ten minutes earlier.
The courthouse floor should have been nearly empty.
Matteo turned.
The footsteps stopped.
Something slid beneath the locked records-room door.
A photograph.
June’s stomach tightened.
Matteo reached it first.
He bent.
Picked it up.
And became completely motionless.
June stepped beside him.
The photograph had been taken that morning.
Her mother stood outside the Belleville house watering geraniums.
A red circle had been drawn around her head.
On the back, five words had been written in black ink.
GET MARRIED AND SHE PAYS.
June’s breath stopped.
Matteo looked toward the locked door.
Someone had been standing on the other side seconds earlier.
He grabbed the handle.
The hallway was empty.
Then the elevator bell sounded at the far end.
The doors were already closing.
A familiar woman stood inside.
June recognized her.
Matteo did too.
His voice went dangerously quiet.
May you like
“Aunt Sofia?”
The elevator doors shut.
