The Reaper's Hidden Heir

"Get your hands off me!"

I screamed, kicking hard at the man dragging me down the hallway. My bare feet scraped against the cold floor. Rain still clung to my soaked pajamas, making everything stick to my skin.

"Shut up, girl. The boss is waiting," the bald guy growled, tightening his grip on my arm until it hurt.

I twisted again, heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.

"I said let go! Who the hell are you people? This is kidnapping!"

Another man stepped out from the shadows near a massive wooden door. He had a scar running down his cheek and eyes that looked dead.

"She's feisty, boss might like that."

They shoved me through the door into a huge room that smelled like leather and whiskey. A tall man stood by the window, back to me, staring out at the stormy night. Even from behind, he looked like trouble. Broad shoulders, black shirt stretched tight, tattoos peeking out at the collar.

"Here she is, Damien," the bald guy said, pushing me forward so hard I almost fell. "Isabella Moretti, just like you ordered."

The man turned around slowly. Grey eyes locked on mine. No warmth, no smile, just a cold calculation, like he was sizing up a new weapon. This had to be Damien Voss—the Reaper. I'd heard the name in passing from my dad's rare phone calls, but nothing prepared me for the real thing. I straightened up, ignoring how my hands shook.

"You'd better have a damn good reason for dragging me out of my bed in the middle of the night. I have a life. An apartment. Students who expect me in class tomorrow."

Damien stepped closer. His voice came out low and rough.

"Your life ended the moment your father took his last breath, Isabella. Marco Moretti is dead. And you... You're the hidden heir nobody was supposed to know about."

I laughed, but it sounded shaky even to me.

"Hidden heir? You're crazy. My father sent me money sometimes and called twice a year. That's it. I'm an art teacher, not some mafia princess."

He didn't laugh back.

"Marco kept you a secret for a reason. Smart man. Until someone put three bullets in his chest tonight. Now half the families want you dead. The other half wants to own you."

My stomach dropped. Dad... dead? I hadn't seen him in years, but still.

"Prove it," I whispered.

Damien nodded at the scarred guy.

"Show her the photo, Rico."

Rico pulled out his phone and turned the screen toward me. There was my father, slumped in a fancy chair, blood everywhere. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. I felt my knees go weak but caught myself.

"See?" Damien said, voice flat.

"Now you're mine to protect. Or to use. Depends on how cooperative you are."

"Protect?" I snapped, anger pushing back the tears.

"You kidnapped me! That's not protection, that's prison."

He moved faster than I expected, grabbing my chin firmly but not enough to bruise.

"Listen carefully, little heiress. My men pulled you out of that apartment ten minutes before a hit team arrived. They weren't coming to chat. Without me, you'd be dead already."

I jerked my face away, breathing hard.

"Then let me go. I'll disappear. Change my name. Whatever."

"Too late for that."

Damien walked around me in a slow circle, like a shark.

"Your bloodline gives you a claim to the Moretti empire. Territory, money, and deals with the cartels. I won't let another family take that power. You'll stay here, in my wing. My rules."

Rico chuckled.

"Boss, she looks ready to bite."

"Try it," I shot back at Rico. "I bite hard."

Damien stopped in front of me again. Something shifted in his grey eyes for just a second.

"You've got fire. Good. You'll need it. But fire can be controlled. Remember that."

"I won't be controlled," I said, staring right back even though my legs felt like jelly.

"Not by you. Not by anyone."

He leaned in close enough that I caught the scent of his cologne, something dark and expensive.

"We'll see about that, Isabella. You'll sleep in the room connected to mine. Guards on every door and window. Try to run and I'll drag you back myself."

My heart raced as two more men appeared and took my arms again. I fought them the whole way down another hallway, cursing and kicking.

"Get off me! I have rights! People will look for me!"

One of the guards laughed.

"Not anymore, princess. You're in Voss territory now."

They pushed me into a large bedroom. Fancy bed, dark furniture, and a connecting door on the far wall that probably led straight to Damien's room. The sound of the lock clicking behind me made my skin crawl. I paced the room, rubbing my sore wrists.

"This can't be happening. This isn't real."

The connecting door opened without warning. Damien stood there, shirt sleeves rolled up, watching me.

"It’s very real. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we start sorting through your father's mess... and deciding exactly what role you'll play in mine."

I grabbed a heavy-looking vase from the side table and held it up.

"Come any closer and I'll smash your skull."

He smiled then. Not a nice smile. The kind that promised trouble.

"Threaten me again tomorrow after you've had time to think. For now, stay put, Isabella. Your survival depends on it."

Damien closed the connecting door but didn't lock it. I heard his voice on the other side talking to someone.

"Double the guards. If anyone tries to touch her before I say so, kill them."

I sank onto the edge of the bed, vase still in my hands, breathing fast. My father was gone. These people thought I was some heir. And the most dangerous man in the city had just claimed me as his.

"What the hell was I going to do?"

The connecting door creaked open again. Damien stood there, eyes darker now.

"One more thing. If you value the lives of your friends back in that little town, you won't try anything stupid tonight."

He paused, staring straight at me.

"Because if you run, I'll burn everything you care about before I drag you back.”