CHAPTER 2: WHAT THE CONTRACT SAYS

I stared down at the black silk nightgown currently wrapping my body.

Vanessa's suffocating wedding dress was completely gone.

My mind worked quickly, deducing that there must be female maids in this house.

Roman Falcone certainly wouldn't lower himself to undress an unconscious woman.

I pushed the dark silk covers aside and stood up. I needed to carefully observe my new prison.

The thick Persian rug completely muffled the sound of my bare feet.

The massive walls were lined with solid, dark mahogany panels. There were no ventilation shafts large enough to crawl through.

Most terrifyingly, there was absolutely no locking mechanism on the inside of the heavy oak door. I was completely trapped.

I walked back to the bed and picked up the heavy, cream-colored document.

My hands were trembling slightly, but I forced my breathing to slow down. The thick paper reeked of expensive ink and ruined lives.

The bold, black letters at the top of the first page mocked me.

BREEDING AGREEMENT.

I refused to cry. Tears were a useless luxury I could no longer afford in this golden cage. I dragged my finger down to the very first brutal paragraph.

"Clause four," I read aloud, my voice echoing thinly in the massive, empty bedroom. "The Surrogate waives all maternal, legal, and physical rights to the child immediately upon birth."

My stomach violently turned. I was nothing but a biological incubator to them.

Before I could even read the next line, the heavy iron tumblers of the oak door clicked loudly. The sound was as violent as a gunshot in the quiet room. The heavy mahogany door swung inward.

Roman Falcone stepped into the room. He had changed into a fresh, impeccably tailored charcoal suit.

He didn't wait for an invitation. He crossed the room in three massive, precise strides. Before I could even step back, his large hand snatched the heavy pages right out of my grip.

"You aren't reading fast enough," Roman stated coldly. He tossed the bulk of the document onto the mattress. "Let me summarize it for you."

He locked his pitch-black eyes onto mine, holding my gaze captive.

"Clause eight," Roman began, his voice completely devoid of mercy. "If you contact the police or any external authorities, it is a level-one violation. The punishment is the immediate execution of your father."

I froze entirely. The lethal reality of his tone left absolutely no room for doubt.

"Clause five," Roman continued relentlessly, stepping a fraction closer. "My syndicate doctor will draw your blood every morning at exactly eight o'clock. We will monitor your exact fertility window."

"You are treating me like livestock," I shot back, forcing my voice not to shake under his intense scrutiny.

"I am managing a twenty-million-dollar investment," Roman replied flatly. "You are the collateral. You have exactly eighteen months to conceive my heir."

"And if I fail?" I demanded.

"The contract is nullified," he answered without hesitation. "Your father's debt is reinstated, and your life is forfeit."

"And Vanessa?" I asked, my voice turning sharp. "The actual bride?"

"I have men hunting her down as we speak," Roman stated coldly. "When I find her, I will sell her to the Bratva to recoup my operational costs."

"You would traffic my sister?" I gasped, the cold reality hitting me hard.

"She stole from me," Roman corrected flawlessly. "In my world, every debt is collected."

"I am paying the debt," I reminded him fiercely. "Leave her out of it."

Roman tilted his head slightly, a dark, humorless chuckle escaping his chest. "Do not pretend to be a loyal martyr, Cora. Your parasitic family threw you to the wolves."

I swallowed the sharp lump of terror in my throat. I had to think quickly. I had to establish my ground right now, under the crushing weight of his direct stare.

"If I am going to be trapped in this house for eighteen months, I have terms," I stated, lifting my chin to challenge him.

Roman crossed his arms over his broad chest. The expensive fabric of his suit pulled tight across his dense muscles. "You think you have the right to negotiate, Cora?"

"You need me sane to deliver a healthy child," I countered rapidly, using his own brutal logic against him. "If you lock me in this room twenty-four hours a day, my mental health will deteriorate."

I took a deep breath, refusing to back down. "If I lose my mind, your investment will suffer."

Roman narrowed his eyes, analyzing my face for any sign of hysteria or bluffing. He found absolutely nothing. I kept my expression completely clinical.

"What are your terms?" Roman pressed, his tone deeply suspicious.

"I want access to the estate gardens," I demanded immediately. "And I want books."

"What kind of books?" Roman challenged, taking another aggressive step forward. "If you ask for books on law, topography, or communication networks, forget it."

"Fiction," I answered smoothly, thinking entirely on my feet. "Classic literature. Anything that will keep my brain from rotting in this cage."

Roman remained silent for a long, heavy moment. The calculating intensity of his stare made the air around me feel incredibly thick.

"One hour in the West Garden every day," Roman finally compromised, his voice hard. "Always under the strict supervision of two armed guards."

"Thank you," I said, slightly taken aback by my sudden victory.

"Don't thank me yet," Roman warned. His voice dropped a full, lethal octave.

He stepped directly into my personal space, closing the final gap between us. His heavy leather shoes stopped right at the edge of the mattress. His towering, massive frame completely blocked out the amber light of the room.

The room suddenly felt devoid of oxygen. My survival instincts triggered a massive spike of adrenaline. My palms broke out in a cold sweat, and my breathing became rapidly shallow as his dense chest nearly touched my face.

I refused to retreat. I planted my bare feet firmly into the rug.

"You are smart, Cora," Roman said softly, his dark eyes tracking the frantic pulse at my throat. "Smart enough to be a threat."

"I'm just trying to survive your world, Mr. Falcone," I whispered back.

"We will see about that."

He leaned down. The sharp, intoxicating scent of cedarwood and straight bourbon hit my senses. I froze, my muscles locking tight as I expected physical impact.

He didn't kiss me. His lips simply brushed the delicate shell of my ear.

His large, rough hand came down flat against the mattress. He pinned the breeding contract directly beside my thigh.

"You can negotiate your daylight hours, Cora," he whispered, his hot breath hitting the sensitive skin of my neck. "But remember—at night, the contract is the only thing that speaks for you."