Chapter 3

Helena's POV

I woke up still wearing my jeans and sweater, tangled in sheets that were too soft. For a second I didn't remember where I was. Then it all came crashing back and I wanted to crawl back into unconsciousness.

The clock on the nightstand said 10:47 AM. I'd slept for maybe four hours and my body felt like I'd been hit by a truck. My knuckles were bruised and swollen from hitting Ethan and my throat was raw from crying.

Someone had left a tray outside my door. Coffee, toast, fruit. I brought it inside and forced myself to eat because I needed to think clearly and I couldn't do that on an empty stomach.

Vincent said I could move around the estate but couldn't leave. So I got dressed and decided to explore this beautiful prison.

The library was on the east wing, all dark wood and leather-bound books that smelled like old paper and expensive tobacco. I ran my fingers along the spines without really reading the titles, just trying to feel normal for five goddamn minutes.

Then I saw them.

My breath stopped in my throat. Dad's law books. The entire collection, first editions with gold lettering on the spines. I pulled one out and my hands started shaking before I even opened it.

James Fisher, Columbia Law School, Class of 1989.

Dad's handwriting. Dad's signature. I traced the ink with my fingertip.

"I bought those three years ago." Vincent's voice came from the doorway and I almost dropped the book. "Estate auction in Manhattan. Didn't know they were your father's until last night."

I couldn't speak or look at him. I just stood there holding Dad's book while my throat closed up and my eyes burned.

"Come here whenever you want," Vincent said quietly. "Read them. They're yours now."

"Nothing's mine anymore." My voice came out rough and broken. "You made sure of that."

He didn't argue. He just watched me with those gray eyes that were usually cold as ice.

"Thank you." I forced the words out. "For keeping them safe."

He nodded once and left me alone with my father's books.

The next evening three women showed up in my room with racks of dresses and cases of makeup. They were professional and efficient and treated me exactly like a doll that needed dressing.

"Mr. Rossi wants you ready by seven," the lead stylist said. "Family dinner."

They put me in a black dress. Backless, elegant.

Vincent showed up right at seven wearing a suit. He was holding a velvet box.

"Turn around."

I did and watched him in the mirror as he moved behind me. He opened the box and lifted out an emerald necklace that caught the light and threw green fire across the walls.

His fingers brushed the back of my neck when he fastened the clasp. That touch went straight through me and I felt it everywhere.

"This was my grandmother's," he said quietly. "Only special people wear it."

I met his eyes in the mirror. "So what am I? Your trophy?"

"You're something I haven't figured out how to define yet." His breath stirred my hair and I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. "That makes you dangerous."

"Dangerous for both of us," I said.

His hand settled on my waist as he guided me toward the car. The touch burned through the thin silk but I didn't pull away.

The restaurant was the kind of place where they don't put prices on the menu because if you have to ask you can't afford it.

Vincent kept me right next to him the entire time with his hand on my lower back. He introduced me as his companion and the way he said it made it clear I belonged to him. Every man in that room got the message.

"Rossi." Some asshole with slicked-back hair and a mouth that looked cruel even when he smiled leaned across the table. "Heard you acquired some interesting assets recently."

The temperature dropped so fast I could practically see frost forming on the glasses.

"Watch your fucking mouth, Moretti." Vincent's voice came out soft and absolutely deadly. "That's your only warning."

The guy laughed but I saw real fear flicker in his eyes. "Just making conversation."

"Make it somewhere else."

In the car afterward I stared out the window at the passing lights and tried to process what just happened. "You didn't have to do that."

"I protect what's mine."

"So it is about ownership then."

"It's about responsibility," Vincent said. "There's a difference."

I wasn't sure I believed him but part of me desperately wanted to.

Luca found me in the garden the next afternoon. I found out he's Vincent's brother, and they have a youngest brother named Dante, but I haven't met him yet.

"Walk with me," he said.

He led me down to a basement office I hadn't known existed. Monitors covered every wall showing security feeds, maps with colored pins marking God knows what, and ledgers spread across a massive desk.

"Vincent says you studied law." Luca pushed a stack of papers toward me. "Tell me what you see."

I scanned the numbers and the shell companies and the transfer patterns. "Money laundering but it's sloppy as hell. Your corporate layers are way too shallow and the IRS would catch this in six months, maybe less."

His smile got sharp and approving. "So how would you fix it?"

"Third-party trustees and offshore accounts in the Caymans. Stagger the transfers through legitimate business revenue so it looks organic." I pointed at the papers. "And for God's sake diversify your shell companies because this pattern screams illegal."

Luca actually laughed. "You're not just a pretty face."

"I never was."

"That's dangerous," he said softly. "Smart women always are, but I haven't decided yet if you're an asset or a threat."

"Maybe I'm both."

His eyes gleamed and I saw real interest there. "I'm really looking forward to finding out. Tomorrow morning, someone's taking you to the shooting range. Dante will be there waiting. You gotta have some way to protect yourself."

I nodded and didn't question it.

Dante was waiting at the gun range the next morning, all coiled muscle and controlled violence. He shoved a Glock into my hands without any preamble.

"You need to learn how to protect yourself."

"I don't need a gun."

"Everyone says that right up until someone starts shooting at them." He moved behind me and his body pressed against mine as he adjusted my grip. "Aim. Breathe. Squeeze the trigger, don't pull it."

I fired and the recoil jolted through my arms but the shot hit dead center.

"Again."

His hands covered mine and guided my movements. I could feel his heartbeat against my back and feel the heat coming off him and seeping through my clothes. My own pulse kicked up in response.

"You're a natural hunter," he murmured right in my ear.

I spun around fast and suddenly the gun was pressed against his chest. His eyes flared hot but he didn't move an inch.

"Are you actually teaching me to shoot or are you just taking advantage of the situation?"

Dante's smile was pure predator. "Both. Is that a problem?"

"Yes." I lowered the gun slowly. "But I haven't decided yet whether to shoot you for it."

"You'll end up liking me eventually," he said with absolute confidence.

Maybe I would.

After the lesson was over, I was taken to get dolled up because I had to accompany Vincent to some business dinner. We were still in the car when Vincent's hand slipped around my waist.

"Tonight you're my fiancée," he said. "You need to act the part."

"How intimate are we talking?"

His eyes locked on mine. "Intimate enough that everyone in that room believes you're mine."

My pulse started hammering. "That's going to require some serious commitment to the performance."

"Then commit to it."

The ballroom was full of sharks wearing designer suits. Vincent introduced me to dozens of people whose names I forgot immediately because I was too focused on his hand that never left my waist.

Then he kissed me.

Not some polite peck for show. A real kiss that claimed me in front of everyone. His hand cupped my jaw and tilted my head back while his mouth moved over mine with deliberate possession. He was making absolutely sure everyone saw and everyone understood.

I froze for maybe half a second. Then I kissed him back.

This is just acting, I tried to tell myself. Just playing the role he needs me to play.

But when his tongue swept against mine and his other hand tightened on my hip I stopped thinking completely.

He pulled back slowly and his eyes were dark and intense. "Still just a performance?"

My lips were tingling and my heart was racing. "What do you think?"

"I think," Vincent said quietly, "we're both in serious trouble now."