Adrian.
I watched her. Her name was Bella Esposito, at least according to the file my investigator had compiled. Twenty-six years old. An orphan. Raised in the foster system. Moved to New York five years ago. Opened a small, unremarkable flower shop in Queens. Her only living relative was a younger sister, Sofia Renwick. Different last names, a detail my men were still looking into. On paper, she was perfectly boring.
Standing in my study, wearing my shirt, she was anything but boring.
She wasn’t crying. She wasn't pleading or screaming, not like any other woman would be. She was still, her chin held high, her eyes flashing with a defiant fury that was far more interesting than fear.
Her file said she was a florist. A woman who worked with petals and ribbons. But I saw a core of steel in her posture that didn't fit. It intrigued me.
“You are taking this better than I expected,” I said, breaking the silence. I leaned back against my desk, crossing my arms.
“What did you expect?” she shot back, her voice tight. “That I’d fall to my knees and thank you for kidnapping me?”
“Some hysterics, perhaps. A few tears. It’s the customary response.”
“I’m not a customary girl.”
“I am beginning to see that,” I said. A small smile touched my lips. “That’s good. A weak wife would be a liability.”
“I am not your wife,” she insisted, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I am your prisoner.”
“The two are not mutually exclusive in my world,” I told her calmly. “But let’s call it a business arrangement. It might be easier for you to accept.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of business?”
“I need you for one year,” I stated, laying out the terms. “You will play the part of the loving Mrs. Kessler. You will smile for the cameras, you will host my dinners, you will attend galas on my arm. You will be the perfect, respectable wife.”
“And in exchange for this year of servitude?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“I am a generous man,” I said. “At the end of the year, I will grant you a quiet annulment. You will be free to go. I will also give you five million dollars.”
She blinked. For the first time, I saw a crack in her composure. The amount was designed to shock her. For a florist from Queens, it was a life changing sum.
“Five million dollars?” she repeated, her voice a little unsteady.
“And I will take care of your sister,” I added, pressing my advantage. “Sofia. I’ve read her file. Art school isn't cheap. Neither is living in this city. I will pay off her student loans. All of them. I will buy her an apartment. I will set up a trust fund for her. She will never have to worry about money again.”
That hit her harder than the money. I saw it in the way her shoulders tensed, the flicker of raw emotion in her eyes. The sister was her weak point. Good to know.
“You would do all that?” she whispered.
“I would,” I confirmed. “All you have to do is be my wife for three hundred and sixty-five days.”
She was quiet for a long moment, processing it. Her mind was working, I could see it. She was weighing the bars of her cage, seeing if they were made of gold or steel.
“Why?” she finally asked. “Why me? You could have any woman you want. Why go to all this trouble for a stranger?”
“Because you are a stranger,” I explained. “You have no ties to my world. No ambitious father trying to forge an alliance. No brother with a grudge. You are clean. A blank slate. The Commission will see you as a sign of peace. Stability.”
“So I’m just a shield,” she said, her voice flat.
“You’re a queen,” I corrected. “A piece on the chessboard, yes, but the most important one next to the king. You will have everything you could ever desire. Clothes, jewelry, cars. This house will be your house. My protection will be your protection.”
She looked around the study, at the priceless books and the antique desk. Her gaze was not one of awe, but of calculation. It was unsettling. A florist should be overwhelmed. She just looked… analytical.
“And what if I say no?” she asked, her eyes snapping back to mine. “What if I don't want your money or your protection? What if I want my life back? The one you stole from me last night.”
I pushed off the desk and walked toward her. I stopped an inch from her, invading her space, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at me. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t retreat. She smelled faintly of champagne and something else, something uniquely her. It was intoxicating.
“Then I would be disappointed,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “And my disappointment has consequences.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fact,” I said. “If you walk out that door, my generosity vanishes. The offer is gone. And my curiosity takes its place.”
“Curiosity?”
“I would begin to wonder about you, Bella Esposito,” I said softly, watching her pupils dilate. “I would want to know everything. Where you came from before you arrived in New York five years ago. Who your parents really were. I would have my men dig into every corner of your life. Every secret. Every friend. Every enemy. I am a very thorough man. When something, or someone, belongs to me, I learn everything about them.”
Her breath hitched. It was a tiny sound, almost imperceptible, but I caught it. I had hit a nerve. A deep one.
“You would do that just because I refused to be your puppet?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
“Possessions that defy me must be understood,” I said simply. “And you, my dear, are now a Kessler possession. Whether you like it or not.”
Her face was pale. The mention of digging into her past had terrified her. Why would a simple florist have a past she was so desperate to keep hidden? The puzzle of her was becoming more compelling by the second.
“You’re a monster,” she whispered.
“I am a Don,” I replied. “The two are often confused. But I am a monster who can keep your sister safe and make her dreams come true. The other option involves a great deal of uncertainty for you both.”
I let the silence hang between us. I had laid the trap perfectly. One path led to a gilded cage with safety for her sister. The other led to exposure. To the destruction of whatever secrets she was hiding.
She stared at me, her eyes a battleground of hatred and fear and resignation. I felt a strange pull, a desire to smooth the worried line between her brows, to see what she looked like when she wasn't looking at me as if I were the devil himself.
“One year,” she said finally, her voice hoarse. “And you swear you will not harm my sister.”
“You have my word,” I said. “As long as you are my wife, Sofia is untouchable.”
“And after the year is up, you let me go. No strings attached.”
“No strings attached,” I lied.
She gave a sharp, defeated nod. It was not a surrender. It was a strategic retreat. I could see it in her eyes.
“Fine,” she said, the word like a shard of glass. “I’ll be your wife.”
“Excellent,” I said, allowing myself a real smile this time. “I knew you were a smart woman.”
I reached out and brushed a stray strand of her dark hair away from her face. Her skin was soft. She flinched at my touch, a violent, reactive jerk that told me everything I needed to know.
She may have agreed to my terms, but Bella Esposito was not going to be an easy woman to tame. The thought sent a thrill of anticipation through my veins.
“Now,” I said, letting my hand drop. “Let’s get you some clothes. You can’t greet the staff dressed like that.”
