The President’s Contracted Bride

Chapter 2

Viktor Alessandro Rossi was driving way too fast, especially for these country roads, his face set. He had been driving around Brooklyn for hours, circling aimlessly in his sleek Aston Martin, with his bodyguards trailing behind him in their cars. Not even the comfort of the cushion interior and the way the car hugged the road's curves could soothe his restless spirit.

His mood was vicious, just as it had been ever since the bombshell in his grandfather’s will had exploded. His hands tightened over the wheel of the car, anger coursing through him.

At age 22, he joined Rossi industries, quickly rising through ranks. And now that he had made it to the top by himself, his grandfather had done to him what he had—made that outrageous, pernicious demand in his will.

As Viktor drove, a call came in through the infotainment system, Orion's name flashing on the screen. Without taking his eyes off the road, Viktor accepted the call.

"Mr. Rossi, it's not safe for you to drive yourself," Orion's panicked voice filled the car. "You need to head home, it's getting dark."

Viktor was about to respond when his gaze caught a group of men lurking in the shadows nearby. He thought they were just smokers, but his attention was snagged when one of them roughly shoved a woman to the ground. Viktor's eyes narrowed, and he slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to an abrupt halt.

Orion's voice crackled through the car's speakers again, "Mr. Viktor, what's wrong?" Having been driving behind Viktor's car with the rest of the guards, Orion had witnessed Viktor's sudden stop.

But Viktor didn't respond. Instead, he opened the door and stepped out, his hands casually slipping into his pockets as he strode towards the group of men assaulting the woman.

"Allontanati, prima che le cose si mettano male," Viktor growled in Italian, his voice low and menacing. He wasn't one to intervene in strangers' affairs, but the group was blocking his path. With a sense of irritation, he stepped forward, his eyes locked on the men. [Back off, before things get ugly.]

The man, poised to rip the woman's clothes, froze and lifted his gaze to meet Viktor's. He slowly rose to his feet, while the woman on the floor scrambled backward, hugging herself tightly in fear.

"Who do you think you are, spewing trash?" the man snarled, his irritation growing. "What's with this 'allontanati' nonsense? What does it even mean?"

Viktor's attention shifted to the woman, her torn clothes a stark indication of the horror she had almost endured. He averted his gaze, his eyes locking onto the man who had spoken.

"I'm here for the girl, not you," he stated, his tone even. "All you need to do is hand her over."

The men exchanged laughter, but their amusement was short-lived. One of them stepped forward, facing Viktor head-on.

"I told you, over my dead body," he spat.

Viktor nodded slightly and took a step back. That was when his bodyguards emerged from the shadows, their presence striking fear into the men's eyes.

"Wh-who are you?" one of the men stuttered. The second man nudged him, and they exchanged a nervous glance. With a nod, they turned and fled, abandoning the woman on the floor. Viktor's men closed in, forming a protective circle around him.

"Should we go after them?" one of Viktor's men asked.

Viktor's gaze remained fixed on the woman, who hadn't moved or attempted to escape. "No, they're not worth the trouble," he replied.

He turned to the woman, his voice softening. "Are you okay?"

Katarina slowly raised her head, her face smeared with dirt and tears. Earlier, she had thought all was lost when the men had attacked her. But this stranger had appeared, saving her from the brink of disaster.

"I'm fine," she whispered, her lips trembling. "Thank you."

Orion spoke up, "Since she's unharmed, we should head back home. We'll relocate to your apartment here in New York and fly back to Italy tomorrow."

Viktor ignored Orion's suggestion, instead focusing on Katarina. "It's not safe to be out alone at night. You should be more careful."

As he turned to leave, Katarina's eyes widened in alarm. She scrambled to her feet and grasped the sleeve of his jacket. "Help me, please," she begged, her voice cracking.

Viktor turned to face her, his gaze lingering on her features. Even in the darkness, her beauty was evident – her russet-colored eyes, pale lips, and disheveled hair.

"Help?" His voice echoed through the night air, and Katarina nodded fervently. She had nowhere to go, and the thought of those men returning to kill her sent a chill down her spine.

Viktor's words were firm and commanding. "You don't ask strangers for help, darling," he said, his fingers brushing against her cheek as he wiped away the dirt.

"Go home, it's late." He turned to leave, but Katarina's grip on his sleeve tightened.

"I—I don't have a home," she whispered, desperation creeping into her voice. The thought of returning to her old life, witnessing Kailey marry Mason, was unbearable.

She knew it was wrong to ask a stranger for help, but she had no choice. He had saved her, which meant he had a little empathy in him.

Viktor's expression remained unreadable, but Orion stepped forward, whispering something in his ear. Viktor's gaze lingered on Katarina, contemplation etched on his face. He needed a wife urgently, and this woman here had presented herself to him.

"What will I get in return from you?" he asked finally, his voice low and measured.

Katarina's response was immediate, driven by desperation. "Anything. I'll do whatever you want."

A slow, dark smile spread across Viktor's face, and he patted her cheek, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "Follow me."

With legs trembling beneath her, Katarina trailed behind him to his car. She knew this was a perilous path, but she had no choice. For now, she was safe – or so it seemed.