Chapter 5 #2
Persia spreads the torn fabric across the lid of the wish box and produces a tube of red lip liner from somewhere. The cosmetic is clearly doing the job and I find myself captivated by the image she creates as she bends over the box, writing out her wish.
I feel like I’m witnessing a princess tearing apart her own gilded cage to pen a desperate plea for freedom in the only ink she has available.
I cannot read the words from this angle, but I don’t need to.
The tears streaming down her cheeks tell me everything I need to know about the depth of her desperation.
The trembling of her hands tells me she’s afraid of what she’s doing.
And the fierce set of her jaw tells me she’s going to do it anyway.
A different kind of heat flows through me. This woman is magnificent.
She finishes writing and stares at her words for a long moment, her expression crumbling into something raw and wounded. I watch her lift the silk to her lips as though she wants to kiss it goodbye, then carefully fold it and slip it through the slot of the wish box.
I leave the observation gallery through another hidden panel and circle around to the main entrance of the wish room, pausing just inside the threshold to drink in the sight of her.
She’s standing with her palm pressed flat against the surface of the wish box, head bowed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs she’s trying desperately to suppress.
Up close, she’s even more stunning than the security footage suggested.
Delicate features dusted with freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Violet hair that catches the candlelight like something from a fever dream.
A body made for worship wrapped in white silk that pools at her feet like liquid moonlight.
And those eyes. When she spins to face me, startled by my deliberate question, her aqua gaze hits me like a physical blow to the chest.
“What has such a beautiful woman crying?”
I keep my voice soft, gentle even, the tone I reserve for… actually no one. I’m not known for being gentle nor soft.
She stares at me with wide eyes that shimmer with unshed tears and a wariness that speaks to a lifetime of learning that men cannot be trusted.
She’s right about that. But she doesn’t know yet that I’m about to become the exception.
“Please tell me, little dove.”
I step close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my gaze. “Tell me, and I’ll bring you the heart of the person who has caused your tears.”
I know my offer sounds like a line, but I mean every last one of them. I will cut the heart out of anyone who has hurt this delicate creature. She only needs to whisper the name in my ear and the deed is done.
“That’s quite an offer,” she manages after I promise to bring her the heart of whoever has caused her pain, and I feel a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite my best efforts to maintain composure.
She has fire, this one. Even drowning in tears with her dress in tatters, she’s not going to make this easy for me.
Good. Easy bores me.
We dance around each other with words, each of us testing the other’s defenses, probing for weaknesses, cataloging strengths.
She’s clever and quick despite her obvious distress, deflecting my advances with a practiced ease that tells me she’s had plenty of experience handling unwanted male attention.
But I’m not unwanted. I can see it in the flush that spreads across her cheeks when I step closer, feel it in the way her breath catches when my scent reaches her, hear it in the slight waver of her voice when she tells me she wishes she knew who I was.
“I wish… I wish I knew who you are,” she breathes, and the want in her voice makes something possessive twist in my chest. “Give me your name and I’ll give you one in return. Might be mine, might be the name of the man who made me cry."
Brave. So fucking brave.
“Careful, little dove,” I murmur, reaching up to brush a tear from her cheek with a gentleness that contradicts everything about me.“Wishes have a way of coming true around here. And some prices are higher than others.”
I step back, giving her room to breathe, but my eyes never leave hers.
“Rafael Milano.”
She hesitates for just a moment before responding. “Kiara.”
The lie slides off her tongue so smoothly that a lesser informed man might have believed it.
I accept it, because the lie will keep until I’m ready to play that particular card.
I lean in close enough to catch the scent of roses clinging to her skin, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact, close enough that my lips brush the delicate curve of her jaw when I speak.
She shivers and tilts her head, offering more of her throat in an unconscious gesture of submission that hardens my length with the need to feel this woman wrapped around me.
Under me. I would do anything to hear my name on her lips as I drive into her and give her my seed.
My mouth finds the soft slope of her jawline and I press a kiss there, tasting the faint sweetness of her perfume.
Her hand comes up to caress my face and I let her explore, let her trace the line of my jaw with trembling fingers, let her believe for just this moment that she has any control over what’s about to happen between us.
I step back before I do something reckless, before I pin her against that wish box and kiss her until neither of us can remember why we shouldn’t.
She looks up at me with flushed cheeks and parted lips and eyes that hold both relief and disappointment in equal measure.
I know with sudden, crystalline certainty that this woman is going to be my undoing.
But first, she’s going to be my salvation.
“Until we meet again, beautiful Kiara.” I take her hand and press my lips to each of her knuckles in turn, lingering just long enough to memorize the taste of her skin.“And we will meet again. That much I can promise you.”
I pull a red rose from a nearby vase and place it gently in her hand “To remember this evening by, little dove.”
I leave her standing in the candlelight with her torn dress and her desperate wish and her beautiful lies, and I make my way back through the hidden passages to retrieve the silk confession she dropped in the box once she’s gone.
Her handwriting is elegant despite the improvised materials, the words pressed hard into the fabric as though she could carve her desperation into reality through sheer force of will.
I read her wish three times before the full implications settle into my brain like pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.
I wish to be free of my father. Free of Magnus Sterling.
Free of the cage I’ve been trapped in my entire life.
I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care who helps me.
I just want to choose my own path for once.
Please. I’m begging anyone who reads this.
Save me from the life they’ve planned for me.
My only available currency is my virginity. - Persia Fiore
Magnus Sterling. That name lands like a blow to my solar plexus, driving the air from my lungs in a rush of understanding and fury.
Magnus Sterling is my enemy’s oldest friend and most dangerous ally.
Magnus Sterling has been circling the edges of my territory for years, looking for weaknesses, waiting for opportunities.
Magnus Sterling is the reason three of my shipments went missing last month and why two of my judges suddenly developed consciences about their side arrangements with Redthorne Holdings.
And Magnus Sterling is apparently planning to marry the Governor’s daughter.
Persia’s father is selling her to shore up his position. Trading his only child to a monster in exchange for continued protection and political power. The knowledge turns my stomach even as my mind races through the implications and possibilities that this information presents.
If I take Persia from Magnus, I don’t just gain an heir and a path around my father’s ultimatum.
I gain leverage over the Governor. I gain a direct strike against one of my most persistent enemies.
I gain the kind of power play that will send ripples through every organization in Chicago and establish once and for all that Rafael Milano is not a man to be crossed.
The men of Club Genesis have been circling my empire like sharks smelling blood in the water.
My father has been sharpening his knives in the shadows, waiting for the moment my vulnerability becomes exploitable.
And Magnus Sterling has been chipping away at my holdings with the patient persistence of water wearing down stone.
With Persia Fiore on my arm, I change the game entirely.
I bring the silk to my nose and inhale the fading scent of roses and tears and desperate hope. This woman doesn’t know it yet, but she just handed me everything I need to protect my empire, destroy my enemies, and secure my legacy.
She came here looking for a savior.
She found a king.
And whether she is ready for what her wish will cost or not, Persia Fiore is about to become my queen.
I fold the silk carefully and tuck it into the inside pocket of my jacket, directly over my heart. Tomorrow I will begin making arrangements. Tonight, I will watch her from the shadows as she returns to her friends and pretends that nothing has changed.
But everything has changed.
For both of us.
I leave my office and make my way to the main floor of the Scarlet Thorn, the silk confession still warm against my chest where it rests in my jacket pocket.
The crowd parts for me without conscious thought on their part, bodies shifting and conversations pausing as I cut through the sea of designer gowns and tailored suits. I am nearly to the bar when I spot a familiar face, one that does not grace these halls often.
Harlon Constantine sits in a private booth near the back, his dark hair swept away from a face that has brokered more deals and buried more secrets than most men could fathom.
Flanking him are the two men who are never far from his side: Santi, with his sharp jaw and sharper instincts, and Cassius, whose easy smile hides a mind that never stops calculating.
The three men who run Club Genesis.
I cross the room and extend my hand to Harlon first, then to the others in turn.
For all intents and purposes, these men are allies.
Friends, even though I know the men of Genesis view my presence in what they consider their city as a business arrangement and nothing more.
We pay our fees, we follow their rules, and in return they ensure the contracts that hold this underworld together remain honored.
It is a delicate balance. One I am about to tip in my favor.
From my understanding, the three of them share a wife.
Or used to. I have never pried into the details, but no one ever sees them with anyone except the raven-haired beauty named Polaris.
Whatever arrangement they have is their own business, and I make it a point to stay out of matters that do not concern me.
As I approach, fragments of their conversation drift toward me through the ambient noise of the club. I catch the words contract and Magnus, and something sharp and predatory unfurls in my chest.
"Milano." Harlon's voice is smooth, cultured, the voice of a man who has learned that power doesn’t come from being the loudest in the room. "Good to see you. We're enjoying a change of scenery. The same four walls back at Genesis get boring after a while."
I pull out the smile I reserve for making people comfortable around me, the one that says we are all friends here even when we are anything but. I know how to be a man of the people when the situation calls for it.
"Glad to have you. Your tab is on the house tonight." I settle into an easy stance, hands in my pockets, every inch the gracious host. "Couldn't help but overhear. You wouldn't happen to be discussing a contract between the Governor's daughter and Magnus Sterling?"
I am fishing, casting my line into waters I hope are teeming with exactly the information I need.
Harlon's eyes sharpen almost imperceptibly. "Something like that. Why do you ask?"
I let a beat pass, just long enough to suggest reluctance.
"You might want to look into it. The word among my men is the girl is being forced to sign under duress.
" I hold his gaze with the steady certainty of a man delivering an unwelcome truth.
"Far as I know, that is a direct violation of Genesis rules. "
The shift in the booth is subtle but unmistakable. Santi straightens in his seat. Cassius's easy smile fades into something colder, more assessing. And Harlon—Harlon rises to his feet with the fluid grace of a man who has just been handed a problem he intends to solve.
He fixes his cuff with precise, unhurried movements and extends his hand to me. "Looks like we have some work to do. Thank you, my friend."
Santi stands, followed by Cassius, who drains the last of his whiskey before setting the glass down with a soft clink.
"I was really looking forward to a quiet drink." Cassius shakes his head, irritation flickering across his handsome features. "Why can't these fuckers just follow the rules?"
I watch them go, three dangerous men cutting through the crowd with purpose in their stride, and allow myself a small, satisfied smile.
That should buy me time. Time to get my own contract drafted. Time to get Persia's signature and her father's on paper that will bind her to me instead of Magnus Sterling.
Hell, time to get the bride under my roof. That is the first step.
The game has changed.
And I intend to win.