The Price of Silence

Chapter Five

I didn't remember the drive home.

I remembered getting into the car.

I remembered Victor opening the door for me.

I remembered staring through the window while the mansion disappeared behind us.

After that, everything became a blur.

The city lights passed outside like distant stars, but I barely saw them.

My mind was trapped inside Damien's office.

Become my wife.

I pressed my fingers against my temples.

It was absurd.

Completely insane.

I was nineteen.

He was thirty-eight.

I had known him for less than a week.

And the first thing I'd learned about him was that he could kill a man without blinking.

Now he wanted to marry me.

Not because he loved me.

Not because he wanted me.

Because I was a witness.

A problem.

A liability.

A loose end he wanted tied.

I laughed quietly.

"What kind of nightmare is this?"

Victor glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

"You should consider his offer."

I looked at him.

"You too?"

"I'm not telling you what to do."

"You're definitely telling me what to do."

He sighed.

"You're young."

"I know."

"You don't understand the world Damien lives in."

"I understand enough."

"No."

His voice was serious.

"You don't."

I looked away.

"Then explain it."

Victor was silent for several seconds.

"Damien doesn't make offers."

My eyebrows drew together.

"He made one tonight."

"Exactly."

I stared at him.

"What does that mean?"

"It means he wants you alive."

I swallowed.

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"It should."

"It doesn't."

Victor looked back at the road.

"Most people don't get an offer."

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

When the car stopped outside my apartment, I reached for the door.

Victor spoke before I could leave.

"There's something else."

I turned.

"What?"

"Don't go to the club tonight."

"I have a shift."

"Call in sick."

"I can't afford to."

"You can now."

My stomach tightened.

"Because of Damien?"

Victor nodded.

"Your father's hospital expenses will be covered."

I stared at him.

"Already?"

"Damien makes arrangements quickly."

I stepped out of the car.

"Tell him I didn't agree."

Victor watched me.

"I will."

I closed the door.

The SUV disappeared down the street.

I stood there until the taillights vanished.

Then I looked up at my apartment.

For the first time, the building didn't feel like home.

It felt like a place someone had allowed me to hide.

I climbed the stairs.

Once inside, I locked the door.

Then I dragged a chair beneath the handle.

Ridiculous.

I knew it wouldn't stop someone like Damien.

But it made me feel slightly better.

I walked to the kitchen.

The hospital bill was still on the counter.

I picked it up.

The same number.

The same terrifying amount.

Then my phone vibrated.

I nearly dropped the paper.

A message.

Your father's treatment has been paid for.

I stared at the screen.

Another message arrived.

You don't owe me anything. Yet.

I closed my eyes.

I didn't know what frightened me more.

The money.

Or the fact that he had been able to arrange everything without my permission.

I called the hospital.

The receptionist confirmed it.

The account had been settled.

Every outstanding expense.

My hands trembled.

I hung up.

Then I sat on the kitchen floor.

I wanted to be relieved.

Instead, I felt trapped.

Because now Damien had done exactly what he'd promised.

And somehow, that made saying no even harder.

The next morning, I went to the hospital.

My father's room looked different.

There were new machines beside his bed.

A specialist had apparently reviewed his case.

The nurse told me his treatment plan had been changed.

"Who arranged all of this?" I asked.

She smiled.

"I'm not sure. Someone from a private medical foundation."

"A foundation?"

"Yes."

I knew better.

I sat beside my father.

"You have no idea what you've gotten me into."

He didn't answer.

Of course he didn't.

I took his hand.

"Someone paid everything."

My eyes burned.

"I should be happy."

I laughed softly.

"I'm not."

The door opened.

I looked up.

A doctor walked inside.

He was unfamiliar.

"Miss Moretti?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Harris. I've been asked to oversee your father's treatment."

"By whom?"

He hesitated.

"His new benefactor."

My stomach twisted.

"Who?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

Of course.

I looked back at my father.

The doctor checked the monitors.

"His condition is still serious, but there are options now that weren't available before."

"What options?"

"Experimental treatment."

My heart stopped.

"Would it help?"

"We don't know."

"But there's a chance?"

"Yes."

I looked at my father.

A chance.

That was all I had wanted for six months.

One chance.

"Do it."

The doctor nodded.

"We'll begin preparations."

After he left, I stayed beside my father for another hour.

Then I cried.

Quietly.

Because for the first time since his accident, someone had given me hope.

And that hope had Damien De Luca's fingerprints all over it.

That evening, I received a message.

Dinner. Eight.

I stared at it.

I didn't answer.

Another message appeared.

You have until tomorrow morning.

I threw the phone onto the couch.

"No."

I paced around the apartment.

"No."

I couldn't marry him.

I wouldn't.

There had to be another way.

I could leave the city.

Find another job.

Borrow money.

Sell the apartment.

Anything.

I grabbed my laptop and started searching.

Jobs.

Apartments.

Loans.

Anything.

But every option collapsed within minutes.

I didn't have enough money.

I couldn't leave my father.

And even if I did, Damien had already proven he could find me.

I shut the laptop.

A knock sounded at the door.

I froze.

Another knock.

I slowly approached.

"Who is it?"

Silence.

My heart pounded.

Then a man's voice came through the door.

"Miss Moretti?"

I recognized it.

Victor.

I opened the door only a few inches.

"What do you want?"

"Damien sent me."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"He knows."

"Then why are you here?"

He handed me an envelope.

I didn't take it.

"What is it?"

"Read it."

I hesitated.

Then took it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

At the top was my father's hospital account.

Paid in full.

Below it was a photograph.

My apartment building.

Taken from across the street.

My stomach dropped.

"What is this?"

Victor's face was grim.

"That's not from Damien."

I looked at him.

"What?"

"The photograph."

He pointed toward it.

"Those people are not ours."

My blood ran cold.

"What people?"

"The people who've been watching you."

I stared at the photograph.

There was a black car parked outside the building.

Not Damien's.

A man stood near the entrance.

I couldn't see his face.

"Who are they?"

"We don't know yet."

"Then why are you showing me this?"

"Because Damien wants you to understand something."

"What?"

Victor's expression hardened.

"The murder you witnessed wasn't simply a debt collection."

I felt a chill run down my spine.

"What was it?"

"The man Damien killed was working with another organization."

"What organization?"

Victor looked over his shoulder.

Then lowered his voice.

"One that doesn't forgive witnesses."

I swallowed.

"Why didn't Damien kill me?"

Victor stared at me.

"Because he doesn't think you're guilty of anything."

"That's not a reason."

"For Damien, it is."

I looked down at the photograph again.

"Then why marry me?"

Victor was silent.

"Tell me."

He finally answered.

"Because if you become his wife, you're under his protection."

I laughed bitterly.

"So the solution is to marry a murderer?"

Victor didn't flinch.

"The solution is to marry the man everyone else is afraid to cross."

I looked at him.

"And if I refuse?"

Victor's expression changed.

"You should ask Damien that yourself."

He turned to leave.

"Wait."

He stopped.

"Does he actually expect me to marry him?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Victor looked back at me.

"Because Damien has already decided you're worth protecting."

Then he walked away.

I closed the door.

My legs suddenly felt weak.

I leaned against it.

Worth protecting.

The words shouldn't have affected me.

They did.

I walked to the window.

Outside, the street was quiet.

For several minutes, nothing moved.

Then a car passed.

Slowly.

Too slowly.

I watched it disappear around the corner.

My phone vibrated.

I looked down.

A message from Damien.

Eight o'clock.

Then another.

Wear something you can move in.

I frowned.

What did that mean?

A third message appeared.

Tonight, you're going to learn what being my wife would actually mean.

I stared at the words.

Then looked at the clock.

7:14.

I had forty-six minutes.

I should have ignored him.

I should have stayed home.

Instead, I walked toward my bedroom.

Because somewhere deep inside me, beneath the fear and anger, was a question I couldn't silence.

What kind of man was Damien De Luca when nobody was watching?

And why did he seem determined to make sure I found out?