The sister

Blair. I packed the rifle away, the pieces clicking together with practiced silence. Below me, the city lights of New York glittered, oblivious. Another ghost for the morgue. Another paycheck in my account. My burner phone buzzed once. “Is it done?” The voice was distorted, belonging to the man I only knew as the Broker. “Target eliminated,” I said, my voice flat. “Clean shot. No witnesses.” “Payment is wired. Lay low, Viper.” “Always do.” I ended the call, shoving the phone into my tactical vest. The job was over. Now, the night began. An hour later, I was no longer the Viper. I was Blair Renwick, florist, older sister, and currently, very late for a birthday party. I pushed through the pulsing crowd of a rooftop club, the bass thumping in my chest. I spotted her immediately, a splash of bright color in a sea of black and gray. My sister, Sofia, was waving frantically from a table. “You’re late!” she shouted over the music as I sat down. “Sorry, work ran over,” I said, kissing her cheek. “Happy birthday, little sister.” “You always say that. What kind of boring flower shop keeps you so late on a Friday?” “The kind with very demanding customers,” I lied easily. “This place is incredible. Must have cost a fortune.” “Don’t worry about it! It’s my twenty-first! We’re celebrating. First round is on me.” She slid a shot glass full of tequila toward me. “I shouldn’t,” I started, but she gave me the puppy dog eyes that had worked on me since she was five. “Please? For me?” I sighed, picking up the glass. “Fine. But just one.” “To my amazing sister,” Sofia toasted, clinking her glass against mine. “For paying for my classes and my rent and basically everything.” “To you,” I corrected, “for putting up with me. Now drink up.” We swallowed the tequila, and I winced at the burn. It had been a long time since I’d let my guard down enough to drink. “So,” Sofia said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Did you see him?” “See who?” “The guy at the bar. Dark hair, tailored suit, looks like he owns the whole city. He’s been staring over here for ten minutes.” My instincts kicked in. I scanned the bar discreetly. My eyes landed on him. He was handsome, I’d give him that, in a dangerous way. His suit was definitely expensive, and the watch on his wrist was probably worth more than my apartment. He met my gaze and gave a slow, deliberate nod. “He looks like trouble,” I said, turning back to Sofia. “The best kind of trouble,” she giggled. “Oh my god, he’s coming over. Act natural.” I rolled my eyes. The man stopped at our table, his presence commanding the space around him. “Good evening,” he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the club’s noise. His eyes were fixed on me. “Hi,” Sofia said, practically beaming. “I couldn’t help but notice you from the bar,” he continued, still looking at me. “My name is Adrian.” “Blair,” I said curtly. “And this is my sister, Sofia. It’s her birthday.” “Happy birthday, Sofia,” Adrian said with a charming smile, but his attention snapped right back to me. “Blair. A beautiful name. Let me buy you a drink to celebrate.” “We’re fine,” I said. “Nonsense,” Sofia chirped, kicking me under the table. “We’d love one. I’ll have another tequila.” Adrian signaled a waitress without even looking away from me. “Two more tequilas. And a bottle of your best champagne.” The night blurred after that. I remember arguing with Sofia. “We can’t accept champagne from a stranger.” And Sofia’s reply. “Live a little, Blair! He’s hot!” I remember Adrian leaning in close, his breath warm against my ear. “You have a fire in your eyes. I like it.” I remember dancing. His hand was firm on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. For a woman trained to kill with a touch, I felt strangely safe. “Another shot?” he’d asked, a smirk playing on his lips. “Why not?” I’d heard myself say. Big mistake. The next thing I knew, sunlight was streaming through the gap in heavy silk curtains, stabbing me directly in the eye. My head throbbed with a vengeance. I groaned, rolling over. The bed was massive, the sheets so soft they felt like water against my skin. This wasn’t my apartment. Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the hangover. I sat bolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. The room was a masterpiece of masculine luxury. Dark wood, gray walls, a floor to ceiling window showing a panoramic view of Central Park. I was wearing a man's silk dress shirt, and nothing else. “Okay, Blair. Don’t panic,” I whispered to myself, my voice hoarse. “Assess the situation.” I scanned for my clothes. Nothing. My purse? Not here. My weapons? Definitely not here. My gaze fell to my left hand, which felt oddly heavy. A diamond the size of a small planet sat on my ring finger, throwing rainbows of light onto the ceiling. “What in the world is this?” I asked the empty room. I tried to pull it off, but it was stuck fast. My eyes darted around the room again, searching for answers, and landed on the nightstand. Next to a half empty glass of water was a folded piece of thick, official looking paper. My blood ran cold. With a shaking hand, I reached for it. It was heavy, embossed with the seal of the State of New York. At the top, in elegant script, were two words that made my stomach drop to the floor. Marriage Certificate. “No,” I breathed. “No, no, no. This is a joke.” But it wasn’t. It was all there in black and white. Names, date, witness signatures that were nothing but illegible scrawls. My eyes found the names of the newlyweds. Spouse A: Bella Esposito. My alias. My civilian cover. The name on the fake driver’s license in my wallet. The name no one should know unless they’d run a deep background check. I felt the air leave my lungs. Then I read the other name. Spouse B: Adrian Kessler. 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.” Adrian. I watched her. Her name was Bella Esposito, at least according to the file my investigator had compiled. Twenty-six years old. An orphan. Raised in the foster system. Moved to New York five years ago. Opened a small, unremarkable flower shop in Queens. Her only living relative was a younger sister, Sofia Renwick. Different last names, a detail my men were still looking into. On paper, she was perfectly boring. Standing in my study, wearing my shirt, she was anything but boring. She wasn’t crying. She wasn't pleading or screaming, not like any other woman would be. She was still, her chin held high, her eyes flashing with a defiant fury that was far more interesting than fear. Her file said she was a florist. A woman who worked with petals and ribbons. But I saw a core of steel in her posture that didn't fit. It intrigued me. “You are taking this better than I expected,” I said, breaking the silence. I leaned back against my desk, crossing my arms. “What did you expect?” she shot back, her voice tight. “That I’d fall to my knees and thank you for kidnapping me?” “Some hysterics, perhaps. A few tears. It’s the customary response.” “I’m not a customary girl.” “I am beginning to see that,” I said. A small smile touched my lips. “That’s good. A weak wife would be a liability.” “I am not your wife,” she insisted, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I am your prisoner.” “The two are not mutually exclusive in my world,” I told her calmly. “But let’s call it a business arrangement. It might be easier for you to accept.” Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of business?” “I need you for one year,” I stated, laying out the terms. “You will play the part of the loving Mrs. Kessler. You will smile for the cameras, you will host my dinners, you will attend galas on my arm. You will be the perfect, respectable wife.” “And in exchange for this year of servitude?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I am a generous man,” I said. “At the end of the year, I will grant you a quiet annulment. You will be free to go. I will also give you five million dollars.” She blinked. For the first time, I saw a crack in her composure. The amount was designed to shock her. For a florist from Queens, it was a life changing sum. “Five million dollars?” she repeated, her voice a little unsteady. “And I will take care of your sister,” I added, pressing my advantage. “Sofia. I’ve read her file. Art school isn't cheap. Neither is living in this city. I will pay off her student loans. All of them. I will buy her an apartment. I will set up a trust fund for her. She will never have to worry about money again.” That hit her harder than the money. I saw it in the way her shoulders tensed, the flicker of raw emotion in her eyes. The sister was her weak point. Good to know. “You would do all that?” she whispered. “I would,” I confirmed. “All you have to do is be my wife for three hundred and sixty-five days.” She was quiet for a long moment, processing it. Her mind was working, I could see it. She was weighing the bars of her cage, seeing if they were made of gold or steel. “Why?” she finally asked. “Why me? You could have any woman you want. Why go to all this trouble for a stranger?” “Because you are a stranger,” I explained. “You have no ties to my world. No ambitious father trying to forge an alliance. No brother with a grudge. You are clean. A blank slate. The Commission will see you as a sign of peace. Stability.” “So I’m just a shield,” she said, her voice flat. “You’re a queen,” I corrected. “A piece on the chessboard, yes, but the most important one next to the king. You will have everything you could ever desire. Clothes, jewelry, cars. This house will be your house. My protection will be your protection.” She looked around the study, at the priceless books and the antique desk. Her gaze was not one of awe, but of calculation. It was unsettling. A florist should be overwhelmed. She just looked… analytical. “And what if I say no?” she asked, her eyes snapping back to mine. “What if I don't want your money or your protection? What if I want my life back? The one you stole from me last night.” I pushed off the desk and walked toward her. I stopped an inch from her, invading her space, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at me. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t retreat. She smelled faintly of champagne and something else, something uniquely her. It was intoxicating. “Then I would be disappointed,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “And my disappointment has consequences.” “Is that a threat?” “It’s a fact,” I said. “If you walk out that door, my generosity vanishes. The offer is gone. And my curiosity takes its place.” “Curiosity?” “I would begin to wonder about you, Bella Esposito,” I said softly, watching her pupils dilate. “I would want to know everything. Where you came from before you arrived in New York five years ago. Who your parents really were. I would have my men dig into every corner of your life. Every secret. Every friend. Every enemy. I am a very thorough man. When something, or someone, belongs to me, I learn everything about them.” Her breath hitched. It was a tiny sound, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. I had hit a nerve. A deep one. “You would do that just because I refused to be your puppet?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Possessions that defy me must be understood,” I said simply. “And you, my dear, are now a Kessler possession. Whether you like it or not.” Her face was pale. The mention of digging into her past had terrified her. Why would a simple florist have a past she was so desperate to keep hidden? The puzzle of her was becoming more compelling by the second. “You’re a monster,” she whispered. “I am a Don,” I replied. “The two are often confused. But I am a monster who can keep your sister safe and make her dreams come true. The other option involves a great deal of uncertainty for you both.” I let the silence hang between us. I had laid the trap perfectly. One path led to a gilded cage with safety for her sister. The other led to exposure. To the destruction of whatever secrets she was hiding. She stared at me, her eyes a battleground of hatred and fear and resignation. I felt a strange pull, a desire to smooth the worried line between her brows, to see what she looked like when she wasn't looking at me as if I were the devil himself. “One year,” she said finally, her voice hoarse. “And you swear you will not harm my sister.” “You have my word,” I said. “As long as you are my wife, Sofia is untouchable.” “And after the year is up, you let me go. No strings attached.” “No strings attached,” I lied. She gave a sharp, defeated nod. It was not a surrender. It was a strategic retreat. I could see it in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, the word like a shard of glass. “I’ll be your wife.” “Excellent,” I said, allowing myself a real smile this time. “I knew you were a smart woman.” I reached out and brushed a stray strand of her dark hair away from her face. Her skin was soft. She flinched at my touch, a violent, reactive jerk that told me everything I needed to know. She may have agreed to my terms, but Bella Esposito was not going to be an easy woman to tame. The thought sent a thrill of anticipation through my veins. “Now,” I said, letting my hand drop. “Let’s get you some clothes. You can’t greet the staff dressed like that.” Blair. "Now, let’s get you some clothes. You can’t greet the staff dressed like that." The finality in his voice was absolute. Adrian turned from me and pressed a button on an intercom I hadn't noticed on his desk. "Marco, send Maria to my suite. My wife needs a wardrobe." He said the words "my wife" with a smooth possessiveness that made my skin crawl. He then looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I need to talk to my sister," I said, my voice clipped. "She'll be worried sick. She probably thinks I was kidnapped." "A reasonable assumption," Adrian said without a hint of irony. "You may use the phone on my desk. I'll have a car sent for her. You can tell her the good news in person." "Here? You want me to bring her here?" The panic was a bitter taste in my mouth. "Of course. She is family now. She should see your new home." He gestured expansively at the opulent room. The thought of Sofia, bright and innocent Sofia, stepping foot into this lion's den made me feel sick. But refusing would only make him more suspicious. I had to control the narrative. I had to make this believable. A soft knock came at the door. An older woman with kind eyes and graying hair pulled back in a severe bun entered. She carried a stack of boxes from high end boutiques. "This is Maria," Adrian said. "She will help you get settled. I have business to attend to. Make your call." He walked out of the study, leaving me with the woman and a phone that felt like a bomb. Maria gave me a small, respectful nod. "Mrs. Kessler. If you will follow me." I followed her back to the bedroom where I'd woken up. She laid out an entire wardrobe on the bed. Simple, elegant dresses, silk blouses, tailored trousers. Nothing like my usual jeans and t-shirts. This was the costume for my new role. "Thank you, Maria," I said quietly. "It is my pleasure," she replied, her face impassive. "Will you be needing anything else?" "Just some privacy, please." She nodded and left, closing the door softly behind her. I quickly dressed in a simple navy blue dress, the fabric soft but constricting. Then I walked back to the study, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I picked up the heavy receiver of the desk phone and dialed Sofia's number from memory. She answered on the second ring, her voice frantic. "Blair? Oh my god, where are you? I woke up and you were gone. I called you like a hundred times!" "I'm sorry, Sof. My phone died," I lied, the words feeling clumsy in my mouth. "I should have called sooner." "Where did you go? Did you just leave me at the club? And who was that guy? Adrian? He was gone too." I took a deep breath. "That's what I'm calling about. It's about Adrian." "Oh god, what did he do? Is he some kind of creep? Did he hurt you?" Her voice was rising with protective panic. "No, no, nothing like that," I said quickly. "He's... amazing, actually. It's just... something crazy happened." "Crazy how?" she pressed. "Blair, you're scaring me." "It's good crazy," I forced myself to say, trying to inject a happy, breathless quality into my voice that I did not feel. "Sof... we got married." Silence. For a full ten seconds, the only sound was the hum of the air conditioning. Then, an explosion of sound. "You WHAT?" she shrieked, so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. "You got MARRIED? To the hot guy from the club? Are you insane?" "It was a whirlwind," I said, leaning into the ridiculous script. "We just... connected. I know it sounds crazy, but it felt right." "Right? You've known him for five minutes! Blair, this is not like you!" "I know. But maybe that's a good thing," I said. "Maybe it's time I did something spontaneous." "Spontaneous is getting bangs! This is a legally binding contract! Oh my god, you married a billionaire. He is a billionaire, right? Please tell me he's a billionaire." "He's very successful," I said, the understatement of the century. "I have a brother in law!" she squealed. "A rich, hot brother in law! I cannot believe this. So where are you? Are you at his mansion? Is it a mansion?" "It's... big," I said. "Listen, I want you to come see it. I'm sending a car for you." "A car? Like a limo? This is the best day of my life! Wait, does he have a brother? A cousin? Anyone for me?" "Let's just focus on me for now," I said, managing a weak laugh. "I'll text you the address. Just get ready. The car will be there in an hour." "I'm already ready! I'll see you soon, Mrs... what's his last name?" "Kessler," I said, the name feeling like poison on my tongue. "Adrian Kessler." "Mrs. Blair Kessler," she sighed dreamily. "It has a nice ring to it. I'm so happy for you, Lena. You deserve this." Her words were a knife in my gut. I deserved this gilded cage? I deserved to live a lie that put her in the crosshairs of the entire New York underworld? "I'll see you soon, Sof," I whispered, and hung up before she could hear the break in my voice. I stood there for a long time, my hand resting on the phone. Sofia's pure, unadulterated joy was more terrifying than any of Adrian's threats. She was thrilled. She thought I was living a fairytale. If I ran, if I tried to escape, Adrian wouldn't just come after me. He would shatter her fairytale world. He would destroy her happiness to punish me. He had me. He had me completely. The study doors opened and Adrian walked back in. He had changed into a fresh shirt and his hair was still slightly damp from a shower. He looked at me, a question in his eyes. "She's on her way," I said, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. "She's very excited." "Good," he said, walking over to the bar in the corner of the room. He poured himself another whiskey. "Family should be happy on such an occasion." "This is not a family," I snapped. "This is a hostage situation. And I have terms." He turned, one eyebrow raised in amusement. He took a sip of his drink. "Do you now? I'm listening." The defiance felt good. It was the only weapon I had left. "You said this was a business arrangement," I began, my voice gaining strength. "So we will treat it as such. This house is big enough." "It is," he agreed, watching me with an unnerving stillness. "We will have separate bedrooms. Separate wings of the house, if possible. You will not come into my room. You will not touch me. The public will see a happy couple. In private, we are strangers." I expected him to argue. I expected him to refuse, to remind me that he held all the power. Instead, a slow, infuriating smirk spread across his face. It made him look even more dangerous. "Separate bedrooms," he mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "An interesting proposition." He set the glass down and walked toward me, his steps silent and predatory. He didn't stop until we were inches apart again, just like before. I hated that I could smell his clean, expensive scent. I hated that my body reacted to his proximity against my will. "Alright, Bella," he said, his voice a low, intimate murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. "You can have your separate room." I was so surprised by his easy agreement that I didn't say anything. He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing my ear. "But I am a patient man. And I am a betting man. And I'd bet all the money in my accounts that within six months, you will be begging me to let you into my bed." He pulled back, his dark eyes glittering with challenge and a raw hunger that made my breath catch. "Enjoy your side of the house, *moglie mia*," he said, the Italian words a caress and a brand all at once. "For now."