Chapter 10
Marcus’s office sits on the top floor of a glass tower that gleams like a beacon in the downtown district.
From the outside, Quintana Financial Consulting looks like any other legitimate business, which, I suppose, is exactly the point.
The elevator ride to the thirty-second floor gives me too much time to think about Dom and the taste of his kiss and the promise in his eyes.
The receptionist, a polished blonde who probably costs more than most people’s cars, directs me to Marcus’s private office with the kind of smile that never quite reaches the eyes.
I wonder if she knows what her boss really does for a living or if she’s just another layer in the elaborate fiction he’s constructed.
He’s a former intelligence operative who handles the financial and technological side of the fight club. He launders money through a network of legitimate businesses, but this one is the only business to share his name.
Marcus’s door is solid mahogany, expensive and imposing. I knock twice before he bids me enter.
The office is exactly what I expected—understated luxury.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, while abstract art adorns the walls in carefully calculated positions.
Marcus sits behind a massive desk that probably costs more than most people make in a year, his attention focused on multiple monitors displaying scrolling numbers and complex financial data.
He looks up when I enter, and I’m struck again by how different he is from Dom’s raw intensity or Kieran’s sharp elegance.
Marcus is control personified, every detail of his appearance carefully curated from his perfectly styled hair to his custom-tailored suit.
Even his tie is knotted with mathematical precision.
“Raven.” He gestures to one of the leather chairs across from his desk. “Thank you for coming.”
“Did I have a choice?”
His smile is slight, almost imperceptible. “There’s always a choice. The question is whether you’re willing to live with the consequences of making it.”
I settle into the chair, hyperaware of the way his dark eyes track my movements.
There’s something predatory about Marcus’s attention, but it’s different from the others.
Where Dom watches me like he’s protecting me and Kieran studies me like I’m a puzzle to solve, Marcus observes me like I’m a complex equation he’s still working to understand.
“You said there were things about my father I need to know.”
“There are. Have you reviewed the footage I gave you?”
My mouth turns dry as I nod. Marcus has reason to make the claims he did.
He turns one of his monitors toward me, the screen filling with financial records and transaction histories. “Your father’s empire was larger than you realized, Raven. Much larger.”
The numbers on the screen are staggering—accounts in offshore banks, shell companies, and investments spanning multiple continents.
My father’s criminal organization wasn’t just a local operation.
It was an international network with tentacles reaching into legitimate businesses, government contracts, and financial institutions.
“This is impossible,” I breathe, leaning forward to get a better look. “The Sterling Syndicate couldn’t have just absorbed all of this when they killed him. I know they split some with the Kowalskis, but…”
“The Sterling Syndicate didn’t.” Marcus’s fingers dance across his keyboard, bringing up another screen. “Seventy percent of your father’s assets were transferred to secure accounts in the weeks before his death. Someone knew what was coming and moved to protect the empire’s financial foundation.”
“Someone?”
“Your father had a contingency plan. Multiple contingency plans, actually.” Marcus stands and moves around the desk, coming to stand beside my chair.
His proximity is distracting. I can smell him beneath his expensive cologne, and my pulse quickens.
“He knew there were threats to his life and made arrangements to ensure his legacy would survive his death.”
“What kind of arrangements?”
Marcus leans over me to point at something on the screen, his arm brushing against my shoulder. The contact sends electricity shooting through my nerves, and I have to fight to keep my breathing steady.
“Shell companies, trust funds, investment portfolios—all designed to preserve and grow the family fortune while remaining invisible to rival organizations.” His voice is close to my ear, intimate in a way that makes my skin tingle.
“He was planning for your future, Raven. Making sure you’d have the resources to reclaim what was yours when the time came. ”
“How do you know all this?”
Marcus goes very still, his hand pausing on the desk beside me. When he speaks, his voice is careful and controlled. “Because I helped him set it up.”
I twist in my chair to face him, suddenly aware of how close we are, how his dark eyes have gone intense behind those designer glasses. “You worked for my father?”
“I worked with your father. There’s a difference.
” He straightens slightly but doesn’t move away, keeping me trapped between his body and the chair.
“Vincent Blackwood was a visionary, Raven. He understood that the criminal underworld was evolving, becoming more sophisticated, more connected to legitimate business interests. He needed someone who could navigate both worlds seamlessly.”
“And that someone was you.”
“Among others.” His hand comes up to rest on the back of my chair, his knuckles brushing against my shoulder. “Your father trusted very few people completely. I was fortunate enough to be one of them.”
“Then why didn’t you help him when the Sterling Syndicate came for him?” I ask even though Marcus implicated Jacek Kowalski.
Pain flashes across Marcus’s features, so brief I almost miss it. “Because he ordered me not to. His final instructions were clear—protect his daughter, preserve his legacy, and wait for the right moment to strike back.”
“You’ve been watching me for years because my father told you to?”
“I’ve been watching you for years because I promised him I would.” Marcus’s other hand comes up to frame my face, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. “But that’s not why I’m still watching you.”
The touch sends heat spiraling through my body, and I find myself leaning into it despite every instinct telling me to maintain distance. “Why then?”
“Because somewhere along the way, protecting Vincent Blackwood’s daughter became less important than protecting you.” His voice drops to barely above a whisper. “Because watching you from afar for five years has been the sweetest kind of torture, and I’m tired of denying what I want.”
“Marcus—”
“Do you know what it’s like to see someone every day and not be able to touch them?
To know their routines, their favorite coffee shop, their preferred route home, but never be able to approach?
” His thumb moves to trace my lower lip, and I can’t help the way I part my lips at the contact.
“I’ve watched you rebuild yourself from nothing, watched you train and fight and become the woman your father always knew you could be.
I’ve been in love with your strength for years. ”
I suck in a breath. “You don’t even know me.”
“Don’t I?” His smile is soft and knowing.
“You bite your lower lip when you’re thinking.
You take your coffee black with exactly one sugar.
You have nightmares about your father’s death at least twice a week, but you never let them show on your face the next day.
You’ve read every book in your apartment at least twice, and you have a weakness for old detective movies that you watch when you can’t sleep. ”
Each observation hits like a revelation, proof of just how closely he’s been monitoring my life. The thought should be disturbing, invasive, but instead it sends warmth spreading through my chest.
“That’s not love,” I whisper. “That’s surveillance.”
“Is it?” He leans closer, his forehead almost touching mine.
“Then what do you call the fact that I’ve eliminated three separate threats to your safety without you ever knowing they existed?
What do you call the scholarship that mysteriously appeared to pay for your self-defense classes or the job opportunities that opened up exactly when you needed them? ”
My heart stops. “You’ve been—”
“Taking care of you in every way I could without revealing myself.” His lips are inches from mine now, his breath warm against my skin. “Your father asked me to protect you, Raven. He never said I couldn’t fall in love with you while I did it.”
The space between us disappears as he kisses me, his mouth covering mine with gentle precision.
Where Dom was consuming fire and Kieran controlled intensity, Marcus is thorough exploration.
He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, like he’s been waiting years for this moment and wants to savor every second.
His hands slide into my hair, careful not to disturb the intricate braid, while mine fist in the fabric of his expensive shirt. He tastes like mint and possibilities, like secrets and promises rolled into one intoxicating package.
His tongue pushes against my lips, and I part them, giving him access, surprised by the intensity of my own need. This is Marcus—calculating, controlled Marcus—and yet there’s nothing calculated about the way he holds me, nothing controlled about the soft sound he makes when I suck his tongue.
“Raven,” he breathes against my mouth.
“Is this part of protecting me?” I ask, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.
“No.” His honesty is both brutal and beautiful.
“This is pure selfishness. I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I saw you walk into that coffee shop on Fifth Street, wearing that ridiculous oversized sweater and looking like you could take on the world with nothing but attitude and determination. ”