Taken In Trade

Chapter 1 – Vanessa

Chapter One

Vanessa

Holidays in my house are never a bright spot, but this Christmas happens to be a lot tenser than years past. My father and older twin brothers are pissed that I haven’t fallen in line to complete my marriage contract with another mafia family. As a result, not one of them even got me a gift.

I’m an adult, so it’s not like they’re obligated to buy me Christmas presents, but they bought stuff for each other.

My mother left me a decent inheritance, meaning I can buy myself what I want. It’s still fucked up, and they know it.

The lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow when I think about my mom, so I refocus on not letting the men in my family know they’re getting to me.

They’re excellent at emotional torture. They want to exclude and torment me.

To make me feel like I’m on the outside so I’ll beg for scraps of affection.

My twin brothers, Vance and Victor, used to be better about pretending to care about me, but they’re determined to impress our father. They want to take over running the family, but they can’t do that until he officially hands over the reins.

“Did you maybe want to open one from me?” I ask, leaning forward in my seat on one of the club chairs. “I think I did a pretty good job of picking gifts for each of you.”

My father grunts and grabs one of the boxes not in the pile I gave him.

My tongue rolls against the back of my teeth as I nod. Of course he’s not going to accept my olive branch.

I dart a look at my brothers but neither will make eye contact. They go back to opening gifts from each other, and my stomach tightens.

I shouldn’t let it get to me, but this is extra awful. They can be dead set on excluding me. It doesn’t mean I have to stick around and endure it, though. So I excuse myself and hide away in my room for the next several hours.

Christmas dinner was almost done cooking when I came upstairs, meaning they’re probably done eating by now, and I’m starving.

The leftovers are calling my name.

Eating alone is preferable to being forced to pretend that I want to play nice with the men in my house.

I make my way down to the kitchen via the back stairs. Covered trays lie on the kitchen island, and I open each to see what’s left.

My father’s voice filters through the air, and my name makes me suspicious and concerned all in one.

Kicking off my slippers, I sneak to the wall that leads into the formal dining room. I keep my back flat to the wall, and I don’t dare peek around, but I should be able to hear what’s being said.

“I understand what you’re saying, but are you sure you want to put us in bed with Grigoryan?” Vance asks.

“We can pay the penalty,” my other brother, Victor, chimes in. “It’ll hurt, but we can try to negotiate to keep the properties.” He means the properties my family gained from the O’Connors when our marriage contract was negotiated twenty-something years ago.

Also, what the fuck does he mean they can pay the penalty? They’ve spent five years telling me it would be the end of our family if they had to go through with repaying the O’Connors.

“There are no other options,” my father says in a stern, no-nonsense tone. “We’re not taking that kind of loss, and no one else is interested in taking on the full debt.”

“Grigoryan has a lot of enemies—” Victor starts.

My father cuts him off, saying, “And you think we don’t? I gave you a task. You failed to complete it. It’s Grigoryan or no one. As soon as the O’Connors officially back out, we will begin negotiations with Grigoryan. That’s the end of the conversation. Am I understood?”

My blood runs cold.

I knew he was an option, but I didn’t think he was the only option. The number of times my brothers have assured me that they had everything under control is a lot.

Like more than a hundred.

They lied to my face to keep me from panicking.

My nightmares have come to life.

Under no circumstances will I go through with marrying that man.

If I don’t find someone else who’s willing to take over the penalty…

God.

This is so bad.

When I dropped by the O’Connors’ mansion a few days ago, my goal was to beg them to back out of our marriage arrangement.

Knowing my father would never allow things to be canceled on our side, throwing myself at their mercy seemed like the only option.

If they were the ones to back out of the union, my family would still owe theirs the original loan amount, but it’s a much smaller number than if I were to back out of the marital contract.

For years, the O’Connors have acted like they were going to go through with the union, but there was a woman living with them that they seemed very protective of.

Her name is Charlotte, and she has a son that looks exactly like Patrick O’Connor.

I assumed the woman was someone he hooked up with years ago who finally tracked him down to let him know he has a son.

I’m still not sure if that’s true or just a wild assumption, but the circumstances were almost too good to be true.

At first, I was so relieved, I couldn’t believe it. I’ve spent the last few years fighting for my right to choose my own future. With them finding someone else, I thought it would be the perfect solution.

Unfortunately, I was too optimistic.

After everything my brothers have said over the years, I believed they would advocate for me, but now I understand, all they care about is making our father happy so he’ll finally let them take over the family. As long as they get what they want, they don’t care what happens to me.

Their betrayal doesn’t matter.

Not really.

It might hurt, but I’m not going down without a fight, even if I have to battle it out with my own flesh and blood.

Anything to keep myself from being married off to a literal monster.

Desperation isn’t a good look on anyone, but my options are limited.

Trying to make a deal with my family’s enemy is a last-ditch effort to save myself.

There’s a high likelihood of this blowing up in my face, but being backed into a corner has made me more reckless than I would be under normal circumstances.

After listening in on that clusterfuck of a conversation, I took a day to feel sorry for myself.

Now?

I’ve cried it out, and I’m on a mission.

My car comes to a stop at the gate to Emory Moretti’s mansion, and two men in tactical gear emerge from the guardhouse, approaching my vehicle.

This could go so badly, but I’ll beg if I have to.

Rolling down my window, I ignore the frigid chill that spills in and tilt my chin in the air.

Moretti trains his men well. They’ll have memorized pictures of all the other Boston families. That means they’ll recognize me, even though I’ve never been here before.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” one of the guys asks as the other walks to the front of my car, likely checking my license plate number.

“Vanessa Chapman, here to see Emory Moretti,” I say, fluttering my lashes.

“Is he expecting you?”

“He’s not, but I assure you, he wants to hear what I have to say.” A cutting smile crosses my face. “I’ll wait while you check in with your boss.” I hit the button to roll up my window.

He laughs and shakes his head, making his way back to the small building.

The other guard stands in front of my car with his arms crossed. The glare on his face makes it hard not to squirm, so I look away.

The huge iron gate is imposing, but I grew up in this lifestyle.

I fully understand that gate is as much to keep people in as it is to keep people out. Or maybe I’m projecting because my own home feels like a prison I have no prospects of escaping—not unless this conversation goes significantly better than I’m expecting.

It’s a long few minutes before the first guard comes back. I roll down my window once more, and he leans down until he’s at eye level.

“The boss isn’t home,” he says. “You have to go, but if you give me your number, I’ll make sure I hand it off to Moretti when he gets back.”

I played out a million scenarios in my mind before taking the risk of going to Moretti’s. In all the ways I thought it might go, being turned away at the gate wasn’t one of the options.

Emory likes gossip, even if he pretends he’s above all of it. Everything I know about him led me to believe that he would allow me to plead my case, if for no other reason than to have something to hold over my head.

I may not know as many family secrets as my older brothers, but I memorize every detail they talk about in front of me. I wouldn’t be above selling out my family to save myself.

They’re willing to sell me off just to avoid having to pay the penalty for my broken marriage contract.

They don’t deserve my loyalty.

The world of organized crime isn’t kind to women. I’ve seen how it can twist a person, but I’ve never wanted to end up bitter and jaded to that level.

Tears sting my eyes as I drive toward home. Combine that with my shaking hands, and it seems dangerous to be in control of a moving vehicle. Anger and fear war inside me, and for whatever reason, my body thinks now would be a great time to break down.

Pulling into the first parking lot I find, I settle into a spot and rest my head against the steering wheel.

Before the week from hell, I hadn’t cried in years. Once someone goes through the kind of loss that I went through, nothing really compares.

Losing both my biological parents back-to-back, while being left with the father who always hated me, is an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

It left me numb to most things, but it seems like the walls are finally crumbling. Too much stress all at once seems to have broken the dam, and I hate it.

Packs are supposed to treat all children the same, but my family pack never worked like that.

My biological father, Daniel, loved all of us the same, but Julian has treated me like shit for as long as I can remember.

It’s either because I’m a girl, or it could be because Vance and Victor are biologically his sons. With my mom and Daniel gone, Julian stopped pretending to like me.

A loud crunching sound fills the air, and I screech, jolting upright as my vehicle is tossed around.

I took off my seat belt while I was sitting here, and my hip connects with the middle console painfully.

Jesus.

How fast was that asshole going in a parking lot?

I swear, today just keeps getting better and better. Turning off the car, I grab my phone without even bothering to pick up my jacket from the passenger seat.

I’m pissed.

Whoever hit me is going to get an earful.

Tossing open the car door, I climb from the vehicle and frown when I notice the black SUV. It’s fully blocking the back of my car, and the damage to my vehicle is ugly.

As I unlock my phone, I debate who I should call. The head of my security team could come pick me up, but Henry will be angry with me for leaving without an escort.

Not that I won’t hear the same shit from my brothers, because I will. They’ll likely push things a step further, asking why I left with no security and how I ended up on this side of town.

My finger hovers over the button to call Henry, but my head whips up as the doors of the SUV slam one after another.

Oh, shit.

There was a group of guys in the vehicle, and they’re all headed my way. They’re rough around the edges, and that’s saying something. I’m used to dealing with my family’s enforcers, but a damn shiver runs down my spine.

Something feels off.

My instincts scream to run, so I do, but I don’t even make it to the front of my vehicle before an arm wraps around my middle, yanking me backward.

A second later, something jabs into the right side of my neck and everything goes black.