Married To The Don's Cold Heart

Elena Voss found out her father was going to die three different ways before nine a.m. The first was the phone call. A blocked number woke her at 6:12 that morning. She answered half-asleep, expecting silence. Instead, a man's voice came through the receiver, flat as a closed door. “Tell Marcus Voss he has until Friday.” Click. Elena sat upright in bed. “Hello?” Nothing. She stared at the phone for several seconds before forcing herself to breathe. Her father had always been terrible with money. Elena knew that. He had made mistakes before, taken bad investments, trusted the wrong people. But he'd never received threats. At least, he'd never told her about any. By seven, she'd convinced herself it was some kind of mistake. By eight, she knew it wasn't. The second way she found out was the paperwork. She was looking for her father's reading glasses. He had a habit of leaving them in strange places, and lately she'd been finding herself doing more and more things for him. Making his tea. Picking up his prescriptions. Reminding him about appointments. She told herself she wasn't snooping when she opened the drawer beside his desk. She was just looking for the glasses. Then she saw the folder. M.V. — PRIVATE. Her stomach tightened. Inside were bank statements, loan documents, handwritten figures and letters she didn't understand. Until she saw the number. $412,000. Elena read it twice. Then a third time. Four hundred and twelve thousand dollars. Her father's name was written across the top of one document. Underneath it was another name. Moretti. A black ink note had been scrawled across the page. FINAL PAYMENT DUE FRIDAY. Her fingers went cold. “No,” she whispered. Her father couldn't owe that kind of money. He couldn't. Not unless— A knock sounded at the front door. Three slow knocks. Elena froze. The third way she found out was the man standing on her porch at 8:47 a.m. He wore a black coat that probably cost more than her yearly salary. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Immaculately composed. And his eyes were the color of a winter sky just before snow. Elena opened the door only a few inches. “You're not the collector.” It was the only thing she could think to say that wasn't Who are you? The man's expression didn't change. “No.” His voice was low and calm. “I’m the one he owes.” Elena's hand tightened around the edge of the door. Behind her, she could hear her father's footsteps. Slow. Careful. Too careful. She'd blamed his increasingly unsteady walk on his knees. She'd blamed his tiredness on age. She'd blamed everything except the possibility that something was terribly wrong. “You're Moretti,” she said. Not a question. Everyone in the city knew the name. Moretti. The family people whispered about. The family whose businesses seemed to exist everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The family people didn't cross. The man looked at her. “Damian Moretti.” He said it like it was an ordinary introduction. Like his name didn't make Elena's pulse jump. “And you're the daughter.” His eyes moved over her face. “Elena.” The way he said her name made her skin prickle. He already knew who she was. That frightened her more than it should have. “My father doesn't owe anyone four hundred thousand dollars.” The lie came out before she could stop it. Damian's eyebrow lifted slightly. “Four hundred and twelve.” Elena's stomach dropped. “With interest as of this morning.” She tightened her grip on the door. “I want you to leave.” “I imagine you do.” He didn't move. Didn't even shift his weight. There was something deeply unsettling about his stillness. He wasn't trying to intimidate her. He didn't have to. Men like Damian Moretti probably didn't spend their lives proving they were dangerous. People already knew. “I have nothing to discuss with you.” “You do.” “No, I don't.” “You have about four minutes.” Elena frowned. “For what?” “Before your father comes to see who's standing at his door.” Her blood ran cold. Damian's gaze remained fixed on her. “He already knows exactly who I am.” As if summoned by the words, her father's voice came from behind her. “Elena.” She turned. Marcus Voss stood in the hallway. His face had gone pale. “Get inside.” It was the fear in his voice that frightened her most. Her father had never sounded like that. Not when her mother died. Not when their house had nearly been foreclosed on. Not ever. “Dad?” Marcus's eyes moved to Damian. “Damian.” Damian inclined his head. “Marcus.” The familiarity between them made Elena's heart pound. “You know him?” Her father didn't answer. Damian did. “I was just telling your daughter I have a proposal.” Marcus's jaw tightened. “One that solves your Friday problem entirely.” “Damian, we agreed you'd deal with me.” Marcus's voice cracked. “Not her.” His eyes moved to Elena. “Never her.” Something inside Elena shifted. “What does he mean?” Neither man answered. She looked between them. “Dad?” Damian's gaze returned to her. “The debt is forgiven.” Elena stared at him. “Completely.” Her father's eyes widened. “No.” Damian continued as if he hadn't spoken. “Four hundred and twelve thousand dollars. Principal and interest.” Elena swallowed. “In exchange for what?” Damian looked directly into her eyes. “You.” Silence. For a moment, Elena wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. Then he said it plainly. “You'll marry me.” Her father's face crumpled. “Damian, please.” “One month from today.” Elena felt the world tilt beneath her. “Absolutely not.” She almost laughed because the alternative was screaming. “You cannot be serious.” “I am.” “You're asking me to marry a stranger because my father owes you money?” “I'm offering you the opportunity to save his life.” “You're blackmailing me.” “No.” Damian's expression remained cold. “I'm giving you a choice.” “What choice?” His eyes hardened. “Marriage.” Elena's throat tightened. “And if I say no?” Damian was silent for a moment. Then he looked at Marcus. “Your father has until Friday.” Her father's hand found the wall. Elena stared at him. “Dad?” Marcus closed his eyes. That was when she understood. He really was going to die. The phone call. The paperwork. The man standing in front of her. All three pieces finally fit together. “You can't do this,” Elena whispered. Damian stepped closer. Not enough to touch her. Just enough for her to catch the faint scent of his cologne. “I can.” Something flickered behind his eyes. Interest. Not affection. Not warmth. Something colder. “You have until the end of the week.” He turned. Elena watched him walk toward the black car waiting at the curb. She should have let him leave. Instead, the question escaped her. “Wait.” Damian stopped. He didn't turn immediately. Elena hated the way her heart was pounding. “Why me?” He slowly looked over his shoulder. “You don't know me.” “I know enough.” “You could marry anyone.” “I could.” “Then why me?” For the first time, something almost resembling curiosity crossed his face. “Because your father's debt gives me an excuse my family will accept.” Elena frowned. “What does that mean?” Damian didn't answer. Instead, his eyes settled on her with unsettling intensity. “And because I've been watching you.” Her breath caught. “What?” “I watched you argue with me for four straight minutes without your voice shaking.” His mouth curved slightly. “Do you know how rare that is?” Elena's anger pushed through her fear. “I'm terrified of you.” “No.” His voice was quiet. “You're afraid of what I might do.” He took another step toward the car. “But you're not afraid of me.” Elena said nothing. Damian opened the car door. Then he paused. “Not yet.” The words sent a chill down her spine. “Everyone learns eventually.” He got into the car. The door closed. The vehicle pulled away without hurry. Without urgency. Like a man who already knew exactly how this would end. Elena stood frozen on the porch. Her father's trembling hand settled on her shoulder. She looked at him. “Dad.” He couldn't meet her eyes. “I'm sorry.” Those two words broke something inside her. She looked down the empty street. Damian Moretti was gone. But his offer remained. Her father's life for her hand. A marriage to a man she had every reason to fear. And somewhere deep inside her, beneath the terror and disbelief, Elena knew one thing with absolute certainty. Damian Moretti hadn't chosen her because of the debt. The debt had only given him an excuse. And whatever he really wanted from her... She was going to find out.