Chapter 1 Giuliana #2
Broken windows stare down at me like dead eyes, and weeds grow through cracks in the loading dock.
My headlights sweep across rusted metal siding and a parking lot full of potholes deep enough to swallow a tire.
I park next to an expensive black sedan and check the time. 11:58 p.m.
Before I know it, I’m outside the car, shivering in the night breeze.
I should have brought a jacket. I should have changed into something other than an oversized baseball shirt and ratty gray pajama pants.
“You can do this Gigi,” I whisper to myself, my teeth chattering. “You’re brave. It’s for Dad.”
The warehouse’s front door stands slightly ajar, held open by a wooden wedge. Beyond it, there’s only darkness and the sound of my own thundering heartbeat.
I push the door open and step inside.
The vast space swallows the sound of my footsteps, turning them into whispers that echo back from the rafters sixty feet above.
A single spotlight burns in the center of the warehouse floor, creating a harsh circle of white light surrounded by an ocean of shadows.
Industrial chains hang from the ceiling, and the air smells of rust and motor oil and something else I don’t want to identify.
Inside that circle of light, my father kneels on the concrete floor.
His hands are bound behind his back with zip ties, and his face is so swollen and bruised I almost don’t recognize him.
One eye is completely shut, the other barely open through the purple swelling.
Blood has dried in dark streaks down his chin from his split lip, and his shirt is torn and stained with more of it.
“Dad!” I cry out. I start forward, but a voice from the darkness stops me cold.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
The man who steps into the light moves like a predator—all controlled grace and coiled power wrapped in an expensive suit.
He’s tall, maybe six-two, with dark hair that looks like he just stepped out of a salon.
His face belongs in a magazine or on a movie screen, with sharp angles and perfect symmetry, except for the faint scar that runs along his left jawline.
But it’s his eyes that make me want to run.
They’re so cold they make the warehouse air feel tropical.
Everything about him screams danger.
From the way he holds himself to the casual indifference in his expression when he looks at my beaten father, this is not a man who loses sleep over other people’s suffering.
“Giuliana Conti.” He says my name like he’s tasting wine, rolling it around on his tongue to see if it meets his standards. “You’re exactly what I expected.”
Oh my god, he knows my name.
“Who are you?” I manage to choke out, though my throat feels like it’s closing up. “What do you want?”
“My name is Luca Marchetti.” He adjusts his cufflinks with the kind of precise movement that suggests violence is never far from his thoughts.
He looks me up and down, one eyebrow rising as he takes in my wardrobe. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “And what I want is very simple. Justice.”
He gestures toward my father with one elegant hand, and Dad’s one good eye finds mine across the circle of light.
There’s terror there, and shame, and something that looks like guilt.
What did you do, Dad?
“Your father owes me a debt,” Luca continues, his voice cultured and smooth. “A debt that’s been accumulating interest for a little over three years. Unfortunately, it’s the kind of debt that can’t be paid with money.”
“I don’t understand.” But I do understand, at least partially. Dad’s gambling has been getting worse since Mom died. The late-night phone calls, the men who come to his door at odd hours, the way he flinches whenever someone mentions his name too loudly in public.
This is all about gambling debts? Goddammit, Dad.
“How much does he owe you?” I ask, wanting to do anything to get my father out of harm’s way. “I can get money, I can—”
“This isn’t about money.” Luca’s voice cuts through my babbling. “This is about blood.”
He reaches into his jacket, and I tense, expecting a gun.
Instead, he pulls out a photograph and holds it where I can see it.
A young man with dark hair and kind eyes, laughing at something off-camera. He looks like he could be Luca’s brother.
“Marco Marchetti,” Luca says, and for just a moment, something that might be pain crosses across his perfect features before his face smooths out again.
“My cousin.” He puts the photograph away with the same careful movements he uses for everything else.
“Your father sold the information that got him killed.”
The warehouse seems to tilt around me. My worst nightmare is coming true. The secret I’ve carried for three years is finally catching up to us.
“That’s not,” I start to lie, to protect him the way I’ve been protecting him. “My father wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t he?” Luca’s smile is sharp enough to cut glass. He looks at my father like he’s shit under his shoe. “Antonio, tell your daughter what you did for fifty thousand dollars.”
My father’s voice is barely recognizable through his split lips and swollen face. “Gigi, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I—”
“Stop.” The word tears from my throat, raw and desperate. I already know this story. I lived through it once, three years ago. I never imagined it would come back like this. “Stop talking.”
“But he’s not going to stop,” Luca says conversationally. “Neither am I. Because you see, Giuliana, I’ve spent three years planning exactly how Antonio Conti is going to pay for what he took from me. And now, finally, I’ve found the perfect method.”
He takes a step closer, and I have to fight every instinct that tells me to run.
There’s nowhere to go.
Even if I could make it to the door, he’d catch me before I reached my car.
Men like Luca Marchetti don’t leave loose ends. Instead, I position myself in between Luca and my father.
Luca’s brow raises.
“I’m going to give you a choice.” His voice is almost gentle now, which somehow makes it infinitely more terrifying. “A very simple choice.”
“What kind of choice?” I ask desperately, although I dread to know what he’s going to say. Whatever it is, it won’t be good.
“You’re going to marry me.”
I actually stagger backward a step as the words wrap around me.
Luca smirks, clearly delighting in my shock. “Six weeks from tonight, you’ll walk down the aisle and become my wife. You’ll smile for the photographers and sign the papers and play the part of the loving spouse. And in exchange, your father gets to live.”
The warehouse is spinning now, the edges of my vision going dark. “That’s—that’s insane,” I get out, feeling my breathing pick up. “You can’t just—people don’t do that anymore. You can’t force someone to marry you.”
“I’m not forcing you.” Luca’s tone is reasonable, logical, like he’s explaining something obvious to a particularly slow child. “I’m offering you a trade. Your father’s life for your companionship. Refuse, and Antonio dies tonight while you watch.”
As if to emphasize his point, one of his men steps out of the shadows behind my father. The man is built like a professional wrestler, and the knife in his hand horrifies me.
“You have forty-eight hours to decide,” Luca continues, as if we are merely discussing the weather. “Use that time wisely. Think about whether your freedom is worth more to you than your father’s suffering.”
“And if I agree?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from someone else, someone braver and more composed than I feel. “What then?”
He smiles. “Then we’ll have a lovely wedding, and you’ll discover that being married to me isn’t the worst fate that could befall someone in your position.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can be very generous to those who don’t disappoint me.”
I swallow heavily, dread pooling in my stomach. “And if I refuse?” I nearly whisper.
The temperature in the warehouse seems to drop twenty degrees. “Then you’ll spend the rest of your very short life wishing you’d made a different choice.”
I’m dreaming—or in a nightmare. I can’t decide.
There’s no way I can do this.
Could I make a run for it?
Hop over into Michigan, slip into Canada, never to be seen again?
He turns to go, then pauses. “Oh, and Giuliana? Don’t even think about running.
I have people watching every airport, every bus station, every border crossing within five hundred miles.
Try to disappear, and I’ll take my disappointment out on everyone you’ve ever cared about.
Your friend Katie, for instance. Such a lovely girl.
It would be a shame if something happened to her. ”
The casual way he mentions Katie’s name makes my knees buckle.
Holy shit.
He knows everything about me.
Everyone I love is a potential target.
“Forty-eight hours,” he repeats, then he’s gone, melting back into the shadows like he was never there at all. The big man follows, leaving me alone with my father in the circle of harsh white light.
I run to Dad, dropping to my knees beside him.
My hands shake so badly I can barely grasp the zip ties binding his wrists.
The plastic digs into my fingers as I fumble with them, trying to find some way to break them loose.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over like a broken record. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. I never meant for this to happen—”
“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out.” I manage to get one tie loosened when I hear footsteps behind me.
Before I can turn, rough hands grab my shoulders and yank me backward. I crash onto the concrete floor, pain shooting through my palms as they scrape against the ground.
The big man from earlier—the one with the knife—strides past me toward my father.
“No!” I cry. “Wait, please—”
The man brutally hauls my father to his feet, Dad’s legs barely supporting his weight.
I scramble up and lunge forward, grabbing at my father’s arm.
The man’s elbow catches me in the chest, knocking the air from my lungs.
I stumble backward, gasping, but force myself forward again.
This time his hand shoots out and shoves me hard.
I go down, my head cracking against the concrete with enough force to make blinding lights explode across my vision.
“Dad!” I scream, tasting blood in my mouth as I try to push myself up. The world tilts sickeningly. “Let him go! You said—Luca said he’d live if I agreed!”
My father’s one good eye finds mine across the darkness, and I see everything in that look—terror, shame, and a resignation that breaks something inside me.
“He will live,” Luca’s voice comes from somewhere behind me. “As long as you keep your end of our bargain, Giuliana. But he stays with me. Insurance, you understand.”
“No! Please!” I’m crawling now, my legs not quite working right, still trying to reach them even though the man is already dragging my father toward the shadows. “I need to take him to a hospital. He needs—”
“He’ll receive medical attention,” Luca says dismissively.
The man looks back at me with dead eyes as I struggle to my feet. “Stay down,” he says flatly. It’s not a suggestion.
But I can’t. I won’t.
I lurch forward again, and this time his boot catches me in the ribs.
The pain is blinding, stealing what little breath I’d managed to recover.
I collapse, wheezing, watching through tears as my father disappears.
“Dad!” My voice comes out as barely a whisper now, my ribs screaming with each breath. “Dad!”
But there’s no answer except the sound of a door slamming somewhere, cutting off any hope of reaching him.
I lie there on the cold concrete, clutching my ribs, tasting blood as tears leak down my face.
My father is gone.
My last parent is gone.
Footsteps approach, and there’s the sense someone crouching beside me. The sharp smell of cologne fills my nostrils.
Luca.
He’s perfectly composed while I’m broken on the floor.
“Forty-eight hours,” he says quietly, almost gently, which somehow makes it worse. “Make your decision. Everything else depends on that.”
Then he’s gone too, his footsteps echoing away into nothing, leaving me alone in that circle of harsh light with my father’s blood still drying on the concrete and the taste of my own blood in my mouth.
I don’t know how long I lay there before I can finally drag myself to my feet and stagger to my car.
Every breath hurts.
Every movement is agony.
But none of it compares to the knowledge that my father is somewhere in Luca Marchetti’s control, and I’m powerless to save him.
As I drive away from the warehouse, I can feel eyes watching from the darkness.
Luca’s people, making sure I understand exactly how trapped I am.
Forty-eight hours to choose between my freedom and my father’s life.
Forty-eight hours to decide if I marry a monster.