He turns away from me, and I watch, momentarily stunned, as he shrugs off his suit jacket in one fluid motion. The fabric slides down his arms, revealing the white dress shirt stretched taut across his shoulders, the material straining against muscles that move with controlled, predatory grace. He tosses the jacket over the back of his chair then turns to face me again.
My traitorous eyes track every movement. The way his forearms flex as he crosses them over his broad chest. The way the shirt pulls across his biceps, hinting at the ink I know hides beneath. The viper. The panther. All that dangerous art mapped across a body I've explored with my hands, my mouth, my entire being.
I hate him. I hate that I still find him devastatingly attractive. I hate that my body remembers his even as my mind screams at me to turn around and leave.
Two things can be true at the same time.
He stands there, arms crossed, watching me with those dark eyes that see too much. Waiting. Patient as a predator who knows his prey has nowhere left to go.
I swallow the lump in my throat. "What do you want from me? I assume you have some end game here."
He holds my gaze, all traces of humor bleeding away until nothing remains but cold, hard intent. "Your silence on what we shared. Your obedience to the rules I’ll lay out before you. Your body." A pause that stretches like a blade across my throat. "And most importantly, your signature on a marriage certificate."
A laugh tears from my throat, sharp and bitter and edged with hysteria. My arms wrap around my midsection, an instinctive shield over the life growing inside me. "Marry my blackmailer? You're insane."
"Marry the father of your child." He steps closer, close enough that his scent wraps around me despite my fury, sandalwood and smoke invading my lungs. "The man who will protect you from everyone. Including your own father."
I’m shaking my head before he can finish. "I don't need your protection," I lie. I just don’t want it from him.
He flicks my words away and presses on. "Tell me what happened. Between you and your father."
The demand catches me off guard. I should lie. Should keep my secrets close and find a way to escape.
But what's the point?
He already knows I'm pregnant. Already has photos that could destroy me. Already holds every card in this twisted game we're playing. What's one more secret when he's seen me naked, vulnerable, carrying his child?
And maybe, some desperate part of me whispers, maybe if I give him the truth about my father, he'll understand why I can’t stay. He’ll see why this whole thing is a bad idea.
Or maybe I'm just so damn tired of carrying it all alone.
Exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. Weeks of pretending to be strong. Weeks of missing him. And then this past weekend. I spent hours staring at positive pregnancy tests and wondering how my life spun so far out of control. It all catches up to me at once, demanding its toll. The words spill out before I can stop them.
"He announced at dinner the night Luna gave me your number that I'm to marry Governor Harrison's son, Bradley." The name tastes like poison on my tongue. "A political alliance sealed with my body. Even now I want to vomit. Or it could be morning sickness. I don’t know. Either way, I said no. For the first time in my life, I told my father no."
"And?" His voice softens, just barely. He crosses to me, and I expect another demand, another threat. Instead, his hand presses gently against my lower back, warm through the silk of my blouse. He guides me to the chair like I'm something fragile. I should shove him away. I should spit in his face. Instead, I let him lower me into the seat, my body surrendering even as my pride howls in protest.
"I ran. His guards chased me. I called Luna, and she picked me up." My hands curl into fists. "I've been staying at her safe house since Saturday night. So yes. I have a target on my back. My father doesn't forgive defiance."
"I know. He’s a special breed of asshole. That's why I want to make you untouchable." His voice softens, just slightly, the sharp edges rounding into something almost gentle. He moves to the window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the city sprawled beneath us. "Your father is a powerful man, Ilona. But his power has limits. Legal limits and otherwise."
"What are you talking about?"
He turns to face me, his expression serious. "Right now, you're Enzo Marchetti's daughter. His property, in his eyes. Something to be traded, bartered, sold to the highest bidder." His jaw tightens. "But if you're my wife? You belong to a different house. A different name. A different world entirely."
Doubt coils in my stomach. "You think a piece of paper will stop my father?" A hollow laugh escapes me, and I shake my head slowly. He doesn't know Enzo Marchetti. Not really.
"I think a piece of paper backed by the full weight of the Valentina name will make him think twice." He crosses back toward me, each step deliberate. "Once we're legally bound, he can't claim you. Can't force you into a marriage with Bradley Harrison or anyone else. You'll already belong to someone else."
"Belong." The word tastes bitter. "So I trade one cage for another."
"You trade a cage for a fortress." His dark eyes hold mine, unflinching. "Your father's men won't touch you. His lawyers won't be able to reach you. And if he tries to take our child?" Adangerous smile curves his lips. "He'll learn exactly what kind of man he's dealing with."
"And what exactly are you?"
"Dangerous enough that Enzo Marchetti will think twice before crossing me." He stops in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Your father plays politics and real estate. I play in darker arenas. Arenas where men like him disappear when they become inconvenient."
A chill races down my spine. He's not threatening my father. He's stating a fact. A promise I doubt he will have trouble following through with if lines are crossed.
