Chapter 3
Chapter three
Selene
Running isn’t supposed to feel like surrender, but that’s exactly how I feel standing in the middle of my crappy apartment, a half-packed suitcase on the bed, and a thousand bad ideas swirling in my head.
Losing my job was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Now the debts are piling up so fast, I can almost hear them laughing at me from the mailbox.
As it stands, I have to leave New York immediately if I don’t want to be caught as an illegal immigrant. Now that I have no means to pay the lenders, they’ll come for me in every way possible, and if they involve the law, they’ll find out my real name and identity.
That, I cannot let happen.
Ramirez finding me also means my cover is automatically blown. Whoever murdered my father will know they failed to exterminate the Vasquez bloodline and will definitely come for me.
The funny thing now is, I have absolutely no idea where I’m going. I grab a handful of clothes, toss them back down, pacing in tight, angry circles. Am I really about to skip town like a coward just because life sucker punched me?
God, I hate this feeling of the damsel in distress when I’m supposed to be the bitch who saves herself. Sinking onto the edge of the bed, I bury my face in my hands and groan.
The phone buzzing on the nightstand jerks my mind out of my spiral. It’s an unknown number. My patience is thin right now, so I snatch it up and bark, “What?” without even pretending to be polite.
A cool, professional woman’s voice cuts through the line.
“Mr. Cortez would like to see you at La Rosa Nera. He’s in a meeting now, but he’s sent his men to escort you personally.”
The call ends before I can tell her exactly what I think of her boss’s manners.
I stare at the screen for a second, my gut twisting dangerously with curiosity.
Cortez is definitely not a man you ignore, but I wonder why he’s suddenly interested in seeing me after he fired me in the first place…
and why he has the audacity to send men here before letting me acquiesce to the meeting. I guess I’ll find out.
***
La Rosa Nera isn’t just another club. It’s the kind of place where New York’s richest come to drink five-thousand-dollar champagne and pretend their lives aren’t empty.
The outside is all sleek black glass and gold accents, understated but screaming with wealth if you know how to look.
The marble entrance gleams under soft, flattering lights.
Inside, the air is clean but chilled, carrying the faintest smell of old money.
Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over the sprawling main floor, where women in couture dresses and men in tailored suits lounge like gods among mortals.
There’s no thumping bass or cheap tricks here, just live jazz humming from a corner.
One of Cortez’s minions, who drove me here, falls into step beside me without so much as a word. I let him lead me deeper into the club, heart hammering, chin lifted, pretending like I know what I’m doing here.
Fake it till you make it!
We slip through a velvet-curtained hallway that feels like stepping out of reality and into another world.
The deeper we go, the quieter it gets, until all that’s left is the sound of my sandals clicking on polished floors.
When we stop at a black double door, my stomach knots itself into a thousand tiny fists.
The man opens the door, and there he is, Cortez Donatelli, sprawled behind a massive desk.
His black shirt stretches over broad shoulders, stopping before his elbows, tattoos curling down his arms. His brown eyes pin me to the spot with one lazy sweep.
He doesn’t smile or gesture for me to sit; he just watches like a lion deciding if he’s hungry.
The office is pure intimidation, with dark woods, buttery leather, and expensive art. A sleek bar glitters in the corner, and a giant painting of a wolf dominates the wall behind him, looking scary and savage.
“Ms. Vasquez,” he rumbles smoothly, his strong biceps deliciously visible. I avert my gaze and lean against the doorframe instead of entering, crossing my arms and raising a brow. He has done his due diligence. I wonder what else he knows about me other than my last name.
“Nice place. Little heavy on the supervillain vibes, but hey, everyone needs a hobby.”
“Get inside.” His command is bland, leaving no space for any sarcasm.
Nevertheless, I take my chances. “It should be ‘have a seat,’” I correct him, flicking my nails as if the chipped polish is suddenly interesting to look at. “But I guess manners aren’t your thing.”
I can feel his gaze on me, and when I look at him, he’s not amused. His expression is dry, fingers steepled against the desk.
“Now.” Something tells me if he says it again, I won’t like the way he enforces it. I hold his gaze and deliberately let eternity pass—just because I can—then shrug and begrudgingly enter, shutting the door with a loud thud.
His smooth, sharp jaw clenches at the act, but he doesn’t say anything.
“So what’s this summons about?” I drag my fingers along the edge of his desk. The flash in his eyes tells me he doesn’t like it, but he’s an arrogant prick, so he deserves whatever I throw at him. “Am I getting my job back, or do you want to render an apology?”
He gives me a once-over, eyes briefly stopping on my chest. “So you have issues shutting both the door and your mouth.”
Ouch!
Despite his response, I keep at my tone and flash him an insincere smile. “Oh, look, he speaks more than two sentences.”
There’s a beat of silence where I half expect him to get pissed. Instead, there’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “You’re sharper than most.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” My eyes trail the delicious tattoos on his arm.
“Careful, Princessa,” his gaze narrows darkly on me. “Compliments make men like me dangerous.”
The low tone in which he says it reminds me of our night of passion. Big dick…big energy.
“Arrogant, rude, and cocky. Makes me wonder what else is on the list.” I tilt my head.
He rises to his full, towering height, moving with the lazy, dangerous grace of a man who’s never once lost a fight. “Sit the fuck down, Selene.”
Against my will, I oblige.
My breath is in my throat as he plants his hands against the table and leans over the desk, toward me, lips barely inches from mine. I don’t want him to see the stupid blush creeping up my neck, so I quickly sit.
“Tell me all you know about your father’s route.” His face is drawn in a tight frown.
I’m taken aback by the question, but I act dense. “The only route I know is the one he’s taken to hell. How long does it take to get to Hades anyway?”
The sound of his labored breath fills the room. If looks were guns, I’d have seven bullets to my chest by now. But all I care about right now is what he needs that piece of information for. Who exactly is this man?
“All it takes is one fucking word and you’re back in the hands of Ramwell,” he grits.
“Ramirez.” My stomach tightens as I correct. I can’t believe he’s threatening me right now. “Is that a threat? I didn’t think you’d stoop so low.”
A loud sound strikes my ear when he slams a fist against the table.
“Answer the damn question.” His nostrils flare. He’s oozing pure anger, and I swallow, but I won’t give in.
“Who are you?” It’s my turn to grit.
I’m not surprised when he doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits down and holds my gaze intensely. “You have something I need…information.”
“I’m honored to be of assistance,” I mock a bow.
The vein in his neck bulges. “Don’t test me.”
I know I’m playing with fire, still I lean in and scowl, “Then don’t threaten me.”
There’s a pause, then he speaks. “I’m making you an offer. I will protect you from Ramirez, and in return, you will give me what I want.”
My heart starts thumping wildly in my chest. Protection. This guy is obviously in the mafia. Only one with utmost authority can promise to protect.
“Who are you?” I repeat.
A dark, predatory glint flashes in his eyes. “If you insist…Cortez Donatelli, head of the Marino Mafia.”
All the air saps out of my lungs as I stare at him with wide eyes. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and I’m forced to stand. Shit.
Maybe if I’d snooped a little harder, cut beyond the strict confines of sexism my father put me in, I’d know Elio Donatelli was no longer the head.
“What?!” I finally let out.
“I’m a busy man, Selene. What’s it going to be?” His lips are pressed into a thin line.
“No.”
The same expression that tells me he doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer is present on his face. Does he really think that because he’s the don of the biggest mafia in New York, I’d welcome his ridiculous offer with open arms?
On second thought, though, maybe I should. Ramirez, my father’s enemies…Cortez is the only reasonable option for protection, but there’s a catch. He needs information that I don’t have. Plus, I wouldn’t want to be at the mercy of a devil like him.
“After you move in with me as my fiancée, your debts will be paid off.”
That’s a tempting off—
Wait.
“How did you know I owe—” I shake my head. “You know what, scratch that. Why on earth do you think I’d move in with you?”
The silence stretches for a long while, then a low, terrifying chuckle escapes his lips. “You’re a helpless illegal immigrant with no family, an idiot fiancé, and a rival mafia after you. You don’t have a choice.”
“He’s a forced betrothed,” I grit. He doesn’t say anything.
Anger flares inside me, and I spit with venom, “Fuck you.”
Abruptly, he rises, pulling out a document and moving before I can react, pinning me to the wall in a single stride. His body radiates heat and power, his voice dropping low like fire prepared to melt steel.
“You’ll sign the fucking document,” he growls.
It suddenly becomes hard for me to swallow as I glance between the document and his face. “At least tell me what’s going on.”
I’m only conceding to this because that stupid Ramirez blew my cover, and when Los Hierros—the rival mafia that tried to wipe out the entire Vasquez Mafia—knows I’m alive, they’ll stop at nothing to eliminate me. I’m not safe without the backing of a powerful don like him.
“Someone is messing with me, and to fuck them over, I need you.”
With a gulp, I take the papers from him.
Thankfully, he steps back, giving me space to read the document.
I scan the document, and it just outlines the contract for this agreement with everything he mentioned: paying debts, moving in, playing the part of my fiancé, and doing whatever it takes to protect me.
I also see that the contract would span six months.
That should give me ample time to restrategize and plan another escape once this is all over.
It seems pretty fair, but I know fair doesn’t exist in the books of men like him.
“My own rules,” I start, lifting my eyes to him. “We have separate rooms, no physical touching. N—”
“I’m not interested in you, Ms. Vasquez. Sign the document.”
I almost wince as he fixes me with a bored expression. It can’t get worse than this, can it?
I scribble my name across the designated spot.
“Whatever is useful will be brought to you…”
“What are you talking about?” I lift a brow as a smug smile crosses his lips.
“You’re going back to my mansion. Now.”
***
The moment the gates swing open and I catch sight of the mansion, my breath hitches. It’s not just a house, it’s a fortress carved in marble and stone.
Well-trimmed gardens line the grounds, giving the environment a breathtaking look.
After passing through a never ending driveway lined with trees on both sides, the Lexus I’m in finally comes to a halt in front of what I believe is the main entrance. One of the men in black throws the door open for me.
My boots echo on the stone floor, announcing my arrival. Beautiful marbled steps lead up to the front door.
My heart skips a beat. I make my way on each of them, heart pounding behind my mask of calm.
I can’t let him or anyone else see the fear in my eyes.
Not after everything I’ve just escaped. I ran from one devil, only to land in the arms of another, and now, as I cross his threshold, I wonder if I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.
My mouth hangs open once the giant wooden doors are pulled in by the porter. Golden chandeliers glint like diamonds overhead.
I should be grateful. This place offers luxury, protection, and power. But it’s also a cage, and I don’t know the rules yet. But I do know from experience that there’ll be lots of them—after all, this is a mafia don’s abode. They always have rules, especially for women.
One wrong move, one wrong word, and I could die here, just like that. I square my shoulders and walk deeper into the lion’s den, taking in his artwork, portraits, and exotic furniture.
I’m still taking everything in when his voice reaches me. “Maria, the caretaker, will see you to your room.”
What a gentleman, I want to snark when he interrupts me, moving closer until he steps into my personal bubble. “Lie to me again, I’ll make sure you don’t see the next day,” he growls.
There’s anger in his eyes. I don’t need anything to know he’s talking about my name. That’s the only thing I’ve lied about…for now.
Without another word, he steps back and walks the opposite way. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
If I’m going to survive under Cortez Donatelli’s roof, I have to become colder and smarter, like I was with Dad.
Because if there’s anything I’ve learned from being my father’s daughter, it’s that fear won’t save me.
It’ll only bury me.