Chapter 3
Nick
Istood on the front porch, waiting for the thug to arrive, the one that would ruin our lives in one way or another.
My father stood at my side, waiting for the consequences of his actions to finally catch up with him.
I wanted to hate him for what he’d done, I really did.
But now that I’d had a little time to think on it, I sort of understood.
I just wish it wasn’t my little sister that had to pay the price.
“You didn’t have to come out here,” Dad said quietly, not looking at me. “I could handle this myself.”
“Like you handled the loan?” The words came out sharper than I’d intended, but I didn’t take them back.
He flinched but didn’t argue. What could he say? We both knew I was right.
The sound of tires on gravel made us both turn.
A black SUV came up the drive, dust trailing behind it like a funeral procession.
It was too clean, too expensive. It was the kind of vehicle that had no business on a working ranch.
The Montana plates were a rental, probably picked up at the airport in Billings.
My gut clenched as the SUV rolled to a stop in front of the house.
The driver’s door opened and out stepped a man who looked like he’d walked straight out of a magazine.
Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark suit jacket over a white dress shirt, but with no tie, almost like he was making some token effort to dress down for the country.
His shoes alone probably cost more than my truck payment.
Dark hair, olive skin, and even from this distance I could see he had the kind of handsome face that would make any woman in Hell Creek take a second look.
This was Dante Valenti. The man who might become my sister’s husband.
I hated him on sight.
He moved with an easy confidence as he approached, like he owned the place already.
Maybe in his mind, he did. His dark eyes swept over the ranch.
He took in the barn, the fences, the house, cataloging each item with a businessman’s assessment.
When his gaze finally landed on us, something flickered across his face. Interest, maybe. Or calculation.
“Mr. Wesley,” he said, climbing the porch steps with his hand extended toward my father. His voice was smooth, educated, with just a trace of East Coast accent. “Dante Valenti. Thank you for meeting with me.”
Dad shook his hand, his rancher’s grip firm despite everything. “Mr. Valenti. This is my son, Nick.”
Those dark predatory eyes turned to me, and I felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing. Up close, he was even more striking—sharp jawline, full lips, the kind of looks that made me feel self-conscious about myself. I shoved the feeling down hard and took his offered hand.
His grip was strong, his palm warm against mine. We held eye contact maybe a second too long, something unreadable passing between us. Then he smiled. It was polite, professional, and gave nothing away.
“Nick,” he said, like he was testing the name. “Good to meet you.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just nodded and pulled my hand back.
“Please, come in,” Dad said, gesturing toward the door. “My wife has coffee ready.”
Dante followed us inside, and I couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked in our worn kitchen with its old linoleum and hand-me-down furniture. He was all sharp lines and expensive fabric in a room that smelled like burnt coffee and decades of family dinners.
Mom was waiting at the table, her hands clasped tight in front of her. Heather sat beside her, pale but composed. When she saw Dante, something flickered in her expression. Fear, resignation, I couldn’t tell. But she stood up, smoothing down her dress, and extended her hand.
“Mr. Valenti,” she said, her voice steadier than I’d expected. “I’m Heather Wesley.”
Dante took her hand gently, almost formally. “Miss Wesley. Please, call me Dante.” He smiled at her, warm and disarming. “I appreciate you agreeing to this meeting. I know these circumstances aren’t ideal for anyone.”
That was one way to put it.
We all sat down around the table, Mom pouring coffee that no one seemed interested in drinking. Dante pulled a folder from inside his jacket and set it on the table between us. The gesture felt ominous, like watching a judge lay out a sentence.
“I’ll be direct,” Dante said, looking at each of us in turn.
“My family loaned you four million dollars three years ago when no bank would touch you. The terms were clear. Full repayment by the end of this month, or the ranch becomes our property.” He paused, his expression softening slightly.
“My father understands that’s not feasible given current market conditions.
Which is why he’s offering an alternative arrangement. ”
“Marriage,” Heather said flatly.
Dante’s eyes flicked to her, and for a moment I saw something like surprise cross his face. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to be so direct.
“Yes,” he said. “Marriage. To a member of the Valenti family. To me. That union would legally tie your ranch to our interests while allowing your family to maintain residence and continue operations.” He opened the folder, revealing documents covered in dense legal text.
“The arrangement would be mutually beneficial. Your family keeps the ranch, the debt is forgiven, and we establish a legitimate business presence in Montana.”
“And Heather becomes property,” I said, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. “Just like the ranch.”
Those dark eyes snapped to me, and I saw a flash of something dangerous there. But when he spoke, his voice remained calm. “Your sister would be treated with respect. She’d have access to family resources, financial security, and—”
“A husband she doesn’t love,” I interrupted. “In a marriage she doesn’t want. To a family of criminals.”
“Nick,” Dad warned, but I ignored him.
Dante leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “You’re right,” he said finally. “It’s not a love match. But most marriages throughout history haven’t been. They’ve been alliances. Arrangements. This is no different.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
“Nick, please,” Mom said quietly, her voice trembling.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay seated when every instinct screamed at me to throw this bastard off our property.
But what good would that do? We’d still owe the money.
They’d still take the ranch. At least Heather would be free.
But when dealing with people like these thugs…
who knew if they could be trusted to keep their word.
Dante turned his attention back to Heather.
“I understand this is overwhelming. But I want you to know that this doesn’t have to be.
.. unpleasant. The marriage would be legal and binding, yes, but we could make the terms comfortable for you.
We would still live on the ranch in separate housing.
You could visit your family whenever you wanted to. I don’t plan on keeping you prisoner.”
“How generous,” I muttered.
He ignored me. “My father is prepared to be flexible on certain details. The wedding could be small, private. We could delay the ceremony a few weeks if you need time to adjust to the idea.”
Heather was quiet for a long moment, her hands folded in her lap. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “And if I refuse?”
“Then the ranch and all its assets transfer to Valenti ownership at the end of the month. Your family would have thirty days to vacate the property.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
I watched my sister’s face, saw the moment she made her decision. The same stubborn set to her jaw I’d seen last night. She was going to do it. She was going to sacrifice herself for this place, for our family, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop her.
“Here is the contract,” Dante said, sliding an official looking document to the center of the table.
“Since Mr. Wesley was the one to sign the loan, he’ll need to accept or deny this contract.
And, should you choose the marriage route, I have a prenup that would need to be signed as well.
” He slid that onto the table too. “Do you need some time to think it over?”
“We should take a couple of hours to—” my father began.
“No,” Heather interrupted. “We’ll take the marriage route. I’ll sign the prenup now.”
“No.”
The word came out of my mouth before I’d even realized I was speaking. Everyone turned to stare at me.
“Nick—” Heather started.
“No,” I said again, louder this time. I stood up from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. “This is bullshit. You can’t just... You’re not doing this, Heather.”
“It’s my decision, Nick.”
I wanted to flip the table. I wanted to grab Dante Valenti by his expensive collar and throw him out of our house. I wanted to break his fucking legs and leave him on the mountain for dead. Instead, I sat there, useless, watching my sister reach for a pen that would seal her fate.
“Just a moment, my dear,” Dante said, pulling the pen out of her reach. “I think there may have been a misunderstanding.”
My father frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I think you’ve made some false assumptions,” Dante said quietly, a wicked grin curling over his lips. “The contract stipulates marriage to a member of the Wesley family. It doesn’t specify which member.” Dante’s gaze never left mine. “And I don’t want your daughter.”
My mother shook her head. “You… You want me?”
Dante laughed. “No. You’re already married.” Then he turned, those dark eyes fixed on me. “I want him.”
The words hit me like a kick to the chest. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The kitchen went silent except for the ticking of the old clock on the wall.
“What?” Heather whispered.