Prologue & Chapter 1 - Heiress

PROLOGUE

❦ Rosalind ❦

Viktor hadn’t spoken a word, but I could feel him watching me.

Outside, rain streaked down the tinted glass of his bulletproof truck while guests filed into the hall without us.

He’d insisted on giving me a ride to the ball, acting all gentlemanly and even stopping to help gather my dress when I climbed into the seat of the truck.

One would think he wasn’t my grim reaper. Patient and deadly.

But when we’d arrived at the venue, my chest constricted, and I realized I wasn’t in the mood to play host.

After thirty minutes of tense, heavy silence, Viktor spoke.

“I take it we’re not going in.”

I turned at the sound of his voice. I’d been very aware of his presence, ignoring the fact that we were locked in here alone after he’d permitted his driver to excuse us.

Hooded gray eyes regarded me under thick black lashes, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. He’d made himself comfortable.

I forced my lips apart. “I’m just… sick of it.”

My phone buzzed.

I looked down.

Marcus: Where are you?

I tucked the phone into my purse, ignoring the message.

I was supposed to lure Viktor to dinner after the ball, I hadn’t forgotten. But Marcus’s incessant texts were starting to get on my nerves. I wondered if I should press Viktor about the information he was supposed to get from S******, and whether to tell him that D****** was working with Marcus.

I looked up to see him staring intently, head tilted in curiosity. His long, black-clad legs slanted toward mine and his elbow supported his bent hand against the door.

I pulled the black feathered mask off my face, setting it on my thighs with sweaty, shaky hands. My heart rate picked up, and I began to weigh the options of heading into the ball or staying in the car.

His hand took mine.

I froze, watching as he gently held my wrist like something precious, twisting it in the dim inner light of the truck and watching as the light caught on my ring.

He pressed his lips to my fingers. “Plotting already?”

My chest swelled against my tight corset, desperate for air.

“Yes,” I answered truthfully.

He peppered small kisses along the length of my fingers, inside my palm, dragged it over his trim beard.

“That’s hot,” he observed.

Here I was, reveling in his attention while I plotted his demise. How very criminal of me, but he didn’t seem to mind. Maybe he would if he knew the details of it.

I tried to rationalize my decision. This was exactly what I wanted, avenging papa, bringing his killer to justice. I was so close.

Viktor definitely had plans of his own, probably as urgent and deadly as mine, and I shouldn’t let him distract me.

But his lips, so soft, painted a heat trail all over my lower arm.

I gasped when he tugged me closer, and my purse fell to the floor.

“I don’t think you’re completely aware of your situation, Rosa.” He murmured, his burning gaze on mine the whole time. “You’ll never escape me.”

If only he knew.

“It’s just on paper. Until the killer is brought to justice.” My voice came out breathy, the material of my dress heavy and scratchy on my skin. I needed it off, because of the heat. Nothing more.

“You sound sure. Have you found the killer, Rosa?”

Curse him and the way my name rolls off his tongue. I met his gaze straight on, stealing a glance at his lips, and back up to his eyes. They glinted with knowing, spearing me with a challenge.

I swallowed despite myself, and for the first time, his gaze dropped to my throat, focused on the motion.

His eyes then darkened, faster than his hand rose to collar my throat.

I gasped as the action, against my better judgment, sent sparks down my spine.

“Say it,” he whispered, inches from my lips.

Cocky, for a man who knew someone wanted him dead.

I dug my nails into his thigh, steadying my weight.

“Killer,” I sneered.

The silence crackled between us.

Then he smirked, and tightened his grip on my throat.

One of us wouldn’t survive this.

❦❦❦❦❦❦❦

CHAPTER 1 - HEIRESS

*FOUR WEEKS EARLIER*

❦ Rosalind ❦

“My condolences, Rosa.” Marcus DeVries, my father’s consigliere, had said, pressing a heavy palm to my back as I stood, frozen, staring down at my father’s body.

“That’s him,” I whispered, and the words stole the last of my strength. I sank forward, sobbing into Marcus’s coat.

He pulled me closer, but for some reason, his hold felt uncomfortable. I stepped back, shaking and sobbing into my fist, my vision blurring, burning hot.

The car ride home was stifling. Marcus didn’t say a word as he drove and I tried to dredge up memories of him from my childhood. All I recalled was a brooding man surrounded by a dark, suffocating air. Every man in the business carried a shadow, but his felt darker.

I was grateful when he pulled up to my father’s house. The lights blazed warmly and invitingly, as if waiting for its owner to walk through the door. I would be the bearer of bad news tonight.

I had pulled the door handle to leave, when Marcus stopped me with a loose grip on my thigh.

“If you need anything, Rosa, don’t hesitate to call,” he said, his dark eyes trying to appear comforting.

My skin crawled. I stared blankly at him. He had to be in his fifties, maybe sixties. I was only twenty, the only daughter of his now‑dead boss.

I gave a tight nod and left the car.

Later that night, in my childhood bathroom, I gripped a pair of scissors tightly.

My papa is dead. My mamma died fifteen years before him, and he never remarried.

Snip.

The last lock of hair slid down my shoulder, falling to the floor to join the shredded pieces of my father’s letter. A letter of apology, for signing a contract that I was to be married to Viktor Marino, the son of the man he had spent a lifetime fighting.

My head felt lighter, making me realize just how heavy my waist‑length hair had been. Years of carrying it had made me used to it, just like the years of grief I carried for my mamma, and now for my papa too. Losing my luscious, midnight‑black hair felt like a fair trade, making room for this new grief.

They said it was an investigation, but no one believed they’d find the killer. A lone passenger in the back seat had somehow managed to kill two of the most powerful mafia bosses in New York, Darko Marino and my father, George Marlow. What the hell were they doing in that car?

I stared at my reflection. Losing my hair helped, to an extent. I felt like a new person, which was a necessary change. I wouldn’t survive in my father’s world as a shy, reserved young girl.

I am his only daughter, shipped out of state when I was ten to protect me from the life he led. The mafia had taken his wife, he refused to let it take his child too.

I drew a shaky breath, remembering the signed contract I’d found hidden in the foam of his office chair.

Anger flared in my chest, my hands clenching the counter. Why send me to the best schools only to tie me to a man?

“You’re going to be educated and independent, Topolina.” He’d said, only to trap me by signing the damned contract.

Why write a letter when he could have said it to me in person? Did he know he was going to die? Or was it a deal made in desperation, with a man he despised, to save me from something worse?

The questions swirled until my head throbbed.

Whatever his reasons, I wasn't going to marry a stranger for the sake of “security.” Just graduated at twenty, my plans for a normal life would have to wait.

I had to secure my father’s legacy.

Even if the mafia didn’t want a woman at the lead, especially not one raised out of state, living off blood money barely understood.

All I had were memories from childhood, overheard meetings, glimpses of how my father commanded respect and silenced disrespect with the soft pull of a trigger. It always worked. I’d heard the name Marino spat like a curse more times than I could count, yet he had bound me to it.

As long as I could shoot, bluff, and negotiate, I would be fine.

But first, I had to survive Viktor Marino.