The hidden cove embraced them in afternoon warmth, waves whispering against smooth rocks worn by centuries of salt and water. Camille spread their blanket on a patch of sand while Alexander uncorked wine with his good hand. The scene should have been idyllic, two newlyweds in paradise, skin golden in Mediterranean sun, the world reduced to blue water and each other's touch.

Instead, Alexander's mind played his uncle's final words on endless repeat: "Victoria Kane has ...