Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
As I work into the night, her words echo in my mind, a truth I'm not ready to face.
You're not as evil as you think. And more redeemable than you let yourself believe.
She's wrong, of course. I am danger incarnate. Even my own father thinks so. So why then? Why does she insist on seeing a man underneath the blood and shadow? Why I am undone by words that are supposed to be a lie?
Her words haunt me. Memories of her face torment me. They keep me from sleeping, and all I can think of is just one thing. And before I realize what's happening, I'm already at her door. Knocking.
She opens it immediately, as if she'd been waiting.
"G-Gabriele?"
"Marry me." The words escape before I can shape them into something more logical, more calculated.
"W-what?" She takes a step back, eyes widening.
Damn it. I've frightened her. "I don't mean—" I rake my fingers through my hair. "It would be an arrangement. Protection. My name would shield you in ways nothing else can."
"Marriage?" Her voice trembles, and something in my chest twists painfully.
"You don't have to answer now." But she does. We both know it. "It's just the only way I can guarantee your safety."
"It's not that I'm afraid of you," she whispers, and the admission hits me like a physical blow. "It's just... everything's happening too fast."
Too fast, she says.
How long will it take her to realize that time won't make a difference? She can wait as long as she likes, but someone like me will never change. Someone like me will never deserve her. But because she was born with Biancardi blood running in her veins, she has no choice.
Time is not on her side. And for better or for worse, her brother chose me to protect her, by all means possible.
"Think about it," I say instead, stepping back into the hallway. "Until morning."
Chapter Three
KLEAH
IT'S THE SECOND NIGHT that I've hardly slept.
Marry me.
Two simple words that had knocked the breath from my lungs. Not a request born of love or even desire, but a strategic solution to an impossible problem. A way to shield me using his name, his reputation, his power.
I'd asked for time, and he'd given it—until morning. Well, morning has arrived, and with it the weight of a decision that will alter my life irrevocably.
Outside my window, the ocean stretches endlessly toward the horizon. The safe house is nothing like I'd imagined—not the stark, utilitarian fortress I'd expected but a beautiful coastal retreat with breathtaking views. The contrast between its elegance and the ugly reality of my situation feels jarring.
I dress in the clothes Gabriele provided—soft leggings and a comfortable sweater, both in my size. The thoughtfulness of this small detail catches me off guard. How does a man this dangerous, this controlled, notice something as mundane as clothing sizes?
The scent of coffee draws me from my room. I follow it to the kitchen, where Gabriele stands at the window, his back to me, a mug in his hand as he gazes out at the ocean. He's changed into dark jeans and a fresh henley that does nothing to disguise the muscular breadth of his shoulders.
He turns as I enter, as if he sensed my presence before I made a sound. There's something different in his expression this morning—a vulnerability quickly masked by his usual controlled facade.
"Did you sleep?" he asks, his voice low and rough.
"Not much," I admit. "You?"
He doesn't answer, just reaches for another mug and pours coffee for me. The domestic gesture seems incongruous with the dangerous aura that surrounds him.
"I've been thinking..."
"And?" No pressure in his tone, just careful neutrality.
"I have questions first." I move to the kitchen island, setting my mug down with deliberate care. "This marriage you're proposing. What exactly would it mean?"
He considers for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Legally, it would establish you as my wife, entitled to my protection and resources. In the world we're dealing with, it would mark you as claimed—no longer just Viktor Biancardi's sister, but Gabriele Bronzetti's bride. That status creates complications for anyone planning to harm you."
"Complications," I repeat. "Not impossibilities."
"Nothing is impossible for someone determined enough. But marriage raises the stakes considerably. An attack on you becomes an attack on me, my honor, my position. Few would risk that lightly."
I take a sip of coffee, the warmth of it spreading through my chest. "And practically? Day to day? What would this marriage look like?"
His dark eyes study me over the rim of his cup. "Whatever we decide it should look like. There are appearances to maintain in certain circles, yes. But behind closed doors, the parameters are ours to set."
"Parameters," I echo. "You make it sound like a business arrangement."
"Isn't that what you'd prefer?"
The question catches me off guard. I should say yes immediately. Of course that's what I'd prefer—a marriage in name only, a protective shield with no messy emotions or physical entanglements. And yet, something holds me back.