I caught her wrist, my grip firm but not cruel. "Easy."
"Don't touch me." She twisted hard, trying to wrench free. "I swear to God, if you hurt me—"
"You're safe now," I murmured.
"Safe?" She laughed, a broken sound edged with hysteria. "I've been kidnapped, I'm in a moving vehicle, I don't know who you are and you expect me to believe I'm safe?"
She kicked at the man on her other side unexpectedly, caught him in the ribs. He grunted but didn't retaliate. Smart. If he touched her, she'd fight harder.
I admired that about her. Most people would surrender to fear. Julietta treated fear like an enemy to be combated.
"Restrain her," I commanded.
She fought harder as they secured her wrists with soft cuffs—enough to prevent escape, not enough to cut off circulation. Smart precautions. I hadn't survived this long by being careless with valuable assets.
Except she wasn't an asset. Not really. Assets were interchangeable, replaceable.
She was a collection of contradictions I couldn't stop cataloging. Soft features and hard eyes. Polished exterior and feral interior. A caged bird that had finally been released, and instead of flying, she'd chosen to fight.
I was fucked.
The Apex rose forty-two stories above the city, its black glass exterior reflecting the night sky like a dark mirror. My compound. My fortress. The lower fifteen floors housed the casino—my most profitable legitimate business and the perfect front for everything else. The middle levels contained operations: security command, intelligence gathering, the armory, conference rooms where I conducted business that would never see daylight.
And the top three floors? Those were mine. My penthouse. Private. Impenetrable. The only space in this entire city where I could breathe without calculating threats.
The master suite I'd prepared for her occupied the entire east wing of the residential level—bathroom with heated marble floors, closet filled with clothes in her size, a bed large enough to sleep six. Luxury wrapped around her like a gilded cage.
She tested it immediately, even with restraints still on. Pounded on the walls. Twisted the door handles. Found them locked from the outside and laughed, that same broken sound from the vehicle, now edged with something darker.
"Your money can't buy you out of this," I said from the doorway.
She spun, her eyes snapping to mine. Even terrified, even restrained, she faced me like an opponent across a chessboard.
"My father will kill you."
"Your father is a problem I'm equipped to handle."
I watched her process this—the implication that I knew something she didn't, that I'd orchestrated this with knowledge she lacked. Confusion flickered across her face before being replaced with something sharper.
"Miguel," she whispered. "You killed Miguel."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Because I saw you looking for him in a crowd and realized you were looking for salvation in the wrong direction. Because I watched you suffocate under the weight of obligation. Because something in your eyes that night at the gala recognized something in mine, and I couldn't walk away.
"Business," I answered instead.
She laughed again, that broken sound that was slowly rebuilding itself into something stronger. "Business. You killed a man and kidnapped a woman as part of business?"
"I killed a liability and removed an asset before your father could weaponize her." I moved further into the room. "You should be grateful."
"Grateful?" She lunged at me, hands still cuffed, fury radiating from her body like heat from a burning building. "I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want from me."
"You will."
I closed the door and locked it from the outside, her screams following me down the hallway. Let her rage. Let her tire herself out against the luxury of her cage. By morning, she'd understand that I was her only option, her only escape from the hell her own father had built for her.
