The chapel sits on the outskirts of the city, a small stone building that’s seen better days.
Perfect for what I have planned.
No witnesses. No interruptions.
Just a terrified priest who owes me more favors than he can count and a woman who’s about to pay for her father’s sins.
I pull the SUV to a stop in front of the weathered wooden doors.
The headlights illuminate the crumbling facade, casting long shadows across the overgrown cemetery beside it.
How fitting.
A place of death masquerading as a place of god.
“Let’s go,” I order, my voice cold and flat.
I step out into the cool night air and adjust my suit jacket. The charcoal fabric is perfectly tailored, expensive—a reminder that I’ve built an empire from nothing. An empire her father tried to destroy.
My men drag Sophia from the vehicle.
She stumbles, her legs unsteady after being chained in the warehouse.
I watch as she catches herself, refusing to fall. Even now, even terrified, she won’t show weakness.
Stubborn. Just like Nicole was.
The thought sends a fresh wave of rage through my chest, hot and acidic.
I force it down, channeling it into the cold calculation I’ve perfected over twenty years in this business.
“Where are you taking me?” Sophia’s voice cuts through the darkness. It trembles slightly, but there’s steel underneath. “What is this place?”
I pause.
The moonlight catches in her long black hair, making it shine like silk.
Her blue eyes are wide with fear, but they meet mine without flinching.
She’s beautiful in a way that makes my jaw clench—delicate features, full lips, a body that curves in all the right places despite her slender frame.
She’s twenty-two, and Nicole will never get the chance of being twenty-two.
“This,” I say, gesturing to the chapel, “is where you become my wife.”
The color drains from her face. “What? No. You can’t?—”
“I can do whatever I want, Miss Moretti.” I step closer, invading her space. She smells like dirt, fear, and something floral. Her shampoo, probably. Something innocent and sweet that doesn’t belong in my world. “Your father made sure of that when he destroyed everything I loved.”
“I don’t understand.” Her voice cracks. “You said he owed you money. This is about money, right? I can…I can get a loan, or?—”
“This isn’t about money.” The words come out as a growl. I grab her arm, my fingers wrapping around her slender wrist. Her pulse hammers against my palm, rapid and frantic like a trapped bird. “This is about justice. This is about making sure your father’s legacy dies with you.”
I drag her toward the chapel doors. She tries to pull away, but I’m too strong. My men follow behind us, their footsteps echoing on the stone path.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please, just tell me what he did. Tell me why?—”
I shove open the chapel doors with my free hand. They swing inward with a groan of old hinges, revealing the dim interior. Candles flicker on the altar, casting dancing shadows across the worn pews. Standing before the altar in his black robes is Father Bogdan.
