Chapter 1 

Zuri

"Mr. Hutchinson, I'm going to ask you one more time, and I need you to think very carefully about your answer." I lean forward, letting five years of single motherhood fuel the steel in my voice. The witness shifts in his seat, sweat beading along his receding hairline despite the aggressive air conditioning in the conference room. "Were you or were you not aware that your company's chemical waste was being dumped into the Potomac?"

The court reporter's fingers fly across her keys, capturing every syllable. Beside me, my junior associate John Patterson—JP, as he insists everyone call him—fidgets with his Mont Blanc pen. The boy has potential but zero poker face. Every time Hutchinson lies, JP's left eye twitches.

"I—I may have heard rumors," Hutchinson stammers, reaching for his water glass with shaking hands.

"Rumors." I let the word hang in the air like a noose. Standing, I smooth down my favorite Saint Laurent blazer—the red one that Keisha calls my "blood in the water" jacket—and move to the evidence table. "Would these rumors include the email you sent on March fifteenth, stating, and I quote, 'The EPA can kiss my ass. We dump where we want.'"

"Objection!" David Cornwall, opposing counsel, shoots to his feet. "Ms. Davis is badgering the witness."

"I'm simply refreshing his memory, counselor." I smile sweetly, the same smile I use when Sophia tries to negotiate for extra bedtime stories. "Unless you'd prefer we mark all forty-seven emails as exhibits right now?"

The conference room door opens, and Cornwall's face lights up like Christmas morning. "Ah, perfect timing. My co-counsel has arrived."

I don't turn around. Never show weakness, never show surprise. Rule number one in litigation. But the cologne hits me first—Tom Ford Oud Wood, the same scent that lingered on my sheets five years ago. My fingers tighten on the exhibit folder.

"Apologies for the delay." That voice. Smooth as aged whiskey, with just enough gravel to make jury members lean forward. "Traffic from JFK was murder."

Alessandro Ricci moves into my peripheral vision, and my traitorous body responds like it's been electrified. Five years, two months, and sixteen days since I last saw him, not that I'm counting. He looks good. Better than good. His charcoal Armani suit fits like it's been sewn onto his body, and his dark hair has that perfectly imperfect thing going on, like he's just rolled out of someone's bed.

Probably has.

"Ms. Davis." He nods, those green eyes with their stupid gold flecks meeting mine. Professional. Distant. Like I hadn't scratched my nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. Like he hadn't whispered Italian endearments against my throat while I came apart beneath him.

"Mr. Ricci." I match his tone, turning back to the witness. "I wasn't aware you'd lowered yourself to environmental law. Slow quarter for corporate hostile takeovers?"

"Even sharks need variety in their diet." He sets his briefcase on the table, and I catch sight of his left wrist. The scar from his law school rugby days is still there, a thin white line against his olive skin. I know because I'd traced it with my tongue.

Focus, Zuri. You're a senior associate, not a hormonal teenager.

"Mr. Hutchinson," I continue, voice steady despite the chaos in my chest, "let's discuss the board meeting on April second."

"I think my client needs a break," Cornwall interjects. "We've been at this for two hours."

"By all means." I wave toward the door. "Take all the time you need to coach your witness. I'll just add obstruction to our claims."

Alessandro's laugh is low and dangerous. "Still drawing blood on the first strike, I see. Though I'd expect nothing less from the woman who made Partner Steven cry during the Pemberton case."

"He had allergies," I say primly, gathering my papers. "Very severe allergies to losing."

Our eyes meet across the table, and the air crackles with the same electricity that led to very bad decisions five years ago. His gaze drops to my lips, just for a second, and I know he's remembering too. The victory champagne. The empty office. The way I'd bitten his bottom lip.

"Fifteen-minute recess," Cornwall announces, ushering his client out like a shepherd with a particularly stupid sheep.

The room empties except for Alessandro and me. And JP, who seems frozen in place, watching us like we're a Netflix drama.

"JP, go get coffee," I order without looking at him. "The good stuff from the place on Third, not the break room swamp water."

"But the witness might—"

"Go."

He scurries out, leaving us alone. I should follow him. The smart thing would be to maintain professional distance. But I've never been smart when it comes to Alessandro Ricci.

"You look good, Zuri." He steps closer, and I catch myself breathing deeper. "Success suits you."

"Funny, I was just thinking the same about you." I start packing my briefcase. "Though I'm surprised you're slumming it with Cornwall. Didn't realize Ricci & Associates was that desperate for billable hours."

"His client is a subsidiary of Fortress Industries. I'm doing damage control." He pauses. "I heard you made senior associate. Congratulations."

"News travels fast."

"It does when you're making waves." Another step closer. "Nathan Hudson must be thrilled to have you."

My phone buzzes on the table. Sophia's daycare. My heart rate spikes for an entirely different reason as I grab it.

"Everything okay, Ms. Davis?" 

The teacher's voice is calm but concerned. "Sophia's fine, but she had a little incident at lunch. She got upset when another child said she couldn't play superhero because she didn't have a daddy to teach her. She... well, she bit him."

I close my eyes. Of course she did. "Is the other child okay?"

"He's fine. But we need to discuss appropriate responses to conflict. She's quite adamant that she doesn't need a daddy because her mommy is 'a shark lady who wins everything.'"

Alessandro is pretending to check his phone, but I can feel him listening. My skin prickles with awareness and anxiety.

"I'll talk to her tonight. Thank you for calling."

I hang up and find Alessandro watching me with an unreadable expression. "Everything alright?"

"Fine." The word comes out sharper than intended. "Just... family stuff."

"I didn't know you had family in New York."

You don't know a lot of things. "My mom moved here to help with—to be closer."

"Children really do change everything, don't they?" Hutchinson's voice drifts from the hallway as Cornwall herds him back in. "My youngest just started walking. Amazing how they transform your whole world."

My pen explodes.

Black ink spreads across the deposition notes like guilt hemorrhaging onto paper. It splatters onto my blazer cuff, the table, my hands. I stare at the mess, watching it seep into everything it touches.

"Shit." I grab tissues from my bag, but the damage is done. My notes are ruined, my jacket is ruined, and Alessandro is looking at me like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"Here." He hands me his handkerchief—of course he carries an actual handkerchief—and our fingers brush. Five years disappear in that split second of contact.

"Ms. Davis?" Cornwall looks delighted by my ink disaster. "Perhaps we should postpone—"

"No need." I strip off my blazer, revealing the black silk shell underneath. Alessandro's eyes track the movement, lingering on the St. Christopher pendant that slips free. His expression shifts, something flickering across his features before he looks away. "I have everything memorized. JP, you did bring your laptop?"

JP nods eagerly, pulling it out.

"Good. You're taking notes." I turn back to Hutchinson, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, April second."

The next hour is a masterclass in witness destruction. I dissect every lie, every evasion, every fidget. Alessandro watches from across the table, occasionally murmuring to Cornwall but mostly just... watching. His presence is like gravity, pulling at me even as I fight to ignore it.

When Hutchinson finally breaks—admitting to knowing about the dumping, authorizing it, covering it up—Cornwall looks ready to weep. Alessandro, though, is smiling that half-smile that means he's impressed despite himself.

"I think we're done here." I stand, victory singing in my veins. "We'll expect your settlement offer by Monday."

"This isn't over," Cornwall blusters, but even he knows it is.

I pack up efficiently, aware of Alessandro's eyes on me. As I reach for my ruined blazer, he speaks quietly. "That was beautifully done. Though I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"Save the compliments for someone who's buying what you're selling, Ricci."

"I'm not selling anything." He steps closer, voice dropping. "I'm just observing that five years haven't dulled your edge."

"No, they've sharpened it." I meet his gaze steadily. "Single-handedly building my career does that."

Something flashes in his eyes—surprise? Hurt? But before he can respond, my phone rings. Nathan Hudson's name lights up the screen.

"I need to take this." I move toward the door, then pause. "Alessandro? Next time you want to watch me work, buy a ticket. The show's not free anymore."

I leave him standing there and answer Nathan's call in the hallway. "Yes, sir?"

"Zuri, excellent work today. Hutchinson's lawyers already called about settling." Nathan's voice carries that particular tone that means he wants something. "I need you in my office first thing tomorrow. We have a situation that requires your particular skill set."

"What kind of situation?"

"The kind that involves three weeks in Rome and a certain opposing counsel you have... history with."

My blood chills. "Sir?"

"The Benedetti International merger. It's a powder keg, and I need someone who won't be charmed by Italian hospitality or intimidated by their legal team. You'll be working with Alessandro Ricci as co-counsel."

I lean against the wall, my legs suddenly unsteady. "Co-counsel. With Alessandro."

"Is that a problem? I know you two have a... competitive dynamic, but this deal needs both firms. Forty million in billables, Zuri. Play nice, and there's a partnership track in it for you."

Partnership. The golden ring I've been chasing since Sophia was born. The security we need. The future I've mapped out in color-coded spreadsheets and five-year plans.

"No problem at all, sir. When do I leave?"

"Monday. My assistant will send the details." He pauses. "Zuri? Whatever happened between you two after the Pemberton case... leave it in the past. We need this win."

The line goes dead. I stand in the empty hallway, phone still pressed to my ear, as the weight of what just happened crashes over me. Three weeks in Rome. With Alessandro. Pretending the last time we were alone together hadn't resulted in the beautiful, stubborn, shark-lady-defending daughter waiting for me at home.

My phone buzzes. A text from daycare with a photo attached. Sophia grinning, her green-gold eyes bright with mischief, holding a "Sorry I Bit Someone" card she'd decorated with sharks.

Weeks of keeping this secret while working side by side with the one man who could destroy everything I've built. Partnership track or not, I am absolutely, completely screwed.