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L ucretia frowned at the results on the abacus before her.

A small sum of money—about ten denarii—was missing from her accounts.

She hoped she’d just made a mistake with her accounting, but such an error was unlike her.

As the proprietor of Ostia’s second largest shipping business, she couldn’t afford mistakes, even over a few denarii.

She had a sneaking suspicion as to where the money went, but she was loath to admit it to herself. Surely Marcus, her fourteen-year-old son, knew better than to pilfer from her accounts.

But it was the sort of thing a rebellious adolescent might do, and ever since his father’s death last year, Marcus had been even more prone to such unruly habits.

His great passion these days was chariot racing, and he was constantly betting on the latest races.

To be fair, he did win more than he lost.

With a sigh, Lucretia pushed the wax tablet away and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes to soothe the persistent throbbing in her skull. A thieving son was the last thing she needed.

A tap came at the door, and Lucretia lifted her gaze to see Dihya, her friend and colleague, poking her head into the back room of their two-room office. “Lucius Avitus Felix is here. Again.” Dihya’s expressive mouth twisted in distaste. “Shall I tell him you’re busy?”

Lucretia groaned. Lucius Avitus Felix was one of the richest men in Ostia and the owner of the city’s largest shipping venture.

He had been her late husband’s perpetual rival, locked in a never-ending competition for who had the most ships, the best profit margins, the fastest shipments, the most sought-after products.

Felix, somehow, had always managed to maintain a slight edge over Cornelius.

Now that his rival was dead, Felix had turned his attention to Lucretia. But he wasn’t just trying to beat her. He was trying to remove her from the game entirely.

“I’ll see him,” she muttered. If he wanted to speak to her, he wouldn’t leave until he did, so better to get this over with.

Dihya nodded and withdrew. Lucretia busied herself tidying her desk, pushing aside the abacus and neatening her stacks of paper.

Her office was small, little more than a cell, with most of its space taken up by crates stuffed with records going back decades, to the very start of Cornelius’s business.

A few chests contained money for everyday expenses, though the bulk of her capital was stored at the temple bank, safeguarded by priests and the gods.

On the corner of her desk, a lamp burned lavender-scented oil, diffusing a pleasant smell into the air and providing some extra light in addition to the single window cut high into the wall.

Lucius Avitus Felix entered her office. Tall and lean, he wore an ankle-length tunic of dark blue, which complemented his fair complexion and dark hair.

She chided herself for noticing such things. “Felix,” she greeted him, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk.

He nodded to her and sat. “Lucretia.” His eyes, the gray of a bleak winter morning, moved over her and their surroundings with dispassionate efficiency, as if cataloguing every detail to file away in his head for some future purpose. She hadn’t given him much to notice—or so she thought.

His eyes fixed on her face. “You look tired.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but she forced herself to moderate her expression. He wasn’t usually outright rude, but everything Felix said and did was calculated several times over. So if he was being rude, it was likely to get a reaction from her.

She levelled her chin at him. “If there’s something you wished to discuss other than my appearance, please get to the point. I’m busy.”

He surveyed her for another moment, eyes flicking from her face to her left hand, where she used to wear Cornelius’s ring. She resisted the urge to slide her hand beneath the nearest piece of papyrus.

“I’ve come with a proposition for you,” he finally said. His voice warmed, losing its cool, clipped quality. “I would like to offer you something of great value.” He even smiled at her, a charming mask settling over his face as if they were making conversation at a dinner party.

Lucretia tried to ignore the flip her stomach gave at his smile.

She had always—guiltily—found Felix handsome, even when she’d been happily married to Cornelius.

Felix’s cold, scheming personality irked her, but she couldn’t deny that his appearance didn’t generate quite the same reaction. “And what is that?”

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of her desk. “My hand in marriage.”

She choked on a laugh, which made her cough. When she recovered her breath, she grinned at him. Triumph rose in her chest. “You are really so threatened by my business that you would tie yourself to me in marriage just so you can control my ships?”

She knew better than to think there was any romantic feeling underlying this ridiculous proposal. Once, several years ago, he had attempted a flirtation, but her quick rejection had ended any further overtures of that sort.

No, this proposal had a different motivation. In the year since Cornelius died, Felix had been steadily trying several different angles to induce her to sell her ships to him. First, a generous cash offer. Then an even more generous one.

When simple money didn’t work, he became more persuasive, reminding her how difficult and time-consuming it was to manage a business operation like this.

Surely she would prefer to devote her time and energy to raising her son or securing a new husband.

Surely she didn’t want the hassle and stress of managing a business.

While it could be stressful at times, this business was Lucretia’s greatest chance at independence, at carving out a life for herself and Marcus where they were beholden to no one.

Cornelius had given her a great gift in leaving the business to her, and she wasn’t about to squander it.

One day, her ships would be her son’s legacy, and she was determined to make them as successful as possible.

Felix, composed as always, showed no discomfiture at her reaction.

“I can give you security. A comfortable life. My house is twice the size of yours, if I’m not mistaken.

Additionally, I have a summer residence at Baiae with sweeping water views.

You and Marcus could spend as much time there as you wish.

Speaking of Marcus, it could benefit the boy to have a stepfather to smooth his path as he comes of age.

And you must be lonely without Cornelius.

I could offer you companionship, should you wish it. ”

A blush stole across her cheeks at his last words. Did he mean social companionship, or was he suggesting companionship of a more… marital sort?

Either way, it was impossible.

“Of course, your ships would serve as dowry, as your father is no longer living and cannot provide you with one,” he continued.

She raised an eyebrow. “If I were to divorce you, I would take everything back.” And while she might legally retain ownership of her own property in marriage, her husband would become her legal guardian and would have to consent to any decisions she made.

That would effectively give Felix total control over her holdings.

He nodded. “A risk I am willing to take—that I will give you no reason to dissolve our marriage. You would have complete freedom. You would not have to spend your days poring over account books or negotiating with suppliers. You could do exactly as you please.”

“I am doing exactly as I please,” she replied. “If you really think I would give up everything I’ve worked for just for the promise of a bigger house and some vacations to Baiae…” She shook her head. “I refuse your proposal.”

His eyes narrowed, the charming mask slipping.

“I have made you several generous offers, Lucretia, this last one being the most generous of all. I have treated you like a respected associate. But allow me to advise you that this will be my last offer. If you maintain your refusal, you will no longer be my colleague, but my adversary. And my adversaries do not last long.”

That was true enough; for the last several years, Felix had dedicated himself to picking off competing shipping enterprises one by one, whether through undercutting their prices, overtaking their supplier relationships, swaying their investors, or simply convincing them to sell their ships.

Lucretia was now the last major competitor in Ostia.

If she folded, Felix would control the entire flow of goods into and out of the port city, which could have disastrous consequences if his greed took over.

So she would stand against him, if it came to it. She would risk whatever it took to maintain her independence, and she certainly wouldn’t accept his offer of marriage.

“My refusal stands.”

“Perhaps you wish to think about it.”

She rose to her feet, a gesture of dismissal. “I trust you’ll have no further reason to speak to me again.”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. In a quick, spare movement, he stood and cast her one long, dark glance before he turned for the door.

Lucretia waited until she heard the outer door to their office open and close before sinking back into her chair. She let out a long breath. She wasn’t thrilled at the idea of having Felix for an enemy, but she owed it to Ostia—and possibly the entire Roman economy—to stand against him.

Felix walked away from Lucretia’s office, passing through the Square of the Guilds where all of Ostia’s commerce centered.

He tried and failed to unclench his jaw.

He had planned to return to his own office, on the opposite side of the square from Lucretia’s, but now he was too irritated to get any work done.

Better to take a brisk walk to work off his frustration.