PROLOGUE
Julietta
Istared at the eighteen hand-painted roses on my birthday cake, each one a perfect crimson swirl against white buttercream. The breakfast table groaned under silver platters of eggs Benedict, fresh fruit, and pastries that nobody would eat. Mother had ordered my favorites, but the hollow feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with hunger.
"Make a wish, darling." Mother's voice carried across our sun-drenched breakfast room, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
I drew a breath and blew out the candles in one exhale. What do you wish for when you have everything? The flames died, leaving thin wisps of smoke curling toward the crystal chandelier.
"Perfect as always, Julietta." Father checked his watch. "I'm afraid I have a meeting downtown. The Anderson merger won't negotiateitself." He kissed the top of my head, his cologne sharp and familiar. "Happy birthday, princess."
Princess. The endearment felt hollow, like everything else about this morning.
I glanced at Father's retreating back—his blonde hair, blue eyes, the Bennett family's Nordic features. Mother was the same: porcelain skin, delicate bone structure, a face that belonged in a Ralph Lauren catalogue.
And then there was me. Auburn hair that refused to lighten no matter how much time I spent in the sun. Dark eyes that looked almost black in certain light. The curve of my nose, the fullness of my lips—nothing matched.
I'd asked once, when I was ten. "Why don't I look like you?"
Mother's smile had frozen. "All children wonder such things, Julietta. You have your grandmother's coloring."
But I'd seen the family photos. No grandmother had eyes like mine.
Mother's fingers tapped against her teacup. "I've arranged a small gathering this evening. Just thirty or so of your closest friends."
Friends I barely knew. Daughters and sons of Father's business associates, private school classmates who invited me to parties out of obligation rather than affection.
"Thank you, Mother. That sounds lovely."
The words came automatically, the same polite response I'd been trained to give since childhood. Be gracious. Be poised. Be perfect.
The doorbell chimed, echoing through the marble foyer.
"Who could that be?" Mother frowned, setting down her napkin. "We aren't expecting deliveries until this afternoon."
Henderson, our butler, appeared at the doorway, silver tray extended. "A delivery for Miss Julietta, ma'am."
A cream-colored envelope rested on the tray, thick parchment sealed with gold wax. No return address, just my name in sophisticated script.
"Who sent it?" Mother's voice sharpened; she disliked feeling out of the loop, and it was uncommon for a birthday salutation to arrive late.
Henderson's face remained impassive. "The courier didn't say, ma'am."
I reached for the envelope. The wax seal bore an unfamiliar crest—an ornate 'R' pierced by a dagger, surrounded by thorned roses.
"Open it, then." Mother's brittle smile returned, but her knuckles whitened around her teacup.
I slid my finger beneath the seal, breaking it with a satisfying crack. Inside was a single card, heavy stock with gold-embossed lettering.
Your presence is requested today at 2 p.m.
Eleventh floor, The Regency.
It's time we meet, Julietta Altieri.
My breath caught. Altieri? That wasn’t my name…
"What is it?" Mother's voice seemed to come from far away.
