Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
VIOLA
The way Mario barged into the library scared me more than I want to admit.
The sound of his knuckles rapping sharply against the heavy oak door jolted through me like electricity, making the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand.
A cold rush flooded my veins as pure, primal fear left a metallic taste on my tongue.
My pulse spiked so fast I could feel it hammering in my throat, in my wrists, behind my eyes.
Every instinct screamed that this man, only two years older than me but strutting like he already owned every inch of this house and me, could drag me down into a pit even darker than what I’d already survived.
I can see it in his eyes. It will be so easy for him to dispose of my body in a vat of acid if I do not behave in the way he expects of me.
Yet here I am, standing only inches from Ricci Santori—the man who just told me what he wants in exchange for saving me is…
me—and I feel no spike of fear that makes my knees lock.
No gut-clenching dread that leaves me tasting bile.
No instinctive urge to step back, or to put a great distance between us as possible.
In fact, I’m interested. Wary—always wary, because trust is a luxury I lost years ago—but I’m not scared.
Why?
The question spins through my mind like smoke, slow and impossible to catch, while I study him closer than I ever have before, letting my eyes linger in a way I’ve never dared, never allowed myself.
He is dangerous, but by God, he’s beautiful in a way that makes my breath catch.
Everything about him is undeniably masculine.
The sharp cut of his jaw, shadowed with the faintest hint of stubble, the hard line of his mouth that rarely softens into anything resembling warmth.
Those piercing, whiskey eyes—amber and gold flecks that seem to see straight through every wall I’ve built, every layer of ice I’ve wrapped myself in.
His glossy dark hair falls over his forehead in a way that makes my fingers itch to brush it back, to feel the texture of it under my fingertips.
Tall and broad, he is the most powerful person in our world right now, the newly crowned Godfather.
So easily he could kill and dispose of my dead body, and yet I am not afraid of him.
The thoughts circle and circle, tightening like a noose, until I force myself to stop and consider things logically instead of letting my body betray me with this strange, warm pull low in my belly, this unfamiliar heat that makes my skin flush and my thighs press together.
The facts are brutally simple. Even in my wildest dream, I did not dare to pray for such an outcome.
His name and protection. Freedom from my father.
The ability to walk away with no consequences.
Unheard of in la cosa nostra. It’s almost like a gift from heaven.
This is clearly my best and only option.
If I walk out of this house without his protection, I walk out with nothing.
Not a dollar in my name, not a safe place to lay my head, not even my mother’s weak arms to fall into.
She’d hand me over again in a heartbeat if it meant clearing another debt for my father.
I’ll probably be captured and dead within a year, or even worse and more likely now that I am no longer a prized virgin, passed around between men, used and abused until I’m completely broken, then discarded like a cheap doll.
But here in front of me stands a powerful man, telling me I can walk away at any time I choose. Yes, it sounds too good to be true, and men like him don’t make promises they don’t intend to twist, but I realize I am not in a position to bargain.
I picture Mario’s greedy eyes, the way they’d devoured me like I was already his to take; the lawyer’s slick offer of a penthouse and “freedom”. If I’m going to give myself away again—if my body is the only currency I have left—it might as well be to the most powerful man I can find.
At least with him there’s a chance I won’t wake up bruised and bleeding.
I must protect my heart though. I must stay cold and detached, keep any real feeling locked away behind the thick strong walls I’ve built so carefully…
Until the day comes when I can make up some excuse and leave.
That’s the plan. That’s the only way I’ll make it through this without losing what little of myself I have left.
I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and meet his gaze head-on. “I accept,” I say. “But all terms must be laid down clearly in a contract that we will both sign. No loopholes. No surprises. Everything has to be clarified in writing.”
His lips start to twist upwards.
And my heart skips several beats—actually stutters in my chest like it forgot how to work for a second.
I’ve never seen him smile before. Not once in all the years I’ve known him.
This one seems so genuine—slow and real, softening the hard lines of his face until he looks almost…
Breathtaking. It steals the air from my lungs and sends a warm flush racing over my skin, as heat pools low in my belly despite the warning I’ve given myself to remain utterly detached emotionally.
He shakes his head, still smiling faintly, the expression so rare it feels like a secret meant only for me. “My word is worth much more than your legal contract.”
I hang my head with disappointment. Ah, it was too good to be true.
“However,” he says softly. “If a contract will give you peace of mind, then sure. Go ahead and draw one up. I’ll take a look at it, and if all’s well, I’ll sign it.”
He agreed. I can’t believe he agreed. The relief is so sudden and overwhelming it makes my knees weak. I nod, swallowing hard against the stone in my throat.
“Is that all?” he asks, voice low, almost tender.
I nod again, not trusting myself to speak.
He gives me a look then, like he’s seeing the real me under all the armor, the terrified girl I’ve hidden away for so long—and it hits somewhere deep inside me.
I didn’t know there was still anything soft in me that was still capable of feeling anything at all.
Then he turns around and walks away, the heavy library door closing softly behind him with a finality that echoes in my chest.
I stare at the closed door in disbelief. Once again, it seems the trajectory of my life has been changed with a few words from a man. But where will it take me? Toward yet another cage disguised as safety… or, somehow, toward actual freedom?
I don’t know, but I must keep my wits about me.