Twisted Revenge, His Secret Heir

Hazel’s POV “Don’t move.” The voice behind me was low enough to send a chill down my spine. I turned around slowly. Vicanti Moretti stood a few feet away with a gun pointed straight at me. Shit. “Put the papers down,” he said. I glanced at his hand before meeting his eyes again. “You’re pointing a gun at me?” “Am I?” The calmness in his voice was worse than the gun. I placed the papers on the desk, keeping my movements slow. My heart was beating hard enough that I was certain he could hear it. There was no point doing anything stupid when he had a loaded gun aimed at me. “You broke into my office in the middle of the night, opened a locked drawer, and you’re standing there holding confidential files.” “I didn’t break into anything.” I didn't break in, not technically; the service lift key I copied from my uncle's desk still worked on the private stairwell, giving me just enough time to slip into the study before the estate guards changed shifts. “Then how did you get in?” he asked, taking a step closer. “I walked through the door.” “Which was locked.” “Not very well, apparently.” Vicanti lowered the gun and picked up the papers I dropped. His eyes scanned the first page, then the second. When he looked back at me, the amusement had disappeared from his face. “You’ve been investigating me.” My heart skipped. “No.” He tapped the file against his palm. “You really want to lie to me right now?” “I wasn’t investigating you.” “Then explain this.” He held up the file. A list of Moretti-owned companies, properties, and shell corporations stared back at me. Three weeks. That was how long I had spent trying to find it. Now it was sitting in his hands. “I was curious.” “Curious enough to break into a restricted office?” “I told you, I didn’t break in.” “Then you won’t mind telling me who gave you the key.” “No one gave me anything.” He tossed the file onto the desk and stepped closer. “Your father?” “My father doesn’t know I’m here.” “Then why are you here?” I opened my mouth, but he didn’t give me time to answer. “You’ve been asking questions about my companies,” he continued. “You were seen near the east wing yesterday. Tonight, you break into my office and find the one file I keep locked away.” His eyes narrowed. “And you expect me to believe you just happened to be curious?” He stepped closer until there was barely any space between us. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Hazel.” That was the problem with Vicanti. He noticed everything. Every pause, hesitation. And lie. Such a pain in the ass type of man. “Let go of me.” “Tell me what you were looking for.” His fingers closed around my wrist. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. “The truth.” “About what?” I could feel his thumb against my pulse, his eyes never leaving mine. I almost told him about my mother. About the night she died and how the Moretti name had been blamed for her murder for years. But I couldn’t. Not yet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He released me so suddenly that I stumbled against the desk. Then he turned towards the window, while I rubbed my wrist and watched him, unsure whether the interrogation was over. Then he spoke: “The Romanovs and the Morettis are about to go to war.” “What?” I looked at him. “Someone attacked one of my men tonight.” “And you think it was my family?” “I think someone wants us to believe it was.” He turned around and leaned against the windowsill, crossing his arms over his chest. “There have been three attacks in the last two weeks. Your family blames mine. Mine blames yours. Tonight, one of my men was shot outside a Romanov property.” My stomach tightened. “And you still think someone is setting us up?” “If I thought your family ordered it, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you.” “What happened to him?” “He died before he reached the hospital.” “Was he alone?” I swallowed. “Yes.” “Did he say anything?” “Why?” I immediately regretted asking. “I was just asking.” “One more body and nobody will be able to stop what’s coming.” “And what are you going to do?” I c****d my head to the side. “Stop it.” “How do you intend to do that?” Vicanti pushed away from the windowsill and stopped in front of me. “By marrying you.” I laughed but stopped when he didn’t react. “Wait… you’re serious?” “Very.” “You pull a gun on me, accuse me of spying on you, and then ask me to marry you?” “I didn’t ask.” He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve as if we were discussing a business deal instead of marriage. “I made a decision.” Of course he did. Vicanti didn’t ask for anything. He took it. “And you think marrying me will stop a war?” “It will force both families to stand down.” “Why would my family agree?” “Because you’re the Romanov they cannot afford to bury. Your bloodline holds the council votes; kill you, and the families fracture from the inside.” He knew exactly where to strike. I looked away, but his fingers caught my chin and turned my face back toward him. “And if I refuse?” “Then the attacks continue.” “And people die.” “Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. I stared at him, searching his face for some sign that he was bluffing. There was none. He meant it. People would die if I walked away. For years, I believed his family killed my mother and spent every day since then waiting for the chance to get close enough to find out what really happened. I expected that chance to take years. Now it was standing in front of me. A marriage to Vicanti would give me exclusive access to him. My pulse steadied as the possibility took shape. Everything I had spent years trying to reach would finally be within my grasp. But the price was becoming his wife. I would be walking straight into the home of the man I believed was responsible for destroying mine. My fingers curled against my palm. It should have frightened me enough to refuse. Instead, I found myself wanting to know what I might uncover. I lowered my eyes for a moment, then looked back at him. “You really think this will work?” I asked. “It has to.” “And you expect me to just become your wife?” “You’re already tied to me by our families. This simply makes it official.” I let out a slow breath. “And what happens after the war ends?” His expression didn’t change. “We’ll decide that when we get there.” That wasn’t an answer. But I had already made my decision. “When?” “Tomorrow.” My eyebrows lifted. “You’ve planned the wedding already?” “I told you. I don’t make moves without a plan.” I shook my head. “You’re unbelievable.” “So I’ve been told.” For the first time that night, the corner of his mouth lifted. It disappeared just as quickly. “Do you have an answer?” I looked at him. For once, I was grateful for his arrogance. Because he had everything planned except the one thing that mattered. Me. “Fine.” “Fine?” “I’ll marry you.” He studied my face as if he was waiting for me to change my mind. I didn’t. He held out his hand. I looked at it for a moment before placing mine in his. His fingers closed around mine. “Then we have a deal?” he asked. I nodded. “We have a deal.” He thought he was ending the war. I knew I was starting mine.