I close the open document on my desk as Leo walks in, adjusting the cuff link on his shirt. Leaning back with both hands flat on the desk, I wait for him to sit before speaking.
“He’s still on the run?”
He nods. “Yup. I checked in with the men you had stationed at his safe houses and placed some pressure on the others in case one of them knew something.”
“I see,” I mutter as my fingers dance on the polished wood. “Do you think he’s left the country?”
Leo scoffs. “In a plane? I doubt it. We have eyes and ears at every airport and private tarmac. Unless he went through the water route as cargo, I bet he’s still in the country. He’s hiding, that’s all.”
A crooked smile spreads across my face as I shrug. “Then it’s time to flush him out. Time for phase two.” I lace my fingers together. “Tell the men I said they’re welcome to use any means. As long as it gets us the answers we need.”
“Okay,” he replies, but he makes no effort to leave.
“What is it?” I ask, purely because I know he has something to say and not out of curiosity or interest.
Leo sighs. “Marriage? I can see you using her to get to Marco Ricci, but you’re not serious about making her your wife, right?”
“Why not?” I ask.
He drags his chair forward and leans closer. “Because it sounds like madness to me, Roman. I can understand marrying for the sake of an alliance, but this is the daughter of the man who killed your father. It’s worse than signing a treaty with a former rival.”
My eyes lock on Leo’s and narrow. “You don’t have to remind me.”
I was the one who identified my father’s body.
I had to find out who killed him, because I couldn’t believe he’d die in a car accident that was clearly staged. I had the bloodied knuckles that brought out the truth from his driver—that he’d been paid by Marco Ricci, our consigliere, to sabotage the car.
And then I continued digging, only to find out that Marco Ricci wasn’t the only culprit. Men my father trusted in the brotherhood had conspired to take him out. Then, they tried to take out his son too.
“I know whose daughter she is.” My voice is rough, and I force the words through clenched teeth. “I also know Marco Ricci is a dead man when I find him.”
Before then, I intend to make him experience the worst pain possible.
His only daughter, only child—she is mine. And any child that comes from her is mine.
“I’m ending his lineage,” I say. “When I watch the life drain from his eyes, I want him to know that he’ll never get the chance to pass down his traitorous blood to anyone else.”
Leo is silent for a minute, then exhales loudly. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Roman.”
What was it Isabella called me again? A monster? While she offered to spare my life if I let her go…dressed in her wedding dress.
I close my eyes with a quiet sigh, and the image of Isabella, defiant and angry, her chest heaving as she stood in front of my desk, slips into my head. She looked even better than she did standing next to her fiancé.
The feigned meekness of loyalty in her eyes was gone, replaced by a fire. My fingers curl as I imagine what it would’ve been like if I’d taken that heat in my hand and fanned it.
If I would have spread my hand across her face, my thumb tracing the outline of her full, rosy lips, and slipped it in, watching her mouth take me. It would’ve flamed the column of her throat and settled at the nape, where her pulse beat wildly.
Her dress.
It would’ve burned the fabric, plunging the neckline lower until she had nothing on.
Nothing to shield her from the weight of my gaze.
Watching her cleavage rise as she raged had made my chest coil with barely leashed hunger. I hid it well, but I wanted to rip her dress from her body, leave her naked and trembling—not just from desire, but from knowing she belongs to me.
I want to take that fury in her eyes and turn it into something raw, something desperate.
Watch them roll back as she begs me to take her.
The sheer lace over her legs did nothing to deter my imagination, either. I couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it would be to leave my chair and rip apart the delicate fabric. Her whimpers…how loud her moans would be as she begged me to touch her.
The spark in her eyes, in her stance.
“Hell.” I drag a hand over my face. It was almost irresistible—the urge to bend her defiance to my will until she was raw and needy, ready to take everything with a single word on her lips. My name.
My cock twitches in my pants, and I move my hips forward to ease the discomfort.
“Are you rethinking your decision? Because I can think of other ways—” Leo holds his tongue when I open my eyes, silencing him without saying anything. He clears his throat. “You know what? I’ll get ahead on plan B.” He stands up. “What about the accountant? What do you plan to do about him?”
My father’s personal accountant. He’d been stealing money for two years and funneling it into offshore accounts for Marco Ricci. My guess is that’s how the bastard managed to go underground.
Unfortunately for the accountant, he did a shitty job of covering his tracks and made the stupid decision to not follow Ricci underground.
I wave Leo off. “I’ll see to it.”
“Sure,” he replies, picking at an invisible piece of lint on his shirt before he walks out of my office.
I wait a beat before picking up my phone. “Marge,” I say to my secretary, a sixty-year-old woman who used to work for my father. One of the few people my father trusted who didn’t betray him. “Tell Alex I need to see him, will you?”
“Sure. Would you like me to have him personally escorted?” she asks, letting it slip that she knows something is about to happen.
That’s why my father trusted her. She knows what goes on behind closed doors but minds her business well.
“Yes, Marge.” I smile. “Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, the door opens, and Alex walks in, followed by a security guard. “Thank you,” I tell the guard. “You can go.”
The door closes again. I inhale, taking a good look at him. Alex Hart. A man small enough that he should’ve learned how to be timid.
“Alex.” I point to the chair Leo vacated. “Please sit.”
Fear. It slashes through his face and freezes him on the spot. Well, I’ll give him one. He certainly knows when he’s walked into a trap.
“I-I…” he stutters. “He forced me. He said that if I didn’t do it, he was going to—he was going—” He rubs the back of his neck as his gaze darts around the office.
He was going to…?
I know he doesn’t have a family or a dependent, so Alex Hart’s motivation was pure greed. Not that it would’ve stopped me either way.
“Sit,” I say, sternly this time.
He swallows thickly as he nods, then drags his feet all the way to the chair. I settle back into my seat, eyes never leaving him. Time stretches between us. I wait, watching him dig his grave in fear. It’ll be easier for me to bury him in it.
He swallows again, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room. “Th-thank you,” he whispers, barely audible, his voice thick with terror.
“How much did you steal for Marco Ricci?” I ask. “No, forget that.” I shake my head. “Tell me something better. Where is he?”
Alex’s eyes widen, and he flinches back into his seat, his voice a desperate squeak. “I-I don’t know! I swear, I don’t know!” His hands twist together, his knuckles white, and his gaze darts frantically across the room as if the answer is written on the walls. “We only spoke once. The other times, he gave me the order through—”
He cuts himself off, realizing he’s said too much. But I know more now.
There’s someone else. There’s always someone else, but this time, it’s a middleman.
Leaving my chair, with my fingers spanning the curve of my desk, I stop in front of him. “Who?”
“Nobody,” he replies hastily. “Nobody. It was only me. And I promise you, it was just the one time. I was going to tell your father, but he threatened that he’d have me killed if I did. Then I thought I could replace the money, but I-I—”
My fist snaps out, hitting his face. His head jerks to the side, a soft gasp escaping his lips. I step back, my breath controlled, my eyes narrowing as I watch the shock still rattling him.
“Don’t lie to me, Alex,” I growl. “Who else was involved?”
“I swear,” he begs. “There’s nobody else. Please forgive me. Please.”
I’m certain of one thing now. Whoever the middleman was, he’s still working for this company. He’s still around, living and breathing. Also—Alex is scared of him, so I’m dealing with someone who was high on the list of the people my father confided in.
But he won’t remain hidden forever.
I grab my phone. “Marge, hold my calls and postpone my meetings, will you?” My eyes dart to the door briefly, and then back to Alex so he knows there’s no escape. “It looks like we’ll be here for a while.”
Leo shows up to the sight of a broken chair and a security guard exiting my office. My sleeves are rolled up and I’m wiping my hands on a napkin when he walks in.
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to know, and I’m sure he deserved it. I came back with a status report.”
“What do we have?” I ask as I toss the napkin to the trash can in the corner, untucking my sleeves before I sit.
“Nothing.” He clicks his tongue. “Nothing at all. If he told anyone about his plans, it couldn’t have been more than one or two. And neither of them are anywhere to be found.”
I’m not surprised. It’s the only reason I haven’t found him.
“Do you think she knows?” he asks with a subtle chin tilt.
Isabella.
“She’s his daughter,” Leo continues. “If he trusted her enough that he had plans to hand over his business, he must’ve told her something. Or she knows where he could be hiding. Ask her,” he suggests.
I arch a brow.
He’s unbothered by my lack of response. “You took her. She’s your intended bride. And she lives in your house. That makes you the most qualified person to ask her where Ricci is. The sooner we get to him, the faster we learn how many people were involved in the incident.”
She’d probably spit on my face, or take a vow of silence just to spite me.
“She might also be in communication with him,” Leo throws in. It’s an afterthought for him, but…why didn’t I think about that? Isabella didn’t have any belongings on her when I carried her out of the church, but I didn’t bother finding out if she had her phone stored anywhere.
Dresses have pockets, don’t they?
“Call Sergei,” I say, but then I change my mind. “No.” I shake my head. “Don’t. Let it go.”
“Even if I might be right?”
Even so.
I made an error—a terrible oversight on my part. If Isabella has been fooling me all along, pulling an act with moments of fear and forced defiance, then I intend to find out.
But I won’t give her time to cover up her tracks. I intend to find out exactly what she’s been up to.
Hours later, I walk into a quiet house, my footsteps echoing through the foyer. Sergei approaches as I step through the archway, his head dipping in a curt nod.
“Boss.”
“Where’s Isabella?” I ask.
He points in the direction of the stairs. “I saw her head up an hour ago. Is there something wrong? She hasn’t left the house,” he’s quick to add, covering his bases. “I checked.”
Good.
I had the housekeeper, Polina, set her up on the second floor, on the far end of the opposite wing of the building from my rooms. As much as I don’t intend to let her leave, I’m not keen to see her face often.
I don’t need a reminder of the face of the man who killed my father. And I don’t need to lust after his daughter, either.
Like a stubborn, unrestrained being, my mind conjures up the image of her in her wedding dress, the neckline dipping low enough to expose the delicate swell of her cleavage.
Sin.
Temptation.
A distraction carved in white lace against her olive skin.
I grit my teeth as I walk away from Sergei, dragging a hand over my face. The last thing I need is to be thinking about the way her skin looked against the soft lightning in my study, or how much I—
“Marco Ricci.” I say his name aloud, forcing my thoughts back to order. My father’s cold face flashes before my eyes, his eyes filled with death. “Bastard,” I hiss as I cling to the handrail, climbing the stairs. My fingers dig into the surface, and my nails break as I drag them along, rage pulsing through my veins.
Isabella Ricci is a means to an end. Nothing more.
She might end up with my last name, sitting by my side, but she’ll never be anything other than a trophy and a conquest.
I find myself pausing at her door, a hand poised to push the handle open and catch her unawares. For some reason, I hesitate. If she’s guilty, I’d have to do things that would force her to see the monster in me. The part of me that only people who beg for mercy get to witness.
Do I want her to see it?
A muscle ticks in my jaw as I push the door open, half expecting to see shock on her face and then a pillow flying across the room. Instead, it’s empty.
I enter, closing the door softly behind me. I haven’t been in this room in years, not since I moved out after I turned twenty. My father wanted me to stay, but I was adamant that I needed to get out from under him if I wanted to build myself into someone who could take over the organization.
Then he died, and I moved back in, into the larger suite.
The soft, matte gray of the walls is faded, but the color fills me with a nostalgia that doesn’t settle. Light-colored curtains hang by the tall windows, drawn halfway to let in thin beams of reluctant light. The bed and most of the other furniture in the house changed when I moved in.
This bedroom was mine.
Now it’s hers. And it looks as if nobody’s slept in it.
Where’s Isabella?
Glancing at the bathroom door, I listen for the sound of a shower running. There’s silence, but my thoughts run south again, and I picture her behind the door.
Naked.
Her bare skin kissed by steam, olive-toned and slick with water. Her hair wet and curling at the ends. Droplets gliding over the curve of her spine and down her body. The image hits me harder than I expect, dragging heat through my blood like wildfire and punching through my gut.
I let out a rough, ragged exhale, ignoring the sharp pull downward and turning away sharply. The door to the hallway stares at me, but I don’t take a step forward.
Because I’m supposed to be finding out the truth from Isabella, but truth has another meaning now.
The truth is that I want her. Badly.
And wanting her is starting to feel a lot like losing control.
Like weakness.
“Fucking hell,” I grunt as fresh annoyance slams through me. It’s enough to get me out of her room, slamming the door behind me. I stride down the hallway, past the door to the kitchen…which Isabella walks through, startling me.
She’s wearing a shirt. Just a shirt, hanging well above her knees. The shirt covers barely enough to keep my mind from making a U-turn in the previous direction. And it’s mine.
“Isabella.” Her name is like a scratched record on my tongue, and I can’t help but glance at the hem of the shirt.
She follows my gaze and then meets my eyes again with a shrug. “You didn’t give me anything to wear. I slept in my wedding dress—thank you very much—and then I had to scavenge for this. If you’re going to kidnap a woman on her wedding day, the least you could do is bring a change of clothes.”
For all her smart talk, she pulls the shirt lower, fighting for more length before crossing her arms over her chest.
“Polina will get you clothes tomorrow,” I say.
Isabella shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Sure. As long as she knows to get them in my size. If you’re wondering what I was doing in the kitchen…” She holds out the core of an apple. “I was hungry. You might be Count Dracula and dine on blood, but some of us haven’t sold our human hunger for fame and fortune.”
I blink once, slowly. “What?”
She sighs, annoyed that I didn’t immediately catch on. “It means there’s barely any food. Not that it’s your problem.”
My voice stays flat as I respond. “Polina will get you something.”
“Sure.” She shrugs. Then she starts walking off, bare feet padding against the marble, before tossing over her shoulder, “I might as well die of starvation before my father finds me.”
The way she says he’ll find her with such certainty has my eyes narrowing. The phone.
“Isabella.”
She pauses on the second step and turns.
I watch her eyes, observing them for the truth she’s trying to hide. “If you know where your father is, it will be best to tell me.”
“Tell you?” she scoffs with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You want to kill him. Why would I tell you where he is so you can kill him? Besides…” She blows out a breath. “I don’t know where he is. He didn’t attend my wedding, remember?”
She knows something.
I intend to find out one way or another, even if it means I have to carry out certain plans earlier than intended. “Inform him that you’re getting married in a week,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. Fear.
“And beginning tonight, we’ll be sleeping in the same bedroom.”
