Chapter 5 – Vanessa
Chapter Five
Vanessa
Some might consider having to attend their ex-fiancés’ wedding party to be a slap in the face, but all I can muster is apathy.
I dodged a bullet there.
We would have been miserable together.
Even knowing I had zero interest in marrying the O’Connors, I can admit that I’m a little jealous of how well they treat Charlotte—Candice—whatever she’s going by these days.
I’m not having second thoughts about sabotaging our marriage contract. I’d just like it if I could find someone who would show me even an ounce of the care Patrick, Malachy, and Cormac give her.
My only real chance at that is if I find a way to fake my own death, but even if I ran, I’d never be able to truly relax. I’d constantly have to look over my shoulder. My father would continue to hunt me solely out of spite.
What you need is more alcohol.
This is a party, after all.
It’s probably one of the few chances that I have left to enjoy myself without having to pretend to play Grigoryan’s doting wife.
My stomach rolls, and even the thought of having to fuck that man makes it hard not to vomit.
Glancing around, I search for a server.
I’m going to need so much alcohol to forget that this is what my life has come to.
Moretti climbs over the rope that closes off the stairs to the second floor. His white T-shirt stretches over his chest as he moves, and I find myself licking my lips.
Shit.
That second glass of wine on an empty stomach might have been a bit too much because I can’t seem to take my eyes off him.
Everyone else is in party attire, but he’s in a black leather jacket, combat boots, and jeans.
It makes me hate him a little as my Spanx dig in anytime I breathe too deeply.
The misery that comes from walking in the sky-high gold heels that I’ll never wear again is an entirely different kind of hell.
Moretti’s cold blue eyes meet mine, and my breathing picks up.
He strides across the room…directly toward me.
Something about the intensity in his gaze makes me take a step back, and I bump the wall behind me.
He makes it to me, but rather than stopping, he grabs my bicep and drags me around the corner into the hallway that leads to the bathrooms.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, barely keeping up with his pace.
“Good evening, Vanessa,” he purrs. “You and I need to have a conversation.”
Moretti guides me into one of the dressing rooms, and the door closes with a heavy thud. A soft click fills the air as he locks the door and sidesteps, caging me in against the wall.
My eyes fly to his, and his lips tip up at the edges. His electric, stormy scent hits my nose, and it frazzles my brain.
My body aches to melt into him, but I still have no idea what this is about.
“Speak,” I say, giving him an expectant look.
“You seem to have mistaken me for a dog,” he says, chuckling. “It’s good to see you haven’t lost the attitude, despite your dire circumstances.”
“Did you drag me away to purposely torment me about how much my life sucks?”
“I did not.” He leans even closer, tucking an errant wave behind my ear with his tattooed fingers. “You’re going to be twenty-five in a few short hours. Happy birthday.”
“T-Thank you,” I whisper as my stomach flutters.
He’s the first and only person I’ve talked to tonight who has brought up that my birthday is tomorrow, and it leaves me feeling some type of way.
Moretti is tan despite the abysmal weather in Boston, and it makes his blue eyes and the blond hair on the top of his head stick out with even more contrast. He stands to his full height, rolling his shoulders back and reaching into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
He pulls out a small box and offers it to me.
I must hesitate for too long because he says, “Take it. It’s not a bomb, I swear. ”
“If you could fit a bomb in a box this size, I’d be impressed,” I say, taking the gift.
What the hell is happening?
I’m an adult.
No one has bought me birthday gifts in years.
Being an omega is ridiculous.
My insides light up. He not only knows my birthday is tomorrow; he also bought me a gift.
I pop the hinge lid, and it’s a matching necklace and bracelet. The center stone in each is an icy blue hexagon surrounded in what I would guess are diamonds or white sapphires.
A lump forms in my throat, but I manage to say, “It’s a beautiful set.”
“The center stones are aquamarine while the outer are diamonds,” Moretti says.
“Allow me to help you with the necklace.” He steps back and guides me over to the high-top table in the middle of the room before plucking something from his jacket.
He tosses down a set of papers and a pen, pries the gift box from my hand, and steps behind me.
“What is this?” I ask, picking up the papers.
Moretti’s hand wraps in my hair, twirling it together and resting it over my left shoulder. “That would be a standard NDA. Make sure you sign all three pages, and don’t make me ask to see your driver’s license to verify your signature.”
“You want me to sign an NDA?” My jaw falls. “Why?”
“To cover our bases regarding the Jacksonville Demons.” His warm breath fans over my neck as he speaks close to my ear.
“Sign the document, Vanessa.” The sides of his fingers brush my neck as he brings the necklace around my throat and fastens it.
“I hear your engagement party is in two weeks. Wear either the bracelet or the necklace at all times until then. Do you understand?”
“That is a strangely specific request,” I say as my mind races.
Is he trying to set me up?
It would really piss off my father if he found out I was wearing a piece of jewelry given to me by Emory Moretti.
Not to mention, Grigoryan’s head might actually explode.
That wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Living with his fury if he survived is another story.
God.
I need to find a window to run before it’s too late.
Moretti’s warm chest frames my back as he grabs the bracelet out of the gift box and steps to the side to place it on my left wrist.
“Give me your word and sign the papers,” Moretti says.
“I grew up in this lifestyle the same as you,” I mutter, grabbing the pen. “It’s insulting that you think I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut.”
“I have every confidence in your ability to keep a secret when it benefits you to do so.” He chuckles as I flip through the pages, signing each one of them. “Allow the birthday gift to offset the sting.”
My father locks my ass down after the O’Connors’ engagement party. If I leave the house, I’m escorted by two guards my father hand selects, and they don’t play around when it comes to not letting me out of their sight.
Hell, if I sneeze while I’m alone in my bedroom at home, someone knocks to make sure I’m okay and still trapped in my makeshift prison.
It’s a marked escalation to my freedoms being taken away, and it makes for a long and miserable two weeks.
My engagement party with Grigoryan is tonight, and my father waited until the last minute to drag me to the doctor’s office for my checkup.
I follow him up to the door of the office, but keep a few feet between us. His attitude always comes with a hair-trigger, but it’s worse today, and I have a bad feeling. There are no cars in the parking lot, and there are usually three or four, at minimum, when we come in.
My father grabs the door handle as a frigid gust of wind cuts across the sidewalk. January in Boston is awful, and this year is especially cold and dreary.
The lock clangs against the doorframe, rattling as my father pulls on the handle.
My head whips up.
He tries again, like using more force will magically unlock the door, but everything seems to indicate that they’re closed. The lights aren’t on, and a quick survey of the parking lot assures me that I didn’t miss any cars.
“Where the hell is he?” my father mutters, pulling his phone from his pocket. “What the fuck is Calderon’s problem? He knows I don’t like to be left waiting.”
I take a step back as my anxiety rises.
This isn’t my fault.
I have no idea where the doctor and his staff are.
My father isn’t the most rational, even under the best circumstances. Anything he can blame on me, he will.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my nearly knee-length peacoat and try not to panic.
Doctors run behind sometimes.
He’ll be here any minute.
Once he does show up, I have a whole different set of concerns, but I can’t focus on that yet.
Every cell in my body screams to run as my father’s ire grows.
It would be useless.
A security team followed us here—they’re the only other car in the parking lot—and they would be on me in two seconds flat.
He calls and texts multiple times, and by the last time his call goes to voicemail, the veins on his forehead poke out.
We’re outside.
There should be plenty of oxygen up for grabs, but it feels like I can’t get enough air. Every inhale is tainted with the scent of his anger, making my system more frazzled.
I take another step backward, tripping over one of the concrete barriers that stop cars from going over the front of a parking space.
My arms fly out as my hands flail, and I’m just correcting my balance as my father snatches my wrist, yanking me back onto the sidewalk.
He doesn’t stop there.
He spins my back to the building and shoves me against it. My skull bounces against the brick at the same time my ass does, but my head is more of a shock than my backside. At least one is padded.
I can’t even focus on the pain as he inches closer, looming over me.
His hold on my wrist tightens, and I fight the panic that rips through my system.
He’s touching the bracelet Moretti gave me.
Does he know where it came from?
He must, right?
I’m not stupid.
I assume the jewelry has some type of tracking device in it. Originally, I thought maybe the O’Connors and Moretti were taking pity on me. I assumed the O’Connors felt guilty about ditching our arrangement. I figured they roped Moretti into helping due to the fact I was kidnapped leaving his house.
I thought they planned to use the jewelry as a way to track my location to… I don’t even know. Talk to me without my family finding out. That’s really the least they could do. At most, I hoped they would offer to help smuggle me out of Boston.
I can see now how delusional my line of thinking was. I’m kinda pissed that I went out of my way to be kind to Charlotte at the O’Connors claiming ceremony. No one ever seems to go out of their way to do the same for me.
My father leers over me, baring his teeth. “Where the fuck is Calderon?”
“I have no idea,” I tell him truthfully as I try to yank my hand away.
His palm lands against my cheek in a stinging slap. My head flies to the side, and he yanks on my wrist before his forearm lands against my throat. He slams me into the wall with even more force, and the back of my head bounces against the brick again.
“You think you’re so much smarter than everyone. Don’t you, Ness?” The way he spits the nickname he’s always called me makes it clear how much he hates me, and the feeling is mutual.
He knows how much I despise that nickname, especially when it comes from him.
His spicy scent gives away how angry he is, and it takes every ounce of stubbornness I can muster to avoid looking away from the dominance in his gaze.
I push my lips together to keep from snapping something that would get me slapped all over again.
When it comes to my brothers, I can argue and clap back without worrying about them getting physical. No matter how angry they get with me, they’ve never hit me. They just sigh and curse under their breath as they walk away.
There was a time Julian wouldn’t have dreamed of putting his hands on me, but once my mom and biological father died, there was no one left that he had to pretend in front of.
“You’re not getting out of marrying Grigoryan, so you can put that thought out of your pretty little head,” my father says, shoving me against the wall once more.
He moves his hand up to cup my jaw painfully.
“If I find out you had any part in sabotaging your appointment…” He chuckles an ominous sound.
“Let’s just say, your brothers won’t be able to save you. ”
He twists my wrist back at an awkward angle, and it’s so unexpected that I yelp.
His eyes sparkle as his fingers dig into my chin. He likes being able to sense my fear, and I don’t think I’ll be any better off with Grigoryan.
He finally releases me, rolling his shoulders back as he gives me some space.
“Get in the car!” he barks the command, and I jump.
I get myself in gear, taking off for the car as my face flames.
Trying to pretend like I’m not scared of him is exhausting, and I hate that he wins every time I crack and show him fear.
Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t let them fall.
I have no clue how I’m supposed to get myself out of this mess.