Chapter 2

The elevator ride back up to Giovanni's office feels like ascending to my execution.

Two massive enforcers flank me—walls of muscle in expensive suits who haven't said a word since they met me in the parking garage. They don't need to. The message is clear: I'm not getting away again.

My wolf is practically purring, thrilled to be returning to our mate. Traitor. She doesn't understand that Giovanni Marchetti doesn't do love. He does ownership. Control. Violence wrapped in designer suits and billion-dollar smiles.

The elevator opens directly into his office—a massive penthouse space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Manhattan skyline. Giovanni stands with his back to me, hands clasped behind him, silhouetted against the city lights.

"Leave us," he commands without turning.

The enforcers disappear without a sound. The elevator closes, and I hear the distinct click of locks engaging. We're alone.

"You came back." He finally turns, and my breath catches. He's removed his suit jacket, his white dress shirt rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and tattoos. Pack markings wind up his skin in ancient symbols, disappearing under the fabric.

"You didn't give me much choice."

"There's always a choice." He moves toward me with predatory grace, each step measured, controlled. "You chose to break into my office. You chose to steal from me. You chose to kiss me."

Heat floods my face. "That was strategy."

"Was it?" He stops just out of reach, but I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Your wolf didn't seem to think so. She was singing for mine."

"My wolf is an idiot."

His lips twitch. "The USB drive, Giulia."

I pull it from my bra, holding it out. He doesn't take it. Instead, he circles me slowly, like a wolf stalking prey.

"Do you know what's on that drive?" he asks.

"Evidence. Enough to bring down your empire."

"Close. It contains the locations of safe houses for abused omegas. Women and children hiding from their packs." He stops in front of me again. "Detective Morrison isn't interested in justice. He's being paid by the Crimson Fang Pack to find their runaway mates."

The drive slips from my numb fingers. "You're lying."

"I don't lie. Bad for business." He picks up the USB, tucking it into his pocket. "Morrison played you, piccola luna. Used your desperation against you."

My knees threaten to buckle. If he's telling the truth, I almost helped Morrison track down abuse victims. "I didn't... I wouldn't..."

"I know." His voice gentles, just slightly. "Sit down before you fall down."

I collapse into one of the leather chairs facing his desk. "My grandmother needs surgery. Brain tumor. Fifty thousand dollars or she dies."

"And Morrison offered you exactly that amount to steal from me." It's not a question. Giovanni leans against his desk, studying me. "Tell me about your grandmother."

"Why do you care?"

"You're my mate. Your family is now my responsibility."

I laugh bitterly. "We're not mates. We're not anything. I'm just the idiot who tried to rob you."

"You're forgetting something." He pushes off the desk, crouching in front of my chair so we're eye level. This close, I can see flecks of gold in his dark eyes, smell his intoxicating scent. "I scented you the moment you entered my building. I could have stopped you at any point. But I wanted to see what you'd do. How far you'd go."

"This was a test?"

"Everything's a test in my world." His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. The touch sends electricity through my entire body. "You passed."

"By failing?"

"By proving you'll do anything for family. That's the most important currency in my world." His thumb traces lower, across my bottom lip. "Well, that and loyalty."

I jerk away from his touch. "I'll never be loyal to you."

"No?" He stands, moving to the wall of windows. "Let me make you an offer. Work for me."

"Excuse me?"

"One year. You'll be my personal assistant. In exchange, I'll pay for your grandmother's surgery and all her medical care."

"Personal assistant," I repeat flatly. "That's code for mistress, right?"

He turns, and the look he gives me could melt steel. "When I take you to my bed, piccola luna—and I will—it won't be as an employee. It'll be because you're begging for it."

My core clenches at his words, and from his knowing smirk, he can smell my arousal. Damn werewolf senses.

"I don't trust you," I say.

"Smart girl." He returns to his desk, pulling out a contract. "Everything in writing. Your duties will be legitimate—managing my schedule, accompanying me to pack functions, learning how my organization operates."

"Why would you want me anywhere near your business?"

"Because you're my mate." He says it like it's obvious. "You'll need to understand our world if you're going to help run it."

"I'm not—"

"One year, Giulia. Your grandmother gets the best medical care money can buy. All you have to do is work for me. No mate bond obligations. No marking. Just business."

I stare at the contract he slides across the desk. It's everything he promised—salary, medical coverage for Nonna, even a clause stating the mate bond expectations are null during the employment period.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. Though there are... requirements."

Of course there are. "Such as?"

"You'll live in the penthouse. For security reasons," he adds when I open my mouth to protest. "You'll have your own suite. Complete privacy."

"And?"

"You'll need a new wardrobe. Can't have my assistant wearing..." He gestures at my ripped jeans and worn leather jacket. "That."

"Snob."

"Billionaire," he corrects. "And you'll need to learn pack protocols. As my mate—"

"Fake mate."

"—you'll be expected to attend certain functions. The other packs will see you as my Luna, whether you accept the bond or not."

Luna. Female alpha. The most powerful position a woman can hold in pack hierarchy. "They'll never accept me. I'm nobody."

"You're mine." The possession in his voice makes my wolf practically roll over. "That makes you somebody."

I pick up the pen, hesitating. "If I sign this, what stops you from... claiming me anyway?"

"My word."

"The word of a criminal."

His eyes flash. "The word of an Alpha. Despite what you think of me, I have a code. I don't take unwilling women, mate bond or not."

"And after the year?"

"After the year, you're free to go. Debt paid. Though I doubt you'll want to."

His arrogance should infuriate me. Instead, it sends heat pooling between my thighs. "You're that confident in your charm?"

"I'm that confident in the bond." He leans back in his chair, every inch the king of his empire. "You feel it pulling at you even now. The need to be near me. To touch me. To submit to your Alpha."

"You're not my Alpha."

"Not yet."

I sign the contract before I can think twice, shoving it back across the desk. "There. One year."

He signs his name with a flourish, then presses a button on his desk. "Marco, prepare the Rose Suite. My mate will be moving in tonight."

"I need to get my things—"

"Already taken care of. Everything from your apartment is being moved as we speak."

My jaw drops. "You can't just—"

"I can and I did." He stands, buttoning his suit jacket. "Lesson one, piccola luna: I don't wait for permission when it comes to protecting what's mine."

"I'm not yours."

He rounds the desk, backing me against the wall. "For the next year, you are. Every meeting, every meal, every moment—you're mine to command."

"That's not what the contract—"

"The contract says you're my assistant. And right now, I need assistance with something."

"What?"

He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. "Resisting the urge to mark you right here against this wall."

I shove at his chest, but he doesn't budge. "You said—"

"I said I wouldn't take an unwilling woman." He pulls back to look at me, his eyes now fully gold. "But you're not unwilling, are you? I can smell how much you want me."

"That's biology, not desire."

"Is it?" His hand comes up to rest against the wall beside my head, caging me in. "Your heart races when I'm near. Your pupils dilate. Your breathing changes."

"Fear response."

"Liar." He leans closer, his lips a breath from mine. "But I'll wait. I'm a patient man, Giulia. I'll wait until you come to me."

"That'll never happen."

"We'll see." He steps back abruptly, leaving me cold and achingly empty. "Marco will show you to your suite. Dinner's at eight. Don't be late."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then your grandmother doesn't get her surgery tomorrow morning."

I freeze. "Tomorrow?"

"Dr. Harrison is the best neurosurgeon in the country. He'll be operating at seven a.m. Full medical team, private recovery suite, everything she needs." He straightens his cuffs. "Unless you'd prefer to renegotiate?"

"You bastard."

"Businessman," he corrects. "Eight o'clock, Giulia. Wear something nice."

He walks away, leaving me trembling against the wall. I've signed a deal with the devil himself.

And the worst part? Some dark, primal part of me is thrilled about it.

The Rose Suite is bigger than my entire apartment.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of Central Park. The living area is decorated in soft creams and gold, with fresh white roses on every surface. The bedroom houses a bed that could fit five people, and the walk-in closet is already filled with designer clothes in my size.

"How did he know my measurements?" I ask Marco, the stone-faced enforcer who showed me up.

"Mr. Marchetti knows everything about everyone in his territory."

Comforting.

I shower in the marble bathroom, trying to wash off Giovanni's scent, but it clings to my skin like a brand. The mate bond hums under my surface, a constant ache pulling me toward him. He's somewhere in this penthouse, probably in his own suite, and every cell in my body wants to find him.

I dress in the simplest thing I can find—a black sheath dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent. It fits perfectly, hugging curves I usually hide under baggy clothes.

At exactly eight, I follow the scent of food to a dining room that belongs in a palace. A table for twenty is set for two, candles flickering along its length. Giovanni stands by the window, a glass of wine in hand.

He's changed into dark jeans and a black henley that clings to every muscle. It's the most casual I've seen him, and somehow it makes him more dangerous. Without the armor of his suit, he's raw power barely contained.

"You're on time," he notes, his eyes traveling down my body with blatant appreciation. "Good. I value punctuality."

"Among other things." I gesture at the obscene display of wealth around us. "Like excess."

"I prefer to think of it as style." He pulls out my chair, ever the gentleman. As if he didn't threaten me two hours ago.

"Is this where you wine and dine all your victims?"

"Only the ones I plan to keep."

The food is incredible—lobster, wagyu beef, things I've only seen on cooking shows. I hate how good it is, how my stomach growls in appreciation.

"Tell me about your pack," Giovanni says, cutting into his steak with surgical precision.

"I don't have one."

His hand stills. "You're packless?"

"My parents died when I was twelve. Car accident. Nonna took me in, but she's human. My mom was the wolf."

"No pack would take you?"

I shrug, pushing lobster around my plate. "Half-blood orphan with no money? Not exactly pack material."

"Their loss." He says it simply, but there's an edge to his voice. "What happened to your father's pack?"

"Never knew him. Mom said he was human. One-night stand, apparently."

"You're only a quarter wolf?" He seems genuinely surprised. "But your scent..."

"Stronger than it should be, I know. Genetic lottery." I take a sip of wine—something French that probably costs more than Nonna's monthly medications. "What about you? Born into all this?"

"Inherited it. My father built the pack's legitimate businesses. I expanded into... other ventures."

"Crime, you mean."

"Business," he corrects. "The city runs on agreements, Giulia. I just ensure those agreements are honored."

"With violence."

"When necessary." He leans back, studying me. "Does that disturb you?"

"Should it?"

"Most people find my work... distasteful."

"Most people haven't had to steal to survive." I meet his gaze steadily. "I'm not in a position to judge."

"No," he agrees. "You're not."

We eat in silence for a moment before he speaks again. "Your grandmother. Tell me about her condition."

"Glioblastoma. Stage four. The doctors gave her three months, but that was six months ago." My throat tightens. "She's all I have left."

"Not anymore."

I look up sharply. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Pretend this is real. That you actually care."

"I don't pretend, piccola luna." He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine. The contact sends sparks through my entire body. "Whatever you think of me, the mate bond is sacred. Your pain is my pain. Your family is my family."

"For one year."

Something dark flashes in his eyes. "We'll see."