Chapter 1 - Three Seconds
Lena Hart had three seconds to decide whether to let Victor Romano die.
The poisoned champagne glass was already moving toward his mouth.
She had been standing behind table one in the Grand Ballroom of Manhattan’s Grandeur Hotel, holding a silver tray and trying to become invisible.
Invisible was safe.
Invisible kept wealthy guests from complaining about the maid who moved too slowly.
Invisible kept banquet managers from cutting shifts.
Invisible paid the rent on the cramped Queens apartment Lena shared with her mother.
But invisible people noticed things.
They noticed when a guest slipped cash to a waiter.
They noticed which married politician disappeared into which elevator.
They noticed when a man who usually carried nothing suddenly entered a service corridor with a champagne flute covered by a white napkin.
Twenty minutes earlier, Lena had watched Leon Mercer do exactly that.
Victor Romano’s trusted adviser had emerged from the restricted elevator, walked behind the ballroom, and personally handed a flute to a banquet captain.
“For Mr. Romano,” Leon had said.
Then he had smiled.
Lena had remembered the glass because Leon Mercer did not serve drinks.
Men like Leon were served.
Now Victor lifted that same champagne.
As it passed beneath Lena’s face, she smelled something faint beneath the expensive French wine.
Bitter.
Chemical.
Almonds.
Her late father had once told her that unusual smells were nature’s warning labels.
She did not think.
She stepped forward.
And punched Victor Romano in the face.
Her fist struck his jaw.
Victor staggered.
The glass flew.
It shattered against marble.
Three hundred people forgot how to breathe.
Then security moved.
Dmitri Volkov seized Lena by the throat and slammed her against a service station.
“Who sent you?”
Lena clawed at his wrist.
“The champagne.”
Dmitri tightened his grip.
Victor touched his split lip, stared at the blood on his thumb, then looked at her.
“That was quite a punch.”
“The champagne,” Lena rasped again. “Smell it.”
Victor’s expression changed.
“Dmitri.”
One word.
Lena could breathe again.
Victor crouched near the spilled champagne without touching it. He inhaled carefully.
Then he froze.
“Almonds.”
Dmitri immediately released Lena.
He spoke into his cuff microphone.
“Lock every exit.”
The ballroom erupted.
Victor ignored the panic.
His eyes swept across the room.
They stopped on Clara Whitmore, his fiancée, pale in an ice-blue gown.
Then on Leon Mercer.
Leon stood beside table eighteen.
His expression showed perfect horror.
Almost perfect.
Because Lena had seen his face in the second before he remembered to look frightened.
Rage.
Victor had apparently seen it too.
“Leon,” he said.
Leon approached slowly.
“Victor, thank God. That woman could have—”
“She could have what?”
“Killed you.”
Lena laughed once, breathless and disbelieving.
Leon looked at her.
That was when she understood something that frightened her more than Dmitri’s hands around her throat.
Leon knew exactly who she was.
His expression changed for only a fraction of a second.
Recognition.
Victor saw Lena staring.
“You know her?” he asked.
Leon smiled.
“I know uniforms.”
Lena’s stomach turned.
“I saw you with that glass.”
The room seemed to contract.
Leon’s smile disappeared.
“Excuse me?”
“In the service corridor.”
“That is absurd.”
“You handed it to Mr. Valdez.”
The banquet captain, Rafael Valdez, went white.
Victor turned.
“Rafael?”
Rafael’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Dmitri grabbed him before he could move.
Leon calmly adjusted his cuff.
“This is hysteria. A maid attacks you, and suddenly everyone is inventing conspiracies.”
Victor looked at the shattered glass.
Then at Lena.
“What is your name?”
“Lena Hart.”
Something flickered across Leon’s face again.
This time Victor definitely saw it.
“Hart?” Victor repeated.
“Yes.”
“Your father?”
Lena stiffened.
“Thomas Hart.”
Victor went very still.
Leon spoke quickly.
“That name is irrelevant.”
Lena looked between them.
“You knew my father?”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
Before he could answer, Dmitri’s earpiece crackled.
He listened.
Then his face hardened.
“The ballroom cameras went offline eleven minutes before the drink entered the service corridor.”
Victor looked at Leon.
Leon looked back.
Neither man blinked.
Then Dmitri added, “And someone just tried to erase the backup server.”
Victor slowly wiped the blood from his lip.
When he spoke, his voice was almost quiet.
“Nobody leaves this hotel.”
Leon’s composure finally cracked.
Only slightly.
But Lena saw it.
And so did Victor.
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For the first time that night, the most frightening man in the room was no longer looking at the maid who had punched him.
He was looking at his best friend.
