CHAPTER 1
The air in the boardroom was dead. It didn't circulate, it just sat there, heavy with the scent of ozone from the storm brewing outside and the expensive, metallic tang of fear.
Bianca Moretti sat at the end of the long mahogany table. She kept her chin up, but her pulse was a frantic rhythm against the high collar of her lace dress. To her left, her father, Don Moretti, looked like a man made of ash. He stared at his hands, hands that had ordered deaths for thirty years and they were shaking.
Across from them sat Silas Vane.
He didn't move like the businessmen Bianca was used to. He didn't lean back or check his gold watch. He sat perfectly still, his broad shoulders filling the high-backed chair, his large, scarred hands resting flat on the table. He looked less like a billionaire and more like a mountain that had decided to wear a suit.
His eyes were the worst part, they were a sharp, predatory amber that seemed to track the slightest movement of her throat every time she swallowed.
"The time is up, Moretti," Silas said. His voice was a low, textured vibration that Bianca felt in her teeth. It sounded like stones grinding together.
"I need more time to liquidize the assets," her father pleaded. His voice was thin, a pathetic sound compared to the man sitting opposite him. "The docks... the union strikes... it’s complicated."
Silas leaned forward. As he moved into the light of the overhead chandelier, Bianca saw the edge of a jagged scar peeking out from beneath his silk tie. He didn't look at her father. He looked directly at her. His gaze was cold, stripping her down to her very soul. It wasn't lust. It was pure, unadulterated loathing.
"You don't have assets anymore," Silas said. "I bought your debt from the Russians this morning. I own your houses. I own your cars. I own the chair you’re sitting on."
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a single sheet of paper. He slid it across the polished wood. It stopped right in front of Bianca.
"One signature," Silas said, his eyes never leaving hers. "And I don't send my men to your front door tonight."
Bianca looked down, It was a marriage contract.
"Papa?" she whispered, her voice breaking the heavy silence.
Her father wouldn't look at her. He just closed his eyes and nodded once. "Sign it, Bianca. Or we all die before the sun comes up."
The room felt like it was shrinking. Bianca’s fingers felt numb as she reached for the heavy fountain pen. Silas watched her every move. He watched her struggle with the cap, his lip curling in a faint, disgusted sneer.
She signed. The ink looked like a bloodstain on the white paper.
Before she could even pull her hand away, Silas snatched the paper. He stood up in one fluid, explosive motion. He was terrifyingly tall, his presence suddenly swallowing the room.
"Get up," he commanded.
"Now?" Bianca blinked, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I... I have to go home. I have to pack my things."
Silas walked around the table. He didn't stop until he was inches from her. He smelled of woodsmoke, rain, and something sharp...like iron. He reached out and grabbed her upper arm. His fingers were like heated steel, digging into her soft skin through the lace of her sleeve.
"You don't have a home," he hissed, his face so close she could see the golden rings in his pupils. "You have me. And I’m not leaving my property here."
He turned to her father, who was still staring at the floor. "Don't follow us. Don't call her. If I see a Moretti car within ten miles of my gate, I’ll send her back to you in a box."
