Chapter 3. The prenup

* Lorenzo *

Anger could not even describe the feeling I felt when I learned that my father had taken a young woman and was going to marry her.

"Boss, this is the girl's picture. They said his father lost a huge amount in the casino and has no means of paying."

I took the picture from Armand's hand, one of my trusted men, and then I looked at it thoroughly. It was a full-body picture taken at the bank parking lot. She was standing in front of her vehicle. The woman in there looked just ordinary to me. Aside from the innocent smile on her face, long hair, and slim figure, she does not even have the big chest that I usually look at in the women I date and I am sure that my father does too.

She's a bit pretty if you look closely alright but why does my old man want to marry her?

"Where is she now?"

"She's staying at a vip suite in Victoria hotel Boss."

I nodded and stood up from my swivel chair. She is just ten minutes away from my office but I had to call my lawyer first before I wanted to see her in person. A contract must be signed, because I knew my father once he set his mind on something.

"Call the lawyer Armand, I want him here now. And after I should go visit this new woman whom my father wanted to marry."

He nodded and dialed his phone. It only took a few minutes and the lawyer came to my office. After a brief discussion the contract had been printed out, and after that, I came as fast as I could at the hotel where she was staying where she was staying.

"Good afternoon Boss Lorenzo!"

The security in charge and his two men guarding the door bowed down to me as I came out of the elevator. To the men who work for us for a longer period of time, I allowed them to mention my name.

"You can head down Felipe, I got it from here. But you and your men can take a break."

He smiled and signaled to his boys. "Thank you, Boss!"

After I made a warning knock. He used his key to open the door and I walked in and closed it behind me.

Now as I watch her hold the pen in her fingers while reading the contract I found out she was not the same as the picture they showed me. Yes, she is not my type of woman but the girl sitting in front of me is too pretty.

The picture whoever took it, did not give justice to her in person. I gritted my teeth before I could slap myself because the moment I set eyes on her face, I found it difficult to take them back. With such a delicate and soft skin the girl's face is bare with no trace of makeup, she is just wearing her pajamas but did not even bother to feel shy about it while talking to me.

Her eyes were dark and her lashes made them look dreamy, her lips were naturally red because I did not see any hint of lipstick on them. And I smell her scent, something powdery like a baby, and something sweet that I almost grab her and slam her against the wall then press my nose on her neck while I push myself on her.

Damn it! What was I thinking?

She was even shaking.

Not the dramatic kind of woman used when they wanted pity. This was real, hands barely steady above the paper, breath shallow, eyes glassy but refusing to spill tears. Fear stripped bare. That made me feel satisfied but deep inside I felt something else. Like a kick in my gut.

I leaned back against the table, arms folding over my chest, leather creaking softly. I wanted her to feel how much space I took up without touching her. Touching would have been too easy. But I'm sure it would affect me too, as a man and I wouldn't want that.

She stared at the pen like it was a gun pointed at her head. I told myself I didn't care.

That she was just another problem my father created because he couldn't stand growing old alone. Another weak spot someone else would exploit if I didn't cut it out first. That this was business.

Yet my eyes kept drifting to her face, too young, too soft for this world. Her hair loose, pajamas clinging to curves she probably didn't even realize could get her killed in my family. She didn't belong in a five-star suite guarded like a prison.

She belonged nowhere near De Luca blood. And that pissed me off more than it should have. I groaned.

"You're thinking," I said coldly. "That's a mistake."

Her eyes snapped up to mine. Big and beautiful, despite the terror it looked like there were stars on them.

"I'm thinking," she said quietly, "that you're not as loyal to your father as you pretend to be."

The words landed sharper than a slap. For half a second, the room went still.

I stepped forward before I could stop myself, crowding her space again. I didn't touch her. Didn't need to. My shadow swallowed her whole.

"Careful," I warned. "You don't get to psychoanalyze me."

"You're afraid," she whispered.

I laughed under my breath, but it came out rough. "Afraid of what? You? Now that is too funny."

"No," she said. "Of losing."

My jaw tightened. She wasn't wrong. That was the problem.

My mother's face flashed in my mind uninvited, elegant, untouchable, dying slowly while my father pretended not to notice. Everything she built, everything she endured, was reduced to a young bride meant to warm an old man's bed and smile for photographs.

I wouldn't let that happen. I just couldn't.

"You think this is about jealousy?" I said. "About inheritance?" I shook my head. "You don't understand anything."

"Then explain it to me," she said. Her voice cracked, but she didn't look away. "If you're going to destroy my life, at least be honest about why."

Honesty. I stared at her as she'd asked for mercy.

"You are leverage," I said finally. "A liability. A pretty little target that will invite knives into my family. Men will whisper. You are here to pay a debt your father owed but he does not have to marry you."

Her lips parted, hurt flickering across her face.

"And you," I continued, lowering my voice, "will learn very quickly that love doesn't exist here. Contracts and money do. Control and survival follow."

Silence stretched between us. Slowly, painfully slowly she picked up the pen. I should have felt relief. Instead, something ugly twisted in my chest.

She hesitated, pen hovering just above the paper. Her hand was still shaking.

"After I sign this," she said, not looking at me, "will you leave me alone?"

The question shouldn't have mattered. It did.

"Good question. And my answer is yes," I said after a beat. "As long as you remember your place."

She nodded once, like she was swallowing something bitter. The pen touched the paper. The sound of it scratching her name felt louder than a gunshot.

When she finished, she slid the document back toward me, eyes empty now. Good, I told myself. That's how you survive in this place.

I took the paper, folded it carefully, and tucked it back into my jacket. Then I paused at the door.

"Don't forget something before I leave," I said without turning around. She looked up despite herself.

"This is the last kindness you'll ever get from me," I added. "Don't make me regret it."

I walked out before she could answer. The door clicked shut behind me. Only then did I realize my hand was clenched so tightly that my knuckles. Damn my father for bringing her into this family!

Deep down, somewhere I refused to look at too closely, I knew one thing with terrifying certainty. She wasn't just a problem anymore. She was a fault line.