CHAPTER 1
ADRIANA
My father'sworld has rules.
Don't trust anyone.
Don't show weakness.
And don't ever forget that blood is thicker than the life you tried to build without those ties.
I broke all three before the night was over.
The Hartwell Foundation Gala is exactly the kind of event I hate. It’s old money pretending to care about new and trendy causes, air kisses from people who’d sell their grandmother for the right introduction, champagne that costs more per glass than some people make in a week.
But my mother asked me to come. And when Maria DiMicheli commands, you show up.
Even if you’ve spent two decades trying to pretend the DiMicheli part of your life doesn’t exist.
I step out of my Town Car — mine, not my father’s — and I’m immediately blinded by the camera flashes. They see Adriana Colonna, CEO onForbesTop 40 Rising Female Entrepreneurs list with aWall Street Journalprofile. The woman who built a consulting empire from nothing.
But they don’t see beyond all of that. They don’t know about the life I escaped.
And that’s the point.
“Ms. Colonna! Over here!”
My lips lift into the smile I’ve perfected. It’s professional and controlled. The one that sayssuccessful businesswomanand absolutely nothing else that they can sink their teeth into.
I pull my phone out of my clutch bag when it vibrates, and my sister Luna’s name flashes on the screen. I click to open her text as I walk past the photographers with a final wave.
Please tell me you’re not wearing that black dress again.
I grin and look down at my burgundy gown before typing a response.
I’m not wearing the black dress.
Her next message comes through fast.
Cleavage??
My sister thinks my taste in clothes is a little too uptight. She’s not wrong. I’ve definitely gotten more conservative with my outfits, especially since I started my own company. It’s not like I can command boardrooms wearing anything tight, low cut, or cropped. I’m not twenty anymore. I realized very early in my career that if I want to be taken seriously, I need to dress like I want to be taken seriously. That means no fun clothes or low-cut gala gowns.
Strapless.
Three gray dots appear. Then a crying emoji pops up on the screen.
I smirk.
At least you’re giving shoulder. Now get your butt inside, have some champagne, and find a hot guy to flirt with.
With a roll of my eyes, I shoot off a response.
I don’t flirt.
Her response comes almost immediately, and it stings a little, if I’m being honest.
That’s why you’re still single at forty, Adri. Live a little for once.
