Gio
I t’s freaking cold out here. Walking from the car, my nose is leaking, and my hands are frostbitten. I freaking hate Chicago in winter. Bitter winds and people. I knock on the door, and she peeks out. No chain, no keyhole. She opens the door and peeks. WTF is wrong with her? Doesn’t she know who she is? Who her father is.
“Jeniah? Jeniah Reynolds?” Brown eyes rake me from head to toe. “I’m Gataki. Your father sent me—”
The door almost slams before I finish. It stops when I shove my shoe between the heavy oak and the frame. The force damn near breaks my foot. Gripping the door, I push her and it back. I don’t have time for this bullshit.
Her eyes widen when I step inside and slam the door behind me. I don’t lock it because I hope someone breaks in. I need to pound my fists into flesh. She backs down the hallway while I shake the snowflakes from my hair. She’s beautiful—at least they didn’t lie about her looks. Which means she’s even more vulnerable. I’m not sure what plans Al Silvio has for her, but I have a pretty good guess.
She backs into the living room, never taking her fathomless brown eyes off of me. I force myself not to fall into them. The tremble of her lips is her only tell. It’s the middle of the night, and a strange man bursts into her home. She’s alone.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I extend my hand. Not to shake, but to calm. Her fists ball and her eyes dart from left to right. I see it the same moment she does. Her cell phone is on the sofa table. My feet freeze. That’s the only explanation for how such a small woman bests me in a foot race for it. She grabs it, and her frantic fingers try punching in numbers. Lunging forward, my pulse racing, I reach for the phone, wrenching it from her grasp. The scuffle lands us on the couch. My heart sinks when she pummels my chest with her fists. Her head whips back and forth, destroying her cute ponytail. She’s using everything she’s got to dislodge me. Something I’d happily do if she’d just calm the fuck down . But I’m not raising and letting her surprisingly strong legs kick me. I ignore the fact that I’m only making it worse. Ignore the cries out, panting through the air like glass shattering.
“Look,” I growl, holding the phone above my head in one hand and her wrists in another, “I’m not your enemy. Wait a damn second, and let me explain.”
Her chest arches against mine, and even through my too-thin coat, I feel her breasts—searing their way onto mine and encouraging the response she’s trying to avoid. If I don’t sit up, she’ll be even more terrified by my straining erection. Because my dick is waking up from its icy hibernation and is all too happy to warm itself in the gorgeous woman under me.
“Give me my phone,” she snarls. Her voice rises with a mix of fear and fury. However, her pumping legs and hands have slowed.
I have no illusions of safety. Why would I trust a wild cat? I give her a minute to assess me and her situation before I try again.
“Jeniah, please, hear me out.” She responds with more hisses and back arches. Definitely a wild cat. “Your. Father. Sent. Me.” Her eyes blink as she processes my words. Her back slumps against the couch pillows. “That’s why I’m here. He’s trying to keep you safe.”
Her features harden, and she huffs, wiggling our tangled bodies. Our chests are fused, my hand encircles her wrists, and my legs are wrapped around hers like pythons. She lifts a brow. “Funny, I don’t feel safe.”
Our foreheads nearly bump when I ask. “If I get up, will you listen?”
Her eyes water, but she doesn’t let the tears fall. It’s the strength, despite the terror, that holds me. Squeezes my chest tighter than I’m holding her. “Will you give me my phone?”
I slowly sit up, offering my hand to help her. “No,” I say. She tenses, and her fists ball again. “Listen first.” I insist. “I am here to help you.” She shies away to the opposite end of the couch. Shrinking into herself while her wide eyes never leave my face. “Even if I gave you the phone, Jeniah, there’s no one to call. Your father’s in prison. You have no other relatives, and the police are so deep in our pockets they can tell you if I’m wearing boxers or briefs.” That draws her attention to my crotch, and my dick stands up even taller. Preening under her glance despite my efforts to get him to stand down. But shit, I agree. She’s lovely. “Just hear me out,” I repeat for the millionth time.
“Talk,” she pulls the one word like a trigger.
I take a deep breath, willing my body, talking to you, dick , to cool down so I can regain some measure of control. “Your father made a mistake. A big one. And now he has to pay for it.”
Instantly, her defenses raise. “Pay? He’s already in prison. The feds took every dime he had in restitution. I only have this house because it was my mother’s from before they married.”
I run my hand down my face and hold my sneer. Innocence is a luxury she can’t afford right now. “In the eyes of the law, maybe. But in our world? There’s still an outstanding debt. He stole money from Al Silvio. You know how dangerous that is?”
“What world,” she snaps. “What are you talking about? My father worked with corpor—.”
“He worked with anyone. He was the lead accountant for the Silvio organization. The Silvio crime family.”
“No, you’re wrong. He wasn’t like that. My father was a legitimate businessman. He didn’t hang out with criminals. The trial never mentioned any criminal ties. I mean,” she swallows hard but owns up to the truth—the only truth she knows. “I know what he did wasn’t right… but he wouldn’t have…”
“He worked with anyone who would pay. Maybe he started clean, but in the end, he was as dirty as everyone else in this business. Worse, because he got greedy. He took from the wrong people. The Silvio family won’t stop until they collect. Only they don’t want more money. He’s paid the money back and the interest. They want you.”
Jeniah’s mouth rounds, and color drains from her face. “Me?” she whispers, small and shaken. “No, that’s not true. I don’t believe you. I don’t know you from Adam. My father never mentioned…”
Her brows furrow, the wheels spinning in her mind. I wait. I imagine she’s replaying every interaction. Every unexplained absence, every secretive, late-night phone call. While I let her work it out, I unbutton my damp coat and let my eyes follow the smooth line of her rounded cheeks. I thought she was small, but no, she’s just short. She doesn’t even reach my shoulder but makes up for height with curves in all the right places. Her brown eyes sparkle in the low light like stars shimmering on an indigo night. Her cheeks curve into an almost elven chin that gives her face the same heart shape that actresses would kill for. I dip down and then away from the dark berry nipples revealed by her sodden shirt. She’s wet from me. I wonder what she’d be like wet because of me. I jerk my eyes back up and grimace when they meet hers. Busted .
“Even if I believed what you say,” she pulls a lip between her teeth and bites down. “What can you do about it?”
“Marry you.”
She bucks off the couch. Her eyes darting around again as if searching for a weapon to replace her phone. I don’t move. I don’t want to scare her, and shit, marriage is scary as fuck. So, I give her time to wrap her mind around it. Lord knows I needed time. She shakes her head. “No. That’s insane.”
“I agree. So it looks like you and I will be residents in the asylum, because this is happening. Doesn’t matter what you and I think or want.” I shrug, leaning back on the couch and tapping my fingers on the arm. “My family is influential… powerful. Once you become a Gataki—”
“—that will not happen.”
“I wasn’t asking for your permission,” I snap as my patience frays. “Do you think this is a game? It’s not. The wolves are circling, Jeniah. They know you’re alone. You’re lucky you survived this long.”
“You think they’ll kill me?”
“No.” She exhales. Relief? “I think death would be a mercy they won’t give.”
“I… I can’t marry you.” Her voice lowers, but her eyes look hunted. A wide-eyed deer staring down a roaring semi-truck. “It’s not..” Her words cut through the air like glass shattering again. “You don’t understand. I’ve lived here my whole life… I can’t just leave. I don’t want to be a pawn or a debt payment.”
“You’re not. Marrying you is about keeping you safe.”
“Safe?” she says, disbelief etched in every line of her face. “Taking away my choice—my home?”
“Your father chose for you when he stole from Al Silvio,” I say, my voice rising. “If you believe the Silvios give second chances, you’re wrong. They’ll make an example of you because they can.” I hate what I’m saying, but she’s talking about choices like she has one. “The Silvios will use you until there’s nothing left, and laugh. Destroy your body—your mind and fucking celebrate . They’ll document every depraved thing they do to you and play it for your father on an endless loop.”
She crosses her arms, still assuming she’ll have a choice. “I’ll run away. I’ll hide. No one will know where I am. I refuse to be intimidated into a decision that forces me to marry a man who appeared in the middle of the night. A man I’ve never met, never even heard my father mention. Even if I went along with this lunacy—how will tying my life to yours be any less humbling?”
“I would never debase you. Never take more than you’re willing to give freely.” I know what I’m asking. So, I vow—even though she doesn’t know my word is sacred. “I swear, the last thing I’d ever do is hurt you.”
“So you’d bind yourself to a sexless marriage? Why would you do that? Unless you expect to keep a woman on the side—my father always did.”
I pause, my fingers threading through my hair in frustration. “No. Neither of us would have an outside lover.” My tone softens, regret seeping into my voice. “I’d hope that one day we’d or you’d feel comfortable enough to commit to our relationship physically. I know in the U.S., it’s uncommon, but in other parts of the world, arranged marriages happen every day. My great-grandparents had an arranged marriage.”
“They probably wanted to be arranged. This is very different. You’re already forcing me to do something I don’t want. Something I’m not even sure my father wants. I have nothing but your word on that—on any of this.”
“Jeniah, why would I lie?” Her brows pinch together, but I don’t push her. “We’ll see your father tomorrow and he’ll confirm every word. God knows I don’t want to be here either.”
“Then why are you?” She challenges me with a stare, fierce and unyielding.
“Because—” I hesitate, struggling to find the right words. This isn’t just about my family’s pressure. Not anymore. It’s her. She called the situation crazy—and she’s right. But the craziest part is how I want to protect her—save her from every harm. I’m captivated by the way her eyes light up, her shoulders roll back, and her fists lift in the face of terror. I’ve been alone and scared. Was I brave ? In the middle of the night, when my demons wake me up—am I fighting them or running away?
“Because,” I continue, my voice firming with conviction, “you deserve protection, whether you want it or not. You won’t be able to run fast or far enough. Even if you did, you’d spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder.” I lean in, my breath caressing her ear, relishing the subtle tremor that passes through her body. “Marry me and all that goes away. I protect what’s mine.”
A moment passes where her eyes plead with mine, a silent plea for mercy or understanding, perhaps both. Then her jaw sets, and her lips press into a flat line. “I told you—I won’t be forced into anything.”
“This isn’t about being forced, Jeniah. It’s about survival.”
“And what about my life here?”
“What life,” I growl. “You live alone in a house that smells like sickness and death despite the cleanser and air freshener. This scent is something you can’t wipe away. It clings to you. Sadness hangs on you like a shroud.” I shake my head at her widened eyes. “You don’t have a life.” Her head whips back as if I’ve slapped her. But I don’t stop. I need to break her resistance. If I don’t, they will. “Where’s your cat? You must have one. Because that’s what you’ve become. An old, lonely cat lady, and you’re not even twenty-five. You don’t have any friends to save you. No boyfriend—no job. At least not a real one. You work virtually and probably love it because your whole life is virtual. You watch people from the inside. Only this old house isn’t safe enough—not anymore. Not when the Silvios come.”
Jeniah sits stony-faced, and I can almost taste her emotions—frustration and resistance. Closing my eyes, I take a moment to control my own.
“Your father intended for you to marry me,” I say, my voice calmer now. “I understand this is sudden and hard to accept, but the danger is real. We can visit your father in prison tomorrow. He can explain everything.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s impossible. My father isn’t allowed visitors.”
“If he told you that, he lied.”
“My father wouldn’t lie to me. He couldn’t.”
“I think he’s been lying to you for a long time. We’ll see him in the morning, and you can hear the truth from his lips. For now, I’m staying here. On the couch,” I add quickly, seeing the panic in her eyes. “I won’t leave you unprotected.”
“I don’t want you here,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know you. How can I trust you?”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Right now, I’m the only person you can trust. I’m not leaving.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. Finally, she nods a small, defeated gesture. “Fine. But if he says you’re lying—”
“Deal,” I say, ignoring the sting of her distrust. “Now, try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”