Chapter 3
three
. . .
Fabio
The limo glides through Vegas like a shark through dark water.
City lights streak past the windows—neon blues and pinks and golds smearing into a blur that can't hold my attention.
Not when she's here. Not when my palm rests on her soft knee and her scent fills the car—vanilla and wildflowers.
A scent I'll hunt for the rest of my fucking life.
She's looking up at me with those wide brown eyes, questions swimming in them, but all I can think is: mine.
All I can feel is her warm weight against my chest. All I know is I'd burn this city to the ground before I'd let her go.
"Let me tell you what I want." I keep my voice low, steady. "I want to take care of you. Give you everything you could ever need."
"Why?"
"Because you're mine now."
"We don't even know each other."
"We have time."
She shifts on my lap, and this time there's no hiding my body's response. Her eyes widen slightly as she feels me harden beneath her. I don't apologize for it. Don't try to explain it away. It's the truth of what she does to me, and I won't pretend otherwise.
"I'll make sure you never want for anything, angel. Not ever." It's not seduction, but an oath—unbreakable. "That's my vow to you. More binding than the one in that chapel."
She's silent for a long moment, processing my words. I read every flicker of emotion in her eyes—fear, confusion, but also something else. Something warmer.
"I don't need a provider." Her chin lifts slightly. "I have a job. An apartment. A life."
"And you can keep all of it, if that's what you want."
"But?"
Smart girl. She hears what I'm not saying.
"But I want you with me."
"In your bed." It's not a question.
I run my hand up her arm, feeling goosebumps rise beneath my palm. "Eventually. When you're ready. Not before."
Surprise flashes across her face. She expected demands.
Force, maybe. Instead, I'm offering patience.
It's shocking me too, if I'm honest. Patience isn't my strong suit.
Decades of iron control built an empire, but this trembling girl has already stolen the reins—and disturbingly, I love the feel of her holding them.
"What if I'm never ready?" she challenges, but her dilated pupils betray her.
My lips curve into a small smile. "You will be."
The limo slows, turning onto a private drive that leads to my building. Sharon looks out the window, takes in the gleaming tower piercing the Vegas skyline.
"Is that..."
"Home," I finish for her. "For now."
Her hand lands on my chest, above my heart. Testing. Feeling its beat. I wonder if she can tell it's pounding harder than it should be, harder than it has in years. Harder than when bullets have flown past my head.
"I'm scared," she whispers, the admission so honest it makes my chest ache.
I cover her hand with mine, press it more firmly against my heart. "Don't be."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who just accidentally married a stranger."
"I'm not a stranger." I bring her hand to my lips, kiss her palm. "I'm your husband."
The word feels right in my mouth. Feels like something I've been waiting to say my whole life without knowing it.
Her breath catches. "This is crazy."
"Yes."
"We should get an annulment."
"If that's what you want tomorrow, I won't stop you."
"And tonight?"
"Tonight," I say, as the car stops in front of my building, "I just want you to feel safe. To rest. To know that you're protected."
The driver opens the door. I shift Sharon carefully off my lap, steadying her before I step out and offer my hand to help her from the car. She takes it, hesitant but trusting, and something primal in me roars with satisfaction.
She's small beside me, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder. Delicate. Breakable. And now she's mine to protect.
I guide her inside, my hand at the small of her back—not pushing, just steadying. Reassuring. The security team in the lobby straightens as I enter, eyes widening slightly at the sight of Sharon beside me. I nod once, a clear message: this woman is under my protection now.
In the private elevator that leads to my penthouse, Sharon's fingers curl into the fabric of my suit jacket. Just slightly. Just enough to tell me she's still nervous.
"I promise," I tell her softly, "you have nothing to fear from me."
She looks up at me, those brown eyes searching mine. "What if I don't want your promises? What if I just want to go home?"
"Then I'll take you there myself."
"Really?"
"Yes."
But when the elevator doors open to reveal my penthouse—all glass and steel and lights of the city spread out below like a carpet of stars—she doesn't ask to leave. She steps forward, drawn by the view, and I follow behind, watching her discover my kingdom.
And it is hers now. Everything I have. Everything I am.
I only pray she'll choose to keep it.