Chapter 7

 

Lena's POV

"Lena," he said. "How unexpected."

I stood as he approached, my hands trembling slightly. Salvatore  wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that emphasized his tall, lean frame. His hair, the same deep auburn as Nico's but cropped shorter, caught the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead. His bone structure was more pronounced than Nico's, carved with sharper angles that belonged on a Renaissance statue rather than a living man.

"Thank you for seeing me," I managed.

He gestured toward his office. "After you."

The space beyond those imposing oak doors was a study in controlled masculinity. Dark wood panels, leather-bound books, and abstract paintings that probably cost more than most people's homes.

Salvatore settled behind his massive desk, fingers steepled as he studied me with unsettling intensity. I remained standing, uncertain whether sitting would make me appear too comfortable or too submissive.

"You mentioned this was about Nico," he said finally.

The words I'd rehearsed a dozen times suddenly felt inadequate.

"He wants to die, Every day, he begs his mother to let him go. The doctors say he has maybe six months before any chance of recovery disappears completely."

Salvatore's expression didn't change. "And?"

"I told him I was pregnant." The confession tumbled out of me in a rush. "I showed him ultrasound images, test results, all fabricated. When he saw them, something changed in his eyes. For the first time since the attack, he talked about wanting to live. About fighting for recovery."

I pulled the forged documents from my purse, spreading them across his desk with trembling hands. "Your mother is planning a nursery. She's hiring specialists, nutritionists, nurses. The entire family believes we're expecting the next Venturi heir."

Salvatore leaned back in his leather chair, his silence stretching between us like a blade.

"So you've built an elaborate lie," he said eventually. "What exactly do you want from me?"

This was the moment. I clasped my hands together to stop their shaking, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

"I'm begging you," I said, my voice breaking slightly. "Please help me. Nico is everything to me. He's gentle and kind and brilliant, and he doesn't deserve to waste away in that hospital bed believing he's worthless. When I met him at Columbia, he was painting this beautiful piece called 'Romantic Encounter,' and he told me it was about finding love when you least expect it."

Tears burned my eyes, but I continued. "He used to bring me flowers every Friday, not because of any special occasion, but because he said beauty should be shared. He would spend hours in art galleries with me, listening to me ramble about brushwork and composition, never once making me feel like I was boring him."

I took a shaky breath. "Now he can't even move his hands. He can't paint, he can't hold me, he can't be the man he was. But if he believes we created a child together, if he has hope that our love made something beautiful..."

"You want me to father a child you'll pass off as his," Salvatore said, his tone carrying the faintest hint of mockery that made my cheeks burn with shame.

"Please. I know how it sounds. I know what I'm asking is impossible. But Nico needs to believe our marriage created something worth living for. And the family needs an heir. Your bloodline would continue through this child."

Salvatore stood slowly, walking to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Manhattan. "And why should I care about Nico's hope? Or the family's need for heirs?"

The coldness in his voice made my skin crawl, but I pressed on. "Because despite everything, you're still brothers. Because I'll do anything, anything at all, to save him."

He turned from the window, and the look in his eyes made me step back instinctively.

"You overestimate the value of blood relations, Lena."

He moved toward the door, clearly intending to dismiss me. Panic flooded my chest. I couldn't leave empty-handed.

"Wait." I fumbled in my purse, pulling out the small velvet box I'd brought as a last resort. "I have something to offer in exchange."

Salvatore paused, his hand on the door handle.

With trembling fingers, I opened the box, revealing the Venturi family ruby ring. The stone caught the office lights, gleaming like fresh blood against its antique gold setting.

"This belongs to the family heir's wife," I said. "Isabella gave it to Nico when we married, since you've never taken a wife. It's been in the family for four generations."

I saw something flicker in Salvatore's eyes. Recognition, perhaps, or memory. The ring represented more than jewelry; it was a symbol of legacy, of bloodline, of everything the Venturi family had built across decades of power and violence.

"I'll give it back to the family," I continued desperately. "Along with anything else you want. Please, Salvatore. I'll do anything to give my husband a reason to live."

He moved closer. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost conversational.

"Anything?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Salvatore studied me for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. The silence stretched taut between us, broken only by the distant sounds of traffic far below.

Finally, he returned to his desk, settling back into his chair with predatory grace.

"Prove it," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Prove you're worthy of Venturi blood." His eyes never left mine. "You have five minutes to make me want you. If you succeed, I'll consider your request."

The words hit me like physical blows. I stared at him, certain I'd misunderstood.

"I don't... I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do, Lena. The question is: how badly do you want to save your husband?"

My heart hammered against my ribs as the full implication of his words sank in. He wasn't just asking for sex.

He was asking me to seduce him.