“What’s tonight?” I ask Damian.
“Say goodbye to your uncle.”
“I hate you,” I tell Damian.
“Cristina,” my uncle starts, hand on my shoulder.
I turn to him.
“Take care. Remember what I told you.”
He’s warning me against Damian, but I don’t need to be warned. I know firsthand what Damian’s capable of.
He hugs me then, hugs me like he did the day of my father’s funeral when they came to bury him and take me to my new home, and a sob breaks through.
“Stay strong,” he whispers.
I look up at him, and all I can do is nod as I wipe away my tears, trying to stop them from flowing. I don’t want to appear any weaker than I already am.
Damian comes up behind me. I feel his presence without hearing him approach or having to turn to see it.
I wrap my arms around myself as he wraps his hand around the back of my neck in that way he has. The one that screams possession.
His.
I shudder even though his touch is warm. I wonder again where he spent the night. Who he touched with that hand.
And mostly I wonder why I give a single fuck. Didn’t he put me in my place last night? If I ever had any doubt what I was to him, last night should have made things crystal clear. I’m just too stupid to get it.
My uncle’s gaze flits to where Damian is holding me, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he nods his goodbye to me and walks out, leaving Damian and I alone in the office with its glass walls.
It’s deadly still for a long minute after the door closes. I wonder how it can be so quiet in here with the cubicles and all the people out there.
I wipe away the last of my tears and turn around, pulling out of his grasp. “Did you spend the night with one of your whores? You look a little worse for wear.”
“I could say the same for you, but the only man with access to you would have been Cash, and he knows I’d castrate him if he so much as looked at you wrong.”
I open my mouth to give a sharp reply, but he gets a sly look on his face and goes on.
“So, was it thoughts of me that kept you up?”
“You wish.”
“Did you finish yourself off imagining your fingers were mine?”
“Fuck you.” I hear the door open. Thank god that it does.
Damian lifts his gaze beyond me, and I turn to find Cash waiting beside the door.
“Time for you to get back. The hairdresser will be there shortly.”
“That’s it? I go back to the apartment and what? What’s happening later anyway?”
“A party of sorts.”
“What sort exactly?”
“Your donors will see the new face of The Valentina Foundation.”
“You’ll really do the dirty work in my name?”
“Something like that. Now go. Maybe you’ll have time for a nap. I want you to look your best tonight.”
“Why don’t you invite the woman in whose bed you slept last night instead?”
He grins, gives nothing away. “Cash,” he calls over my shoulder.
“Sir.”
“Take Cristina home,” he says, dismissing me.
26
Damian
I let her get to me last night. I let an inexperienced girl, barely a woman, and a virgin at that, get to me.
Christ.
My plan was to take her to my bed after dinner. Sink my cock into her. But she’d known exactly which button to push and threw my plans out the window.
But she thinks I spent the night in another woman’s bed. She’s bothered by the idea. That makes me smile.
I watch the men congregating in the next room and make note of who’s talking with whom, but I’m distracted. Cristina should arrive any second.
Adam Valentina walks through the door. He looks like he got some rest since this morning. His suit is crisp, face freshly shaved. Can’t take a chance with this group. If they even think they scent weakness, they’ll go in for the kill.
The dozen guests are here. Apart from Cristina, I’m waiting on one last arrival.
A knock comes on the door, and I turn my head, sipping my whiskey as Tobias opens it. Cash nods to me, then stands aside, and Cristina steps into my line of vision.
I wonder what the men in the room will do when they get a look at her. At Joseph Valentina’s daughter all grown up. She doesn’t know it yet, but every one of them apart from her uncle would benefit if she just went away.
But I won’t let that happen.
She’s stunning in a silk dress of palest milky white. The dress is exceedingly feminine, delicate to the point of leaving her vulnerable. It’s the opposite of all the testosterone in the next room. Her hair, piled high on her head, is glossier than I’ve seen it and a thick fringe of bangs has been cut which frame and intensify the rich violet of her eyes.
The instant those eyes meet mine, it’s like the world stops. Like the monitor isn’t on and there isn’t a meeting of a dozen of some of the most dangerous criminals on two continents in the same building as us.
Tobias steps out of the room and closes the door.
We’re alone.
I swallow my whiskey as she visibly recovers, her throat working as she swallows and steels her spine to stand as tall as possible before crossing the distance between us.
I take in how she moves in that dress, and my dick stirs. It’s a little pornographic, how it floats around her, caresses her hard nipples, displays the V between her thighs. I wonder if I’ll see the slit of her sex if I look hard enough. No panties under there. Just the finest layer of silk separating her from me.
Her eyes, lined with dark pencil, lashes heavy with mascara, narrow suspiciously when she comes to stand a few feet from me.
Fuck. She’s fucking stunning. And maybe I don’t want the assholes in the other room looking at her, after all, but tonight is important. Tonight will keep her safe.
I force my gaze to remain casual as I let it glide over her. With her height and the heels, she’s taller than at least two of the men inside.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth, Damian,” she snaps.
“I can think of much better places to put my tongue.”
Her cheeks flush, and she shifts her gaze away.
I think about last night. About my fingers inside her and her reaction to them. I’ve memorized the scent of her arousal.
Tonight will go differently than last night did.
Tonight, I’ll have a taste of what’s between her legs. But I won’t dip my dick inside it yet. I won’t pin her down and fuck her until she screams my name. I guess I’m old-fashioned that way.
“I thought this was a party,” she says.
“You look good, Cristina. Beautiful.” I pause, curious about something. “You seem very modest. Is that a show?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know you’re beautiful?”
Her hand instantly moves to the scar on her mouth, the line that continues down over her chin and under her neck. Uncertainty has her furrowing her brows.
I see how young she is now. See her inexperience. She wants to believe me. Be charmed by me, even. Haven’t men told her she’s beautiful before? Or do they only see that scar?
A moment later, those eyes are shuttered, the suspicion I’ve sowed returning.
“Where is my uncle?”
“Here.”
I touch my fingers to the bare skin of her waist, that strange sensation like electricity burning the tips momentarily. Moving behind her, I turn her toward the monitor, taking in all that exposed skin all the way down to the curve of her ass and the two dimples on either side on her lower back.
She’s flawless. And I’d like nothing more than to bend her over, lift her dress and fuck her virgin cunt, her tight little asshole. Dirty her with my cum all over her.
I clear my throat. Adjust myself.
I need to get my dick under control.
“What is this?”
“Do you recognize anyone?”
She peers down. “I’ve seen that one at my uncle’s house. And him. But I don’t know their names.”
“Hunter Adams and Jace Vaughn. They would have known your father too. Or their fathers would have. You don’t know the others?”
“I don’t think so.” She turns to face me. “What’s going on?”
“Do you think I slept in another woman’s bed last night?”
Her mouth falls open but she’s quick to recover. “I don’t care if you did.”
“I didn’t.”
Her expression changes, she searches my eyes, and I see she wants to believe me.
“And you do care.” I shift my gaze to the monitor and point. “See that one? The man standing beside the bar looking like a fucking gangster?”
She follows where I’m pointing and nods.
“He did business with your father, but things went south toward the end. The one beside him holding the decidedly feminine drink is Arthur Clementi. He’s probably the oldest of your father’s clients. Don’t let his drink fool you, though. He’ll slit your throat as easily as any one of them.”
“What?” Her face turns ghostly white.
“Now that one there, holding the cane. He had bad blood with your father, and he’s never trusted your uncle. I’m not even sure you can win him over. And the younger one standing beside him? He’d just really rather you disappeared.”
“What are you talking about?”
I smile down at her. “Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen.”
“I don’t even know who they are.”
“But they know you. You’re Joseph Valentina’s daughter. His successor. And Joseph was a bad boy. Although I appreciated how he kept records once I figured out his system.”
“Please just explain in normal language.”
“He kept files on all these men, Cristina. These partners who made donations to political causes through the foundation. He was smart to have a backup plan, but he got sloppy.”
Goose bumps rise along her arms, and she hugs them to herself. “Why am I here?”
“Because it’s important you see where you stand.”
“But I don’t see.”
“These men are your enemies.”
“So how are they different from you?”
I’m not expecting that, and I smile, then take a sip of my whiskey.
“Have I hurt you? When you’ve hurt me.” I hold up the hand she stabbed. I took the bandage off this evening.
She’s quick to shift her gaze from it back to me, but in her eyes, I see remorse. She’s not a violent person by nature, even when it comes to defending herself.
“Have I retaliated? Or have I protected you against my father? Have I been patient with you?”
“You’ve humiliated me countless times.”
“Humiliation is ego. And news flash. You got wet.”
She glances way.
“Have I physically hurt you?” I ask.
She doesn’t reply.
“No, I haven’t because I take care of what’s mine. The difference between these men and me is that they prefer you dead. They prefer the foundation go to your uncle because then, they’re safe. He is malleable and he’s proven himself loyal—”
“Loyal?”
“Yes, loyal. Loyal to himself. To money. Not loyal to you, though.”
She stares up at me.
“And what I’m about to do I’m doing for your own good.”
“What does that mean?”
The door in the other room opens, and the final guest walks in. Well, he’s rolled in.
My father.
The others greet him, each coming to him in turn like he’s the fucking godfather.
“What’s he doing here?” Cristina asks.
I shift my gaze to her, reach into my pocket.
She sees me do it and backs up a step. She must think it’s another one of those needles. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?”
I close the space between us and take her left wrist.
“What are you doing?” She tries to tug free.
I take the ring out of my pocket and force her hand to unclench. I push it onto her ring finger.
“Damian!”
“Not the romantic proposal you’d dreamed of, I’m sure, but don’t expect me to get on my knees. That’ll be your place.”
“Fuck you. Get this goddamned thing off me!”
It’s a tight fit, but that’s on purpose. Once it’s past her second knuckle and snugly situated, I look at it, turn it so she can, too.
“What the hell—”
I remember Michela’s words. She wasn’t lying when she reminded me that Cristina, like everything else, was meant to go to my brother. I won’t be giving her up, though.
“It’s a blood diamond. The rarest in the world.”
“Get it off!” She tugs at it, yanks, but it doesn’t give. “It hurts, Jesus, what the hell is wrong with it?”
“Thorns.”
“Get it off me!”
“Unclench your fist.”
“Get it—”
“Unclench your fucking fist, and it won’t hurt.”
She does.
She studies the band. I press my finger into one of the teeth. “I designed it especially for you. Eight thorns. One for each year I waited.” My father would appreciate that actually, but I didn’t do it to please him.
“What?”
I brush the pad of my thumb over the diamond set in Elysium petals. The rose in the thorns. I tug her close, my rose, make her look at me with those wide, deer-in-headlights eyes.
“What the hell is this?” Panic pitches her voice high.
“It’s your engagement ring, Cristina.”
27
Cristina
“Gentlemen,” Damian says, his tone casual as we enter the room where those men are. It’s just down the hall from where we were.
He’s standing behind me, hands like weights on my shoulders.
I want to tell him to let me go. To get the hell away from me. But I look at all the eyes on us, on me, and I still. Because maybe I need him now. Maybe I need his protection from these men.
The feeling of dread, of animosity is like a physical thing in here. These men are not good men, and each set of eyes that I meet is more terrifying than the last.
The only one who doesn’t look at me like he wants to kill me is my uncle. His eyes are empty although I think he’s been drinking. He gets a flush to his face when he drinks.
Damian wasn’t lying. These men are my enemies. These men that I do not know are my enemies, and they do not wish me well. I see it. I feel it.
Tobias closes the door behind us but remains inside the room. I notice there are two more soldiers against the opposite wall.
Damian nods to each of the men as he walks us toward the long rectangular table.
The men follow, each of them taking a seat.
My uncle swallows the remaining liquid in his glass. I meet his eyes as he takes his seat, and what I see inside them is resignation. Like earlier at Mr. Maher’s office. And I realize he won’t help me. I don’t even know if he can.
When we get to the head of the table, Damian pulls the chair out. I sit down because I don’t want these men to see me tremble. To see my knees buckle in fear of them.
He stands behind me, hands firm on my shoulders. I try to contain a shudder as I remember his words and oddly take shelter in his weighted touch.
Which one had he said would rather I just disappeared?
Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen.
“I’d like to introduce you to Cristina Valentina, Joseph Valentina’s daughter.”
Everyone’s eyes are already on me, but no one greets me. No one says a word or smiles or even pretends to.
“She inherited The Valentina Foundation this morning.”
I want to push my chair back and leave, but Damian must sense it. He squeezes my shoulders in reassurance or warning. I’d bet the latter.
My gaze is snared by Damian’s father, and I can’t drag it away.
“And congratulations are in order as she’s just agreed to become my wife.”
Apart from ice clinking against my uncle’s glass as he swallows the entire contents, the room remains silent.
What I’m about to do I’m doing for your own good.
I meet my uncle’s shocked eyes with my own. I want to tell him to help me. To take me away. To do something. Isn’t he supposed to protect me? He’s my godfather. My only living relative apart from Liam and Simona.
But he remains seated, that flush on his face making me wonder how much he’s drunk and understanding slowly dawns on me. Resignation perhaps.
“Business stands as usual. No change to our arrangement. My fiancée will not be involved in the day-to-day…” Damian goes on, but I tune him out. Because I need to process what just happened. What is happening.
He’s going to force me to marry him.
Yet Damian Di Santo is my only hope.
He won’t let these men hurt me. He’ll want to do the hurting himself. Because he’s fooling himself if he believes he doesn’t do me harm.
And as the ring sears my skin, the thorns like sharp little teeth every time I make a fist, I sit here unable to wrap my brain around this. To understand this new turn of events.
I’ll be his wife? Why? What’s the point? Isn’t he going to kill me when my year is up?
“Time for you to go, sweetheart.”
I gasp. Damian’s mouth is against my ear, his breath tickling it.
He draws me to my feet as the men begin to chatter among themselves, only a few watching me as I rise, and I wonder why he chose this dress for me. This dress which leaves me vulnerable in its delicacy. Chainmail would be more appropriate around these men. I wonder why he had me primped and readied all afternoon for these few minutes.
But I realize I don’t care about that as much as I do about getting out of here. Getting away from them. All of them.
When I’m on my feet, Damian turns me to face him. His expression is shuttered, but in his eyes, I see something. A sort of delight, victory perhaps.
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