Chapter 15 #2
I nod. “Her doctor called me as soon as she was diagnosed. I always monitor my… investments.” I pause when she flinches at the last word. “Sophia contacted me within a week and explained herself.”
Though I don’t know whether it’s good for Alina to know this or not, I tell her everything that happened. How her mom kept me updated on the progress, the lack of money to pay her monthly due to me once the medical bills started rolling in.
The one thing I don’t tell her is that after the diagnosis, Sophia never tried to get me to use the bakery instead of her daughter as collateral. I wouldn’t have allowed the switch, which is probably why she didn’t ask.
Alina nods slowly, absorbing this. Her fingers tighten around her glass. “Do you feel guilty?” she asks next. “About taking me, keeping me here against my will?”
I meet her gaze directly, unflinchingly. “No, I don’t.” The truth falls between us, hard and immovable as stone. “I don’t feel guilt over collecting what’s owed to me. It’s business, Alina. Nothing personal.”
When she scowls, I wonder if she expected me to lie, to offer some hollow comfort about regret or necessity. But I promised honesty, and that’s what she’ll get.
She takes another sip of whiskey, larger this time, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. The silence stretches between us, charged with unspoken thoughts. When she finally speaks again, her voice is softer, uncertain.
“Why did you…” she starts, then stops, color blooming across her cheeks. She takes a deep breath. “Why did you want to kiss me that first night?”
The question catches me off guard. “Because I’m attracted to you,” I reply honestly. She rolls her eyes, making it clear she doesn’t believe me. “Why are you questioning that kiss and not the ones since?” This doesn’t make sense to me.
Smiling, she flashes her dimples at me. “It’s not your turn to ask questions.”
Growling, I pin her with my gaze. “I don’t fucking care. Answer me.”
Lifting her chin, her pale blue eyes flash with… is that anger? “No.”
I set my glass down and approach her. I position myself between her legs, my hands coming to rest on the arms of her chair as I cage her in without touching. Her breath quickens, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Raffaele…” she whispers, uncertainty and something else—something darker, needier—threading through my name.
“I am,” I say, my voice dropping to a growl. “I’m very fucking attracted to you. And you need to start believing that.”
I don’t give her time to respond. I capture her mouth with mine, one hand moving to cup the back of her neck. I press harder, deeper, my tongue sweeping inside to taste her.
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, half surprise, half surrender. Her hands flutter at her sides before she loops her arms around my neck. Her touch is tentative at first, then firmer as the kiss continues.
I slide my free hand up her thigh, feeling the heat of her through the denim of her jeans. She trembles beneath my touch, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into me, her mouth moving more confidently against mine.
When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her eyes glazed with desire. I can feel my own control fraying at the edges, my body demanding more than just a kiss.
“Do you believe me now?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.
She nods wordlessly, but as I look into her eyes, I’m not so sure.
I step back, putting distance between us before I take more than she’s ready to give. “Best out of three,” I say, nodding toward the chessboard. “Let’s play again.”
Her brow furrows in confusion at the sudden shift. “Now?”
I reset the pieces with methodical precision, each one clicking against the board with finality. “Yes, now.” I meet her gaze, letting her see the hunger there, the determination. “And this time, I won’t be so distracted.”
She shoots me a small smile, but it feels forced. I don’t blame her considering what I just told her about Sophia. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know how much that upset her. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her.
But considering I’m playing to make her my wife, I don’t intend on starting our marriage by lying to her.
Instead of opening, she shakes her head. “I don’t want to play again.”
“No?” I ask, arching a brow.
“No.” Licking her lips, she meets my gaze, hers determined. “How about we just talk?”
Since I have a very pressing question that I need her to answer, it doesn’t exactly fit my plans. “Hmm,” I muse aloud.
“Come on,” she urges.
“Fine,” I concede, picking up my queen and turning it between my fingers. “But I still want to ask you something. What would you do to achieve those dreams you told me about? To keep the bakery and have a family of your own?”
She blinks, clearly thrown by the change in direction. “I don’t understand the question.”
“It’s simple,” I say, setting the queen down and picking up her fallen king instead. “How far would you go? What would you sacrifice? What lines would you cross?”
She shrugs, genuinely perplexed. “I don’t think about it like that. I just work hard.”
Her answer is so guileless, so devoid of calculation, that I almost laugh. In my world, every dream comes with a price tag, every desire with a ledger of what must be sacrificed to obtain it. Her straightforward approach to life’s ambitions is foreign to me, almost refreshing in its simplicity.
She looks nothing like the women I’ve been with before. Creatures who approached relationships like business mergers. There’s something authentic about Alina Brewer that I find myself drawn to despite every instinct warning me against attachments.
Or perhaps because of those warnings.
“Okay,” I say, setting down the chess piece and looking directly into her eyes. “Would you marry me to see your dreams come true?”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and unexpected. Her mouth falls open slightly, her eyes widening in shock. For several seconds, she doesn’t move or breathe. She’s a perfect statue of disbelief.
“What?” she finally manages, the word barely audible.
“You heard me,” I say calmly, as if I’ve just asked her to pass the salt rather than proposed a life-altering arrangement. “Would you? Will you?”
She shakes her head, not in refusal but in confusion. “I don’t… why would you… is this some kind of joke?”
“I never joke about business matters,” I tell her, leaning back in my chair. “And this would be very much a business arrangement.”
“Business?” she echoes, sounding dazed. “What kind of business involves marriage?”
“The practical kind,” I explain, watching her reactions carefully.
She stares at me, still trying to process my words. “What are you talking about?”
“You want to know what’s in it for you?” I ask, a small smile playing at my lips.
“As my wife, you could eventually return to your bakery. Not immediately, but in time. Once I know I can trust you, you can do whatever you want. You’d even have financial security.
Protection. A home that would actually be yours, not just a gilded cage. ”
I pause, watching understanding slowly dawn in her eyes. Then I deliver the line I know will hit hardest.
“And I would give you children, Alina. The family you’ve always wanted.”
Her sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve struck the mark. Her fingers twist nervously in her lap, and a flush spreads across her cheeks.
“You can’t just… that’s not how…” She struggles to form a coherent response.
“Why not?” I challenge. “People marry for worse reasons every day. Financial security. Social climbing. To please their families.” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “At least with me, you know exactly what you’re getting. No false promises. No romantic illusions that will eventually shatter.”
She shakes her head again, more forcefully this time. “You’re serious,” she says after what feels like an eternity. “Oh, God. You’re not joking. I… I don’t know if that’s better or worse.” The last part is muttered to herself.
“I’m not joking,” I confirm.
I watch Alina’s face as she processes my offer, tracking the subtle shifts in her expression. Surprise melts into confusion, then wariness, her blue eyes searching mine for the catch she believes must exist.
She’s right to be suspicious. There’s always a price, always a fine print.
Everything I’ve said is true, though. As my wife, she’d have more freedom. And as my wife, there’s very little I wouldn’t give her or let her do once she’s proven herself to me. As the Debt Collector, I always pay my own debts.
When—not if—Alina says yes, she’s the one doing something for me. Sure, it would also benefit her. But I’m the one who needs to get married. So the debt is mine to repay.
“Can I have some time to think about it?” she asks finally, her voice barely audible over the dying crackle of the fire.
Although I want to demand an answer now, I nod. “Yes,” I rasp. “I’ll be gone for the next couple of days. Take those to think it through,” I reply, rising from my seat.
The whiskey has left a pleasant warmth in my blood, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that floods me when I look at her.
This is a proposal of convenience and nothing more. What I feel for Alina is nothing more than physical attraction, and that’s enough.
“Where are you going?” Curiosity sparkles in her bright blues.
I chuckle softly. “Is that my future wife or my captive asking?” I query.
“Your captive.”
“Then it’s none of your business,” I smirk.
She gapes at me, her brows shooting high up her forehead in shock. “And if I said it was your future wife?”
“Then I’d tell you.” Standing up, I gesture toward the door. “Come, I’ll walk you back to your room.”
She stands, smoothing down her shirt. Taking one step, she stumbles. I reach out to steady her, my fingers wrapping around her upper arm.
“Nerves or whiskey?” I ask wryly.
Licking her lips, she looks up at me. “A bit of both,” she admits.
Fuck, the look in her eyes screams ‘kiss me’ and I’m seconds from giving in. With each step toward her room, I’m fighting to remember why I don’t just ravage her mouth again and give her another orgasm to remember me by. Preferably with my mouth this time.
But there’s no fucking time to indulge. Not when I’m meeting with the Russians early in the morning. Besides, I don’t want her to blurt out something stupid while she’s deep in the throes of passion. I want Alina to really consider my proposal.
The walk to her room is quiet, tense with unspoken questions. I expect her to interrogate me about my proposal, to demand details, guarantees. But she simply walks beside me, her eyes fixed on the path ahead.
“What if I say no?” she asks suddenly, her voice small but not defeated.
“Then nothing changes,” I say with a shrug. “You remain here. As my captive.”
“And if I say yes?” The question comes out barely above a whisper.
I smile, slow and deliberate. “Then everything changes.”
She opens her mouth as if to ask another question, then closes it again. “Why are you doing this? What do you get out of marrying me?”
I reach down, tilting her chin up with one finger so she has to meet my gaze. “You can ask me that the next time you win a game against me,” I tell her, my voice low and intimate. “And I’ll answer honestly.”