Blair.
My first instinct was to run. My second was to find a weapon. My third, drowning out the others, was a cold, professional assessment of the room.
One door. Floor to ceiling windows, tenth floor at least, a fatal drop. No visible cameras, but that meant nothing. They were there, hidden in the recessed lighting or the smoke detectors.
The shirt I was wearing was useless for a fight. The diamond ring was a potential weapon, a vicious thing to drag across an attacker’s face. I tugged it again. It wouldn’t budge. A permanent fixture. A brand.
Forget the ring. Forget the certificate. The only thing that mattered was getting out. I slid out of the massive bed, my bare feet silent on the cold hardwood floor. My assassin training kicked in, a familiar calm settling over the chaos in my mind. Breathe. Observe. Move.
I crept to the door, pressing my ear against the heavy wood. Silence. I turned the handle slowly, wincing at the barely audible click of the latch. It was unlocked. A rookie mistake on their part. Or a deliberate invitation.
The hallway was a long, cavernous space lined with dark paintings. It was a gallery of shadows. I moved along the wall, a ghost in a stolen shirt, every sense on high alert. The air was still. Too still.
I was halfway to a grand staircase when two figures stepped out of an adjoining corridor, blocking my path. They were huge, dressed in black suits that couldn't conceal the bulk of the muscle underneath or the holsters under their arms.
They didn't draw their weapons. They just stood there, watching me. Waiting for me.
“Good morning, Mrs. Kessler,” one of them said. His voice was a low gravelly sound, utterly devoid of emotion.
The name sent a jolt through me. Hearing it spoken aloud made it real. Tangible. A cage closing around me.
I feigned confusion, letting my eyes go wide, pulling the silk shirt tighter around myself. I had to be Bella Esposito now. Frightened. Helpless.
“Where am I?” I asked, my voice a carefully crafted whisper. “Who are you? I want to go home.”
“Don Kessler is waiting for you,” the second man said. He gestured down the hall, away from the stairs. Away from freedom. “He’ll answer your questions.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, my voice shaking with manufactured fear. “I want to leave. Now.”
The first guard took a step forward. He didn’t threaten me, not really. But his presence was a threat in itself. “Please, Mrs. Kessler. Do not make this difficult.”
My mind calculated the odds. Two of them, both armed, both professionals by the look of them. I was unarmed, barefoot, and half dressed. I could probably take one down, maybe even both, but not silently. Not without raising an alarm that would bring a dozen more just like them. Surrender was my only tactical option for now.
I gave a small, defeated nod. “Okay.”
They walked on either side of me, not touching but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from their bodies. They led me to a pair of imposing oak doors and one of them knocked once, a soft, respectful rap.
“Enter,” a voice commanded from within.
The guard opened the door and gestured for me to go inside. I stepped across the threshold, and the door clicked shut behind me, the sound of a cell door locking.
The room was a study, lined from floor to ceiling with books. A massive desk sat in front of a window that offered the same stunning park view as the bedroom. And standing by that window, silhouetted against the morning light, was the man from the club.
Adrian Kessler.
He turned slowly, and the full force of his presence hit me. In the harsh light of day, without the club’s forgiving shadows, he was even more intimidating. Colder. His dark eyes swept over me, an appraisal that missed nothing, from my bare feet to the frantic pulse I could feel beating in my throat.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice the same low rumble I vaguely remembered. “I trust you slept well.”
I clutched the shirt. “This is a mistake. A sick joke.”
“I assure you, our marriage is no joke,” he said, walking toward the desk. He moved with a predator’s grace that made every nerve in my body scream danger.
“I was drunk,” I insisted. “We were both drunk. You can’t hold me to something that happened when I wasn’t in my right mind.”
He picked up a glass of amber liquid from his desk. Whiskey, even at this hour. “You seemed perfectly in your right mind when you said ‘I do.’”
“We need to get this annulled,” I said, taking a step forward. “Now. Today. We can just pretend this never happened.”
“An annulment?” He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine. “No. That will not be possible.”
His certainty was terrifying. “What do you mean, not possible? This is America. I have rights.”
“You have a husband,” he corrected calmly. “In my world, a signed contract is binding. Vows were exchanged. Witnesses were present.”
“What witnesses? A few drunk people at a club?”
“My most trusted men,” he clarified. “And as for the other requirement… the marriage was consummated. You do remember that part, don’t you, Bella?”
The way he said my alias sent a chill down my spine. It was a name that was supposed to protect me, to keep me invisible. From his lips, it sounded like a chain.
My memory of the night was a blur of tequila and dancing. I couldn’t remember anything clearly after that third shot of champagne. But I woke up in his bed.
“Why?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Why would you do this?”
“Because I needed a wife,” he said simply, as if explaining the weather.
“So you went to a club and picked out the first drunk girl you saw? What is wrong with you?”
He almost smiled then, a cold, humorless twitch of his lips. “I don’t do things by accident. I saw you, and I decided. You were exactly what I was looking for.”
“What you were looking for?” I repeated, bewildered. “I’m a florist, for God’s sake. What could you possibly want with a florist?”
“Precisely,” he said. His eyes narrowed slightly. “You are perfect. Normal. Innocent. From the outside, you look like you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
The words hung in the air between us. It was a test. He was watching for my reaction.
I forced myself to look confused, hurt. “I don’t understand any of this. You’re scaring me.”
“I’ve recently come into a new position of power,” he explained, ignoring my plea. “There is a… Commission. Old men who value tradition and stability. A Don with a respectable, civilian wife looks stable. He looks settled. He doesn’t look like a man who is about to burn his enemies to the ground.”
Don. The word confirmed everything my instincts were screaming. This wasn’t just a rich, controlling lunatic. This was the mafia.
And I, the underworld’s most feared assassin, had accidentally married the Don of the New York family.
“So I’m a prop,” I said, the pieces clicking into place. “A piece of scenery for your power plays.”
“You are my wife,” he stated. “You will play the part. You will live in this house, you will stand by my side at dinners and events, and you will present the picture of a happy, devoted bride.”
I laughed, a sharp, hysterical sound. “Or what? What will you do if I refuse?”
He set his glass down on the desk with a heavy thud. The sound echoed in the silent room.
“Refusal is not an option,” he said, his voice dropping to a deadly soft tone. “You are a Kessler now. Trying to leave would be… unfortunate. The world is a dangerous place, Bella. Especially for a girl all alone, with a little sister to worry about.”
The mention of Sofia hit me like a physical blow. He knew about Sofia. Of course he did. He had run a background check. He knew everything about Bella Esposito. A fake identity I had spent years building.
“You stay away from my sister,” I hissed, the fear for Sofia overriding my own.
“As long as you are a dutiful wife, your sister will be perfectly safe,” he promised. “She’ll never have to worry about a thing for the rest of her life.”
It was a promise and a threat, all in one. He was trapping me with the one person I couldn’t bear to lose.
He walked around the desk until he was standing directly in front of me, so close I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
“This is my world now,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “And you are in the very center of it.”
He reached out and tilted my chin up with his finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. His touch was cold, possessive.
“Welcome to the family, wife.”
