KASI
The bowl explodesagainst the floor, chips flying everywhere as my body goes rigid with terror. Every instinct I’ve honed over the years starts screaming at once—run, hide, fight, anything but stand here like prey waiting to be devoured.
Another bang shakes the door in its frame, harder this time, followed by the metallic scrape of someone testing the handle.
The sound makes my skin crawl because I know that technique. I heard Dante’s men use it when they wanted to make their presence known before they broke down barriers.
“No,” I whisper to the empty room, backing away from the door. “He’s dead. I don’t belong to him anymore.”
The lock clicks. The door swings open, and six men in dark suits pour into my tiny apartment like a flood of expensive menace.
I scramble backward over the couch, putting furniture between us. “Get out! Get out of my apartment!”
The man leading them is Dante’s father. Up close, he appears to be older, perhaps mid-forties, with silver hair. But there’ssomething familiar about him, something that makes my brain itch with recognition I can’t quite reach.
He looks around my modest space—the secondhand furniture, the yellow curtains, the single piece of art on the wall—with an expression I can’t read.
“Are you certain she is the one?” he asks one of his companions.
“Positive, sir. Matches the description perfectly.”
His gaze settles on me, and I feel that same prickle of recognition I felt at the cemetery. Where have I seen him before?
“Miss Vale,” says another man, stepping forward with an apologetic smile. He’s holding a briefcase. “I’m David Roth, an attorney representing the Moretti family. I apologize for the…unconventional entrance, but this is a matter of some urgency.”
“I don’t care what kind of matter it is,” I snap, clutching the back of the couch. “You broke into my home. I’m calling the police.”
“I wouldn’t advise that,” David says gently. “Not until you hear what I have to say.”
“There’s nothing you could possibly say that I want to hear. Dante is dead. I have nothing to do with your family anymore.”
“Actually,” David says, opening his briefcase, “that’s not entirely accurate. You see, Mr. Moretti left a will.”
I laugh. The sound is sharp, hysterical. “A will? What does that have to do with me?”
“You’re the sole beneficiary.”
The laughter dies in my throat.
“That’s impossible. I ran away months ago. We were never even married.”
“Nevertheless,” David continues, “Mr. Moretti’s will contains very specific instructions. As his beloved fiancée, you are to inherit his entire business, his properties, and his assets. This puts you in a dangerous position. Mr. Moretti made powerful enemies in his final months. People who will come for you now that you’re named as his heir and also as the woman who was with him for two years. The only way to ensure your protection is through marriage into the Moretti family.”
I stare at him, waiting for the punch line.
“You must marry his father within thirty days.”
For a moment, the words don’t compute. Then I start laughing again, harder this time, until tears stream down my face.
“This is insane,” I gasp and whip around to face Alaric. My voice cracks under the weight of everything boiling inside me. “You—” I jab my finger toward him, shaking. “You must be so proud. You raised him, didn’t you? You created that monster.”
Alaric says nothing. His expression doesn’t even flicker.
“You did a fantastic job raising the absolute scum of the earth,” I spit. “You should be giving parenting seminars. Or maybe write a book—How to Build a Sociopath.”
Still, nothing from him. Not even a twitch.
“And now you want to finish what he started?” My voice breaks. “You people are unbelievable. This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You sure know how to put on a show!”
