FORCED INTO THE DON'S BED

Chapter 1

Valentina's POV

As I am walking through this wet, dark alley, I really start to have this dark feeling that something is going to happen. I swallow.

I shouldn't have passed here. I shouldn't have passed here.

I increase my pace, trying to to cut through the alley. Suddenly, something shiny flashes in the corner of my eyes and I turn to look at it. I shouldn't have looked, but I did. I see three men in black suits stabbing their knives into a man laying on the floor, struggling to breathe as he chokes on his blood. I feel something grip my body as I freeze. Immediately, one of them looks up, our eyes meeting across the alley. He didn't even say anything. He just pointed at me, and suddenly, my legs start to work.

My heart thumps hard in my ribs and I can hear them behind me, their footsteps increasing. I dare to look back. They are nit running. They know they don’t have to. I’m just a girl, a psychology graduate who volunteers at a community center. I’m not built for this.

I burst onto the main street, hoping for crowds, for police, for some sort of person to look at me and save me. But it’s late, and this part of the city is quiet. A lone taxi speeds past, ignoring my wild wave. Fear claws at my throat. I’m going to die. I’m going to die because I saw something I shouldn’t have.

Suddenly, a very bright headlight shines, almost blinding my eyes. A black SUV drives and stops at the curb, blocking my path. I stop on my tracks, my chest squeezing as tears run down my cheeks. This is it. It’s over. They’ve cut me off.

The passenger door swings open. More men, different men. They move with a lethal grace that makes the ones chasing me look like amateurs. Gunshots fill the air, making me flinvh with every shot. I crouch down, putting my hands over my head and covering my ears, covering my eyes shut tight. I stay there, maybe waiting for them to shoot me too. The gunshot doesn't come.

When I open them, the men who were chasing me are lying on the pavement. They are nit moving.

The back door of the SUV opens. A man steps out. He’s taller than the others, his silhouette sharp and imposing against the city lights. He’s wearing a suit that probably costs more than my student loans, and his face… his face is all hard and cold, with jawline that seems like God created him on the seventh day. His eyes, the colour of ice under a winter sky, sweep over the scene and then land on me.

I am a like a drenched rabbit on the floor.

‘Get in.’ His voice is low, a rumble of dark velvet that brooks no argument. It’s not a question. It’s a command.

My body is trembling so hard I can barely stand. ‘Who… who are you?’

He takes a single step forward, and the strong force of his presence is like…too much for me to handle. I take a step back, falling onto the floor. ‘The only reason you’re still breathing. Now, get in the car.’

Something screams at me to run, but where would I go? The bodies on the street are proof of what happens to those who cross these people. With my legs feeling so heavy, I stumble forward and practically fall into the plush leather interior of the SUV. He slides in beside me, his large frame taking up all the space, all the air. The door thuds shut, and the locks click at the same time.

The car pulls away, ans the ride is smooth and silent. I press myself against the far door, as far from him as I can get. I can feel his gaze on me, assessing and dissecting me.

‘What’s your name?’ he asks.

My voice is a shaky whisper. ‘Valentina. Valentina Morrison.’

He doesn’t react. ‘What did you see, Valentina Morrison?’

I tell him. The words tumble out and i stutter about the alley, the men, the knife, the blood. I tell him everything, my gaze fixed on my hands, clenched together in my lap. When I finish, I dare to glance at him. His expression is grim.

He pulls out a phone, dials a number, and speaks only three words. ‘We have her.’

Fifteen minutes later, we’re in a huge, modern apartment I don’t recognize. He hasn’t touched me, hasn’t threatened me, but the way he was quiet is more terrifying than any shout. The door opens, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Uncle Marcus walks in.

Relief, warm and dizzying, floods through me. ‘Marcus! Thank God!’ I rush toward him, but stop short. His face is tired and his shoulders slumped. He looks from me to the man in the suit, and his expression isn’t one of rescue. It’s one of sad acceptance.

‘Marcus, what’s going on?’ I plead. ‘Who are these people?’

It’s the ice-eyed man who answers. ‘Tell her.’

My uncle, the decorated FBI agent, the man who raised me, can’t even meet my eyes. ‘Val… the car accident that killed your parents… it wasn’t an accident.’

The world tilts. ‘What?’

‘Your father… his name wasn’t James Morrison. It was Lorenzo Castellano.’

The name means nothing to me. I shake my head, confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘He was a powerful man, Valentina,’ the stranger says, his voice cutting through my confusion. ‘In our world. The man you saw killed tonight? That was Petrov’s work. The same people who hunted your father. They’ve been looking for you for fifteen years.’

My blood runs cold. ‘My… my world? What world?’

‘The only one that matters,’ he says, those blue eyes pinning me in place. ‘My world.’

He takes a step closer, and I start to feel sick. ‘Your bloodline is the last surviving heir to the Castellano empire. And now the Russians know you’re alive.’

My knees buckle. I have to grab the back of a chair to stay upright. Everything I knew, my entire life, is a lie. My quiet existence, my degree, my volunteer work… all of them were what now? What the hell is this?

‘There’s only one way to keep you alive now,’ the man says, his tone utterly devoid of emotion. ‘You come under my protection. Permanently.’

‘How?’ The word is a choked whisper.

He looks at me, and for the first time, I see the full, terrifying deepness of his decision. ‘You marry me.’