Chapter 2: The Trap

Alessia’s fingers tightened around the diamond. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to fight, to do something other than stand here like a deer caught in headlights. But Damian Blackwood hadn’t moved, hadn’t called for guards, hadn’t done anything except watch her with those storm-cloud eyes.

“You’re not calling security,” she said slowly.

“No.”

“Why?”

He tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle he was deciding whether to solve. “Because you’re not a threat to me, Alessia. You’re an opportunity.”

“I’m flattered.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “But I’m also leaving.”

She moved fast—faster than most people could track. The canister of knockout gas was in her hand, thumb on the trigger, and she was already calculating the distance to the window. Forty-seventh floor. No fire escape. But she had a grapple line in her belt, and if she could just—

Damian didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

“The windows are reinforced polycarbonate,” he said conversationally. “You’d bounce off. And before you try the gas, I should mention that I had the ventilation system upgraded last month. Military-grade filtration. Your little toy won’t do anything except make the air smell like mint.”

Alessia froze, her thumb still hovering over the trigger.

“I also know about the emergency exit in the maintenance corridor,” he continued. “The one you disabled on your way in. Clever, by the way. Most people don’t think to cut off their own escape routes to avoid detection.”

“Most people aren’t me.”

“No.” His eyes gleamed. “They’re not.”

She hated him. She hated the way he stood there, calm and composed, like he’d already won. She hated the way his presence seemed to fill the entire room, making the air feel thicker, charged with something she didn’t want to name.

But most of all, she hated that he was right. She’d walked into a trap. A beautiful, perfectly baited trap.

“What do you want?” she asked again, her voice flat.

Damian walked to the wet bar in the corner of the room and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He didn’t offer her one. “I want to hire you.”

“I’m not for hire.”

“Everyone’s for hire. It’s just a matter of finding the right price.” He took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving her face. “In your case, the price is your father’s life.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. She’d known her father was in trouble—he’d been dodging calls for weeks, coming home with fresh bruises and haunted eyes—but she’d assumed it was the usual. A bad poker game. A deal gone wrong. Nothing she couldn’t fix with a few well-placed thefts and a couple of months of lying low.

“What do you know about my father?”

“I know he owes the Morozov bratva two million dollars. I know they’ve given him until the end of the month to pay. I know that Ivanov, the man who runs the operation, has a particular fondness for creative punishments. Your father’s age and health won’t protect him.” Damian set down his glass. “I also know that you love him. Which makes you predictable.”

Alessia’s jaw tightened. “I’m not predictable.”

“You came here tonight for a diamond worth fifty million dollars. You planned to fence it and use the proceeds to pay off your father’s debt.” He smiled thinly. “That’s exactly what I would have done. Predictable.”

She wanted to argue, but he was right. She hated that he was right.

“So what’s the deal?” she asked through gritted teeth. “You want me to steal something for you? Kill someone? What?”

“I want you to be my fiancée.”

The words hung in the air between them, so absurd that Alessia almost laughed. Almost.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Damian walked toward her, his steps slow and deliberate. “I have a problem. Someone in my organization is selling information to my enemies. I’ve narrowed it down to a handful of people, but I need to flush them out. I need a distraction. A target. Someone my enemies will focus on while I close the net.”

“And you want me to be that target?”

“I want you to be my fiancée. Publicly, dramatically, unmistakably.” He stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could smell his cologne—something dark and expensive. “You’ll attend events with me. You’ll smile for the cameras. You’ll wear my ring and act like you’re madly in love with me. In return, I’ll protect your father. I’ll pay off his debt. I’ll make sure Ivanov never touches him again.”

Alessia’s mind raced. It was insane. It was a terrible idea. It was exactly the kind of thing her father had warned her about—getting involved with dangerous men, making deals with devils.

But the alternative was letting her father die.

“Why me?” she asked. “You could hire anyone. A model. An actress. Someone who actually wants to be your fiancée.”

“I need someone who can handle themselves. Someone who can fight, who can think on their feet, who won’t break when things get messy.” His eyes met hers, and for a moment, she saw something flicker in their depths—something almost human. “I need someone dangerous. Someone like you.”

“Flattering.”

“Honest.”

She looked down at the diamond in her hand. Seventy-two carats of perfection. It would have solved everything. It would have made her father safe. It would have set them free.

But Damian Blackwood was offering her a different kind of freedom. A deal with the devil.

“Six months,” she said finally. “That’s it?”

“Six months, and your father walks away clean.”

“And I walk away clean?”

“You walk away alive.” His expression hardened. “That’s more than most people get when they cross me.”

She should say no. Every rational part of her brain was screaming at her to throw the diamond in his face and take her chances. She was a thief, not an actress. She didn’t do commitment. She definitely didn’t do fake engagements with mafia billionaires who had more secrets than the Pentagon.

But her father’s face flashed in her mind—his tired eyes, his forced smile, the way he’d been trying to hide the bruises.

“Fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do it.”

Damian nodded, unsurprised. “There’s one more thing.”

“Of course there is.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. When he opened it, the ring inside caught the light—a massive emerald-cut diamond set in platinum, even more beautiful than the one she was holding.

“You’ll wear this,” he said. “Every day. It’s a symbol of our engagement. But it’s also a tracker. If you try to run, I’ll know.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you can go back to your plan of stealing diamonds and hoping for the best. But I should warn you—” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’ve already told Ivanov about your father’s debt. He’s expecting payment by Friday. If I don’t call him back and tell him we’ve reached an arrangement... well. You do the math.”

Alessia stared at him, her blood boiling. “You set this up. All of it. You knew I would come here tonight.”

“I hoped you would.” He straightened, returning to his whiskey. “You’re the best thief in the world, Alessia. But you’re also predictable. You love your father more than you love your freedom. That’s your weakness.”

“And what’s yours?”

He paused, his back to her. For a moment, she thought she saw something crack in his carefully constructed armor—a flicker of pain, of vulnerability.

Then it was gone.

“I don’t have weaknesses,” he said. “That’s why I’m still alive.”

He turned back to face her, his expression unreadable.

“Now, about that diamond you’re holding...”

Alessia looked down at the Heart of the Ocean, still clutched in her palm. Slowly, reluctantly, she held it out to him.

Damian took it, his fingers brushing against hers. The contact was brief, but it sent a shock through her system—electric and unwanted.

“Welcome to the family, Alessia,” he said, slipping the diamond back into its case. “Try not to steal anything on your way out.”

She walked toward the door, her mind already working overtime. Six months. Six months of pretending to love a man who had manipulated her, trapped her, threatened her father.

Six months of playing a game she wasn’t sure she could win.

But as she reached the door, his voice stopped her.

“One more thing.”

She turned. “What?”

“You’ll be moving into the penthouse tomorrow. Pack light. You won’t need much.”

She stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious.” He raised his glass in a mock toast. “See you tomorrow, fiancée.”

Alessia walked out the door and didn’t look back. But she felt his eyes on her the whole way, burning into her back like a brand.

She’d made a deal with the devil.

Now she just had to figure out how to survive it.