"The baby will have my name," he continues, his voice dropping lower. "The Valentina name carries weight in this city. Protection. Legacy. Our child will never want for anything, and no one, not your father, not Bradley Harrison, not anyone, will be able to touch them."
"And if I refuse? If I walk out that door and take my chances?"
"Then your father drags you back. Forces you into a marriage with a man who looks at you like you're a prize to be won. To be conquered and always controlled." His expression darkens. "And our child grows up under Enzo Marchetti's roof, raised by a man who sees people as pawns. Is that what you want?"
The words land heavy on my heart, each one stripping away another layer of my resistance. Because he's right. I hate that he's right. My father would never let me raise this baby in peace. He'd use the child as leverage, as a bargaining chip, as another piece on his endless chessboard.
At least Luca is being honest about his intentions. Brutal, yes. Manipulative, absolutely. But honest.
"You're living with me now," he continues, as if the matter is already settled. "I have a house in Lincoln Park. Private. Secure. Your father's men won't find you there."
The logic is sound. Infuriatingly, undeniably sound. Marriage to Luca Valentina would put me beyond my father's reach, give my baby a name that carries weight in this city, and wrap us both in the kind of protection money can't buy.
In theory, it's not a bad plan.
In theory, it's actually brilliant.
And if I'm being honest with myself, truly honest in the darkest corners of my heart, marrying the man I've been dreaming about for eight weeks wouldn't exactly be a hardship. Those hands. That mouth. The way he made me feel like the center of his entire universe for one perfect night.
Marrying him could be a dream come true.
If he hadn't lied to me. If he wasn't blackmailing me. If he wasn't standing there looking so damn smug while my entire life crumbles at his feet.
I shove the traitorous thoughts down and lock them away.
I push to my feet and come to stand in front of him. I tilt my head up, locking our gazes. "Absolutely not."
"You're so beautiful when your face flushes like that." His gaze traces my features with an intimacy that makes heat bloom beneath my skin despite my fury.
My eyes dart to the letter opener on his desk. If I could reach it, I would drive it into his chest right now.
"Murderous intent looks good on you too." He taps the end of my nose and I want to slap the smugness off his handsome face so bad my palm literally vibrates.
But I’m not about violence. Not all the time anyway. But I have no problem voicing my irritation. "Fuck you, Luca."
His real name crosses my lips for the first time. It tastes like surrender and defiance all at once.
"As my wife, you'll have access to everything I have." He ignores my curse, continuing as if we're negotiating a business merger rather than my entire future. "Money. Resources. Protection. Whatever you need."
"My paycheck is all I need. I'm not here for handouts." I realize the meaning of my words once they leave my mouth. I guess I’m taking the job, but nothing else.
"It's not a handout. It's yours. All of it."
"That's a lot of trust for a woman you're blackmailing." Not that I’ve agreed to anything other than work.
"We have to start somewhere." His voice drops, losing some of its sharp edge, and something vulnerable flickers through those dark eyes. "Money and objects mean nothing to me, Ilona. You do. Our baby does."
The words hit me somewhere soft and undefended, cracking through the armor I've been building since I walked through that door. I search his face for the lie, the manipulation, the angle men like him are always working. But his eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
He means it. Or he's the best liar I've ever met.
Probably both. Two things can be true, right?
He reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws a small black velvet box, the hinges creaking softly as he opens it.
The ring inside steals the air from my lungs.
A massive diamond, flawless and glittering with inner fire, nestled in a bed of rubies the exact color of the viper's eyes in his tattoo. The stones catch the morning light and scatter it across the ceiling in tiny prisms of red and white. It's gorgeous. It's excessive. It's exactly the kind of ring a man like him would choose.
