The Offer

Chapter Four

I spent the entire afternoon trying to convince myself I wasn't going to go.

By six o'clock, I had convinced myself.

By seven, I had changed my clothes twice.

By eight, I was sitting on the edge of my bed staring at the message on my phone.

Tonight. Come alone.

I hated him.

I hated the way those four words had controlled my entire day.

I hated that some stranger had somehow managed to turn my apartment into a prison without ever stepping through the door.

And most of all, I hated that I was considering obeying him.

I looked toward the hospital bill sitting on my desk.

My father's name was printed across the top.

The amount owed beneath it made my stomach twist.

I picked up the paper.

Then I remembered his hand in mine that morning.

Warm.

Still.

Alive.

That was the only reason I had survived the past six months.

I couldn't risk losing him.

If Damien De Luca wanted to frighten me, he had succeeded.

If he wanted to control me, he already had.

I grabbed my coat.

"I'll go."

My voice sounded strange in the empty apartment.

I locked the door behind me.

The black SUV was waiting exactly where it had been earlier.

This time, however, Victor wasn't driving.

The rear door opened.

Victor stepped out.

"Miss Moretti."

I stopped several feet away.

"You said alone."

"I did."

"You brought a car."

"You can't walk to where we're going."

"Where are we going?"

He looked at me.

"Damien's residence."

My stomach dropped.

"No."

Victor's expression remained calm.

"You were told to come alone. That means no friends, no police, no one following you. It doesn't mean you walk there."

"I never agreed to this."

"You came."

I hated that he was right.

I looked around the street.

There was nobody nearby.

"How long will this take?"

"That's up to Damien."

I hesitated.

Then climbed inside.

The door closed behind me.

The interior smelled faintly of leather and something darker—cologne, perhaps.

Victor got into the driver's seat.

I sat as far away from him as possible.

The vehicle pulled away from the curb.

For the first five minutes, neither of us spoke.

I watched the city disappear through the window.

Buildings became larger.

Streets became quieter.

The apartment blocks gave way to enormous houses surrounded by walls and gates.

Eventually, we turned through a private entrance.

Iron gates opened automatically.

I stared.

The property stretched farther than I could see.

A massive house stood at the end of a long driveway.

It wasn't a house.

It was a mansion.

Dark stone.

Tall windows.

Perfectly maintained gardens.

Security cameras positioned along the walls.

Men standing near the entrance.

My stomach tightened.

"What is this place?"

"Damien's home."

"Does he live here alone?"

"No."

"His family?"

"Some of them."

I looked at Victor.

"What exactly does Damien do?"

He didn't answer.

That told me enough.

The SUV stopped.

A man opened my door.

I stepped out.

The mansion was even more intimidating up close.

I followed Victor inside.

The entrance hall was enormous.

Marble floors.

Dark wooden walls.

A staircase curving toward the upper floor.

Everything was elegant.

Everything was cold.

There were no family photographs.

No flowers.

Nothing personal.

It felt like a museum.

Or a fortress.

Victor stopped near the staircase.

"Wait here."

"Where is Damien?"

"He'll come."

"That's reassuring."

Victor almost smiled.

Almost.

Then he walked away.

I stood alone.

My hands were sweating.

I looked toward the door.

It was maybe twenty feet away.

I could leave.

I could run.

But there were men outside.

And cameras.

And probably more people I couldn't see.

The footsteps behind me made me jump.

I turned.

Damien stood at the bottom of the staircase.

He had changed clothes.

Black trousers.

A white shirt.

The sleeves were rolled to his forearms.

He looked less like the man who had shot someone in an alley and more like an ordinary wealthy man.

Except there was nothing ordinary about him.

His eyes found mine.

"You're early."

"I almost didn't come."

"I know."

"How?"

"I watched you leave your apartment."

My stomach dropped.

"Of course you did."

He walked toward me.

I forced myself not to step back.

He stopped a few feet away.

"You've been afraid."

"Yes."

"Good."

My eyebrows pulled together.

"Why?"

"Because fear keeps you careful."

"You seem to enjoy frightening people."

"I don't enjoy anything."

There was something about the way he said it that made me believe him.

I folded my arms.

"Then why am I here?"

"Because we need to solve a problem."

"The problem is that I saw you murder someone."

His eyes sharpened.

"You shouldn't use that word so casually."

"Murder?"

"Yes."

"You killed him."

"He owed me."

"That doesn't give you the right to kill him."

Something changed in his expression.

It was small.

A slight tightening of his jaw.

But I saw it.

"You don't know what he did."

"I know he was begging for his life."

Damien looked away.

For the first time, I saw something that wasn't coldness.

Not guilt.

Something closer to irritation.

"Sit."

"I'd rather stand."

"Suit yourself."

He walked toward a large sitting room.

I followed because I didn't want to be left alone in the entrance hall.

He poured himself a drink.

"Do you want one?"

"No."

He nodded and took a sip.

"I've looked into you."

My stomach tightened.

"I figured."

"You're nineteen."

"I know how old I am."

"You live alone."

"My father is in the hospital."

"I know."

"You've made that very clear."

He ignored the comment.

"You attend university."

"Sometimes."

"You work at the Velvet Room."

I said nothing.

"You've been working there for three months."

"Are you done?"

"No."

He set his glass down.

"Your father has been in a coma for six months."

I felt my chest tighten.

"You don't get to talk about him."

"I wasn't talking about him."

"You were."

"I was explaining why you're vulnerable."

I stared at him.

"You think I'm vulnerable?"

"Everyone is vulnerable."

"Not you?"

His eyes met mine.

"No."

I almost laughed.

"That's the most arrogant thing I've ever heard."

"It's not arrogance."

"What is it?"

"Experience."

Silence settled between us.

I hated that I couldn't look away.

There was something unnerving about Damien.

He wasn't handsome in the soft, approachable way some men were.

He was intimidating.

Sharp features.

Dark eyes.

A scar barely visible near his eyebrow.

Everything about him suggested restraint.

As if violence wasn't something he needed to learn.

It was simply something he knew.

He picked up a folder.

"Your father's treatment is expensive."

I immediately stiffened.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"You have his medical records."

"I have access to information."

"That's not an answer."

"I can make sure his treatment is paid for."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"Every medical expense."

My heart began beating faster.

"Why?"

"Because I need something from you."

I knew it.

"What?"

"Silence."

I laughed bitterly.

"You threatened me into coming here for that?"

"I don't need to threaten you."

"You just said you can pay for my father's treatment."

"Yes."

"That's a threat."

"No."

He leaned back.

"It's an offer."

I stared at him.

"What's the catch?"

"You stay quiet."

"About the murder."

"About everything you saw."

"And if I refuse?"

His expression remained completely calm.

"Then I can't protect you."

I swallowed.

"Protect me from whom?"

"People who aren't as patient as I am."

That frightened me more than a direct threat.

"How many people know about me?"

"Enough."

"How many?"

"Enough."

I stood.

"I don't want your money."

He watched me.

"You need it."

"I'll find another way."

"How?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

He had me.

He knew it.

I hated him for knowing.

"You'll go back to the club," he continued.

"I have to."

"And someone will recognize you."

I froze.

"Who?"

"The people looking for the man I killed."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"The man you saw was involved with people who are very interested in finding out who killed him."

"Why would they care about me?"

"Because you were there."

I stared at him.

"So I'm in danger because of you."

"Yes."

At least he didn't lie.

"Then why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't."

The answer shocked me.

Damien stood.

"You don't need to trust me, Lena."

He walked toward me.

"You need to understand me."

He stopped close enough that I could feel the tension between us.

"I am the reason you're in danger."

My heart hammered.

"And I'm also the only reason you're still alive."

I looked into his eyes.

He wasn't trying to charm me.

He wasn't pretending to be a good man.

He was telling me exactly who he was.

That made him more frightening.

"What do you want from me?"

His gaze didn't leave mine.

"I want you to become my wife."

I thought I'd misunderstood him.

"What?"

"My wife."

I stared at him.

Then laughed.

It came out nervous and disbelieving.

"You're insane."

"No."

"You're thirty-something."

"Thirty-eight."

The exact number made my stomach flip.

"I'm nineteen."

"I know."

"You're asking me to marry you because I saw you kill someone."

"Yes."

"That's not normal."

"I never claimed to be normal."

I shook my head.

"No."

Damien didn't move.

"No?"

"I'm not marrying you."

His expression remained calm.

"Think carefully."

"I have."

"You haven't."

"I said no."

"You have until tomorrow morning."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"Because after that, I won't be able to keep the people looking for you away."

"You can't force me."

"No."

He walked past me.

"But I can make you understand your choices."

I turned toward him.

"What choices?"

He looked back.

"Marry me."

His voice was quiet.

"Let me protect you."

He paused.

"And your father receives the best care money can buy."

My throat tightened.

"And the other choice?"

Damien's eyes turned cold.

"You walk away."

He opened the door.

"And hope the next person who finds you is kinder than I am."

I stood frozen.

He didn't look back.

He didn't need to.

The decision was already crushing me beneath its weight.

My father.

His life.

My life.

The murder.

The men following me.

And a man who had just offered me a marriage that wasn't really a choice.

I stared at the open doorway.

Then at Damien's back.

"Why me?"

He stopped.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he turned his head slightly.

"Because you're the first person in a very long time who looked at me like I was a monster."

His eyes met mine.

"And you still came when I called."

Then he walked away.

Leaving me alone with the decision that would change both our lives.