This is where the story begins.

Vittorio’s low and sinister chuckle sent a shiver down Lana’s spine. It was always that same disgusting little laugh that meant business. She couldn’t make out what the real estate magnate next to her father had murmured, but Vittorio’s reaction told her enough. The sweetness of the dessert turned sour on her tongue.

“Some of my collaborators would be easier to convince with a little . . . exoticism,” the man said more loudly as he leaned toward Vittorio.

Focused on the Bavarian cream on her plate, Lana listened. Even with the music and chatter of the reception room, she caught him asking, “Would you have something to satisfy them?”

The grimace pulling at her lips was hard to control. Her fingers twitched, her spoon gouging a hole in the delicate raspberry mousse. Catching herself just before it clanged against the china, she glanced around the table, ensuring none of the four other guests had seen her make a face.

Eight people were supposed to sit at the center table, but Vittorio’s last-minute client threw off Lana’s carefully organized seating arrangement. When Vittorio heard about potential business, his eyes twinkled, and he moved the couple to another table. He didn’t care that the tables were uneven, as long as he landed a juicy deal.

The only upside to the empty seat between Lana and her father was that, despite a burst of laughter from the table behind them and the clatter of silverware, she caught his answer as he leaned toward his client.

“A container arrives from Thailand in ten days,” he said. “Do you think they could wait until then?”

Bile rose at the back of her throat. This container wasn’t on his schedule.

“Can’t you have something earlier?” the buyer urged. “I have to sign this agreement within a week.”

“Helping a regular like you is always possible.” He paused.

With a clenched jaw, Lana mustered all her strength not to stare them down. Her knee jerked under the immaculate tablecloth with the need to leave the room.

She wasn’t surprised when he added, “A set of three is still at auction. A friend of Peter’s has already offered eight hundred thousand.”

“How old?”

“No more than sixteen. Pretty. Untouched. A gift from the Hong Kong Triad on my last visit. You know I only accept top-tier, nothing less.”

“One million. Cash. I’ll send you the address. The sooner, the better.”

“One point five million, and I’ll find a little extra someone just for you.”

From the corner of her eye, Lana saw her father tap his index finger against his client’s chest. He always knew how to charm the depraved needs of those coming to him. His client grunted low, as if the decision took more than a passing thought, then extended his hand between them.

“Deal,” he agreed.

They sealed it with a firm handshake. It was the third agreement of this kind Vittorio had made tonight, each more blatant about the merchandise he sold. Being so full of himself—and bourbon—made him careless. Fortunately, the other guests at their table seemed too absorbed in their own chatter to notice what had just happened. One even turned to Lana to praise her for how well she managed the family’s five-star hotel and how grandiose the party was. Their praise meant nothing.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she spared a glance at her father and his client. One of the event coordinators Lana had hired approached their table and leaned over Vittorio’s shoulder. The time for his speech had come.