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Prologue

Jacob

Heavy rain lashed against the window, the wipers working hard to keep the screen clear for my driver to see as he drove through the night to our destination. I stared out at the night, listening to the beat of the rain against the roof, lost in my thoughts.

I hated coming to the mainland and leaving the sanctuary of Du Pont Island, but I hated it even more when my trip was pointless. The Astors wouldn’t have the money they owed me; if they did, they would have paid up two weeks ago when the deadline arrived.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, my father was right. I should never have loaned them the money, and truthfully, the only reason I had was to spite him after he warned me against it. In a few weeks, I’d have to face him and explain my error.

The thought made acid churn in my stomach.

Perhaps there was still hope. Maybe, when I arrived on their doorstep in less than a few minutes and demanded they pay up, I’d be pleasantly surprised. I suspected, though, that I would be met with nothing but empty pockets and disappointment.

Johnston slowed the car before turning into the driveway of a mansion shrouded in darkness. The Astors were no doubt tucked up in bed, clueless of my presence. Their first mistake was borrowing money from me. Their second, not having security around their home.

This would be the last night they would sleep peacefully.

Once Johnston killed the engine, I didn’t wait for him to open the door before I jumped out of the backseat, muttering to him to stay where he was and that I wouldn’t be long. With quick strides to avoid getting soaked in the downpour, I reached the door and thumped my fist against it.

Seconds turned into a minute, and no one answered, not even a light flickered on behind the walls. I banged again, harder this time, taking my frustration out on the wood. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do with my time, but I craved the solace only my island could bring.

Finally, a light switched on in an upstairs room. Impatiently tapping my foot, I waited for the door to open, and when it cracked open a few seconds later, Bartholomew Astor’s confused face appeared. His brows shot to his forehead at seeing me on his doorstep, and behind him, the grating tones of his wife rang out.

“Who on earth is at the door this time of night, Bart?” The door was yanked open wider, and Sybil’s eyes widened; the only part of the woman’s face able to show her surprise due to the amount of Botox she had undergone. “Mr…Mr. Du Pont?”

“You missed your deadline,” I replied, keeping my voice calm despite wanting to tear into the two of them.

The two exchanged a look before Bart’s nervous gaze met mine, telling me all I needed to know.

They didn’t have my money.

His mouth opened and closed several times before he eventually found his balls. “Mr…Mr. Du Pont, uh, we thought the deadline was next week.”

The last word had barely left his mouth before my hand wrapped around his throat. I pushed him back, Sybil leaping out of the way as I crossed the threshold with her husband in my clutches. Slamming him against the wall of the foyer, I released his throat, but kept his weak frame pressed against the wall with my solid body.

“I do not take kindly to liars, Mr. Astor. Where. Is. My. Money?”

“I…uh…I,” Bart stuttered.

In my periphery, Sybil appeared, pulling her robe tighter around herself as if it would shield her from my temper. “Mr. Du Pont, perhaps we could discuss this in the living room. Our daughter is asleep, and I would prefer it if we didn’t wake her.”

I narrowed my gaze on her, a snarl twisting on my lips. “And I would prefer it if I didn’t have to drag my ass here in the middle of the night to get my money.” I paused, enjoying how she withered under my glare. But, figuring I had a better chance of discovering where my money was if I played nice for a minute, I relented. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Hesitation flashed through Sybil’s eyes as she spun on her slippered heel. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes; even in the middle of the night, she had to look her best.

Bart trailed behind me as I followed Sybil into a large living room, and when she switched on a light, I glanced around. It was no wonder the Astors didn’t have money in their bank account; the amount of crystal, glass, and expensive artwork adorning the place was sickening.

“Please, take a seat, Mr. Du Pont,” Sybil said, waving to a leather couch as she and Bart took the seat opposite.

“I’d rather stand,” I replied, continuing to take in the room. If they didn’t have the money to pay me back, at least some of their belongings would pay off half of what they owed. I returned my irritated stare to the pair of them. “I will ask one last time. Where is my money?”

“Mr. Du Pont, we-” Sybil started, only to be cut off by her husband.

“We don’t have it.”

Sybil’s head whipped to Bart, and her lips moved as if they were muttering a curse. I stroked a hand over my chin, feeling the fresh smatterings of stubble growing. “I see. It would appear we have a problem then, doesn’t it?”

“Mr. Du Pont, perhaps we can ask for-”