Chapter 1

I run down the stairs as fast as I can to get to the subway, where there are a lot of people.

New York is a beautiful city, but holy crap, it is so crowded! Whenever.

"Excuse me!" I yell as I squeeze between people one after the other. I hurry around the corner to the next set of stairs when I get to the end.

I just don't have the strength to do all of this nonsense.

When I feel a side stitch coming on, I hold my breath and hold on tight to my purse as I walk down the last flight. I skip the last step and press my hand against my hip as I run up to the platform.

When I hear a train leave, my eyes get big, and when I see it leave, my eyes get even bigger. Shit.

As I stand on the platform and watch my train go down the tracks, I sigh deeply and try to catch my breath.

When I feel someone looking at me, I turn around and run my hand through my long blonde hair.

Having to always depend on public transportation can be a real pain.

When I had the chance, I should have taken driving lessons, but I was probably so busy with college that I told myself I didn't have time for anything else.

I look up at the small screen as I walk to the other end of the platform to see when the next train will arrive. I know that trains come every five minutes, on average.

This time of year, the weather isn't very warm. It's even worse when you have to stand in the freezing cold of a New York subway at Dal o'clock at night in January.

The small invitation leaflet I got in the mail a few days ago is in the inside pocket of my jacket. When I went to college to study photography for the first time, I wanted to do as well as I could.

I decided to start my own photography business after I got my degree with honors and 120 credits. When I was in school, I often thought about working as a freelancer, but I never really thought it was possible.

until now.

When I got the invitation in the mail for tonight, I couldn't believe how lucky I was. Gallery by Dante is a well-known art gallery in New York City.

Tonight is one of the biggest art shows, and I got an invitation. Me. Maria Hamilton is an old woman who just graduated from college two months ago.

Some dealers and other people in the photography industry must have seen my work while I was in school, because the owners of Gallery by Dante asked me to come down and be a part of the event.

Tonight, there will be a lot of VIPs and other business people who want to see and maybe bid on some of the best art they can find.

As I step back from the edge and wait for the train to stop, the sound of an approaching train brings me back to reality.

Since my stop isn't too far away, I'm off the train and out of the station before I know it.

I take my phone out of my pocket to see what time it is. I realize that the event has already started as I chew on the inside of my mouth. Even though I didn't want to be late, here we are, late.

I have to walk two blocks to get to the gallery. There were a lot of cars outside, and most of them cost more than my goddamn life insurance. I look down and see that I am wearing black tights, a black dress, and black heels.

Before I agreed to go here, I had to look up what kind of clothes I should wear on G****e. I didn't want to do anything that would make me look bad.

I'm still a young girl learning my trade, after all.

I'm sure I'll figure it all out someday, but for now, a little research here and there won't hurt.

I open my bag and take out my perfume by Dior. I use it to freshen up by spraying it on my wrists and neck. My scent. Last Thursday was my 21st birthday, and my parents gave it to me as a gift.

Now that I'm feeling a little better, I walk to the main entrance and show the doorman my invitation and ID. Even though my ID has a picture of me on it, when I show it to someone I can't help but feel nervous. I don't know why.

Once I'm inside, I try to fit in and relax as much as possible. The gallery is full of men in suits and women in pretty dresses. Servers dressed nicely walk around the open space and offer free food and drinks.

I'm amazed by the art all around me. I'm always surprised by how much work goes into photography and painting, but this... this is something else.

Some of these will make so much money that I don't even want to think about it. People must have a lot of money if they are willing to bid on some of these pieces.

After looking at a few different pieces for a while and walking around, I find a middle-aged man and woman who start talking to me. This makes me feel better even though the place is still strange.

They said their names were Mark and Lilly Elliot and that they owned an antique shop in Brooklyn. They also said this wasn't the first time they'd been to a party like this; in fact, it was the third one they'd been to this month.

Mark puts me in touch with some people and tells them I just graduated and work as a freelance photographer. Even though he doesn't know me, it seems like he's recommending me even though he doesn't know me.

I'm a little embarrassed by how nice he is, and his wife just smiles at me when I catch her eye.

After a few more minutes of talking to new people, we sit down at one of the seating areas with a drink in each hand.

"Then who is that?" I ask, looking at a woman in a dark green dress who is talking to a man as they stand next to one of the pictures.

Mark looks at what I see. "That would be Missy George." He answers. "Well-known art dealer in New York and many other cities and towns around the country."

As I listen to the information, I purse my lips and slowly nod my head while looking around the room to see the different faces.

Lilly, who is married to him, points to two men who look like twins. "Those are Mia and Johnson Abramo," she says. "They go to almost every show like this. Many dollars."

They also look rich. They wore Rolexes on their wrists that looked expensive and, from where I was sitting, I could tell that they were expensive. Even their shoes look like they were cleaned with the most expensive things on earth.

My eyes keep moving around the room until they land on someone who seems to catch my attention more than anyone else so far.

"What's it?" I point to the man talking to two women across the room who is ridiculously good-looking and ask, "Who is that?"

People notice his black suit, well-tied tie, and jet-black hair. He stood out because of the hair around his jaw and the tattoos on his big hands. I can tell from this distance that he is a powerful and important person.

"Who's that?" Mark asks, and I nod and tilt my head a little because I'm interested.

"Yeah," I mumble.

He breathes in deeply. "That's Dontae Cannistra, ma'am. You should stay away from him."