Biker's Temptation: Claimed By The Ruthless Mafia King

Chapter Four: Lucien POV

She is not what I expected.

I have encountered many people running from dangerous things. Fear does specific things to people, it makes them smaller, more pliable, easier to manage. It strips away layers until you can see the essential person underneath, and usually what you find is someone who wants to be told what to do, who mistakes authority for safety, who transfers their need for protection onto the nearest available source of power.

Faye Harmon climbs back through that window and she stands in the east room with her bag on her shoulder and her chin level and she says, "How many?"

Not help me, not what do I do... how many.

"Three confirmed," I say. "Possibly more outside town."

"Anton doesn't send three unless he already has a location." She processes this quickly, no wasted movement in her thinking. "He knows I'm in this general area. He doesn't know exactly where yet or they'd already be here."

"Correct."

"How long before that changes?"

"Six hours. Maybe less."

She sets her bag down. Sits on the bed. Looks at the floor, not because she is avoiding my eyes but because that is where she goes when she is thinking hard, inward, methodical. I watch this and I file it. "You know who I am," she says.

"Faye Harmon. Anton Reves intended. Ran three days ago with four hundred dollars and a clean fake ID."

"Four hundred and four," she says, which is such a specific correction that something in my chest does an unexpected thing. I ignore it. "What do you want?" she asks.

"Honest question."

"Only kind worth asking."

I look at her. She looks back, level, unafraid in the specific way of people who have already identified the worst possible outcome and decided they can survive it. "Right now," I say, "I want to know what Reves investment in you is. Not the marriage, the real reason. The Harmon Reves alliance is financial, I know that. What does he get from you specifically that he doesn't get from the contract?"

Something moves across her face. Quick, controlled. "How much do you know about my father's financial network?"

"Enough."

"Then you know there's a secondary structure." She pauses. Studies me. Making a decision I can see forming in real time, whether to trust me, how much, with what. "My father has been moving money for certain families for fifteen years through a structure that doesn't appear in any public record. I am the only person outside my father who knows the full access protocol. Not Anton. Not his lawyers." She meets my eyes. "Me."

Ah.

There it is. She isn't just a contract bride. She's a key. Anton Reves doesn't want a wife, he wants access to fifteen years of invisible money movement, and the woman who holds the combination.

"Does your father know you know?" I ask.

He told me himself," she says, with a flatness that contains multitudes. "Six months ago. Before the engagement announcement. He said he was preparing me for my role."

The weight of that sits in the room for a moment.

"So you're worth more to Reves alive," I say.

"For now."

For now. She says it simply, without drama, and it is the most chilling thing I have heard in some time, which is saying something.

I stand. I go to the window she nearly escaped through and I look at the courtyard and I think. She has given me something real, which means she has decided, partially, provisionally to work with me rather than against me. Smart. She doesn't trust me. She is managing me. But the information was genuine, which means she is investing it like currency, purchasing something.

Time. She is purchasing time.

"You stay here," I say. "Under my protection."

"Your protection." The word sounds different in her mouth. Careful. "What does that cost?"

"Nothing yet."

"That's not how protection works," she says.

I look at her over my shoulder. "No," I say. "It isn't."

She holds my gaze and does not flinch, and something about that the steadiness of it, the refusal to look away from the implication does the unexpected thing again, the thing I have now decided to monitor as a liability.

"I need your answer," I say. "Reves's people are six hours out. If you want to run, run now and take your chances in the dark with a four hundred dollar head start. If you stay, you stay on my terms."

A long silence.

"What are your terms?" she asks.

"You don't lie to me again," I say. "About anything."

She almost smiles. Almost. The ghost of it moves across her mouth and disappears. "That's your only term?"

"For tonight," I say.

Outside, one of my men signals from the gatehouse, a light pattern, routine check. I return the signal.

When I turn back, she is looking at her hands.

"Okay," she says. "Tonight."

I leave her to whatever sleep she can manage and I go back to my office and I pick up the phone and I call in every piece of intelligence I have on the Reves family's eastern network, because six hours is not very long and I intend to know exactly what is coming before it arrives.

It takes me two hours.

What I find at the end of those two hours is not just three scouts.

It is the full picture of what Anton Reves considers a retrieval operation, and it is significantly larger than three men with questions in a small town.

I sit with this for a moment.

Then I pick up the phone again and I wake up my war council.