“Because I’ve learned a hard lesson about trusting men blindly,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “I need to have my own money. My own identity. My own something that isn’t tied to a man who might change his mind.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. For a moment, I thought I’d made him angry. But when he spoke, his voice was low and rough. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, I know.” The air sharpened between us, charged with a tension I couldn’t name. He watched me carefully, as if he were memorizing the way I took up space in his office. “I take good care of what is mine, Zara.”
His voice was softer, but there was a new note to it that made my skin prickle—a promise, or maybe a warning.
I wanted to believe him.
God, I wanted to believe him.
But I’d heard pretty words before. I’d seen promises shatter. I’d learned that the only person I could count on was myself.
“If I work,” I said, my voice steadier now, “it’s my choice. Not because you allow it. Not because I have to. But because I want to.”
He studied me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. Then he nodded.
“Fair enough. Keep your job. But if you ever change your mind?—”
“I won’t.”
His lips pulled into a dangerously dark smile. “I admire your stubbornness. It’ll make this interesting.”
Heat curled low in my stomach despite every instinct telling me to run. I didn’t know what that meant, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Lorenzo was offering me a way out.
A way up.
And even if it came with strings attached, even if it meant giving up some part of my freedom, it was better than drowning.
I just hoped I wouldn’t regret it.
I walked into Marcus on his couch, feet up, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, watching me with hawk-like intensity.
“So,” he said, crunching on a kernel. “You signed your soul away to a mysterious billionaire. How was that?”
“Not my soul.” I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the opposite end of the couch. “Just my hand in marriage.”
“Same thing, babe.”
I kicked him, but there was no heat in it. My mind was still spinning, still replaying the moment Lorenzo slid that contract across his desk, still feeling the weight of his gaze as I signed my name next to his.
“So,” Marcus said, turning to face me fully. “Spill. What’s his deal? And why does my best friend, who swore off men, suddenly agree to marry a complete stranger?”
I took a deep breath. “I did not…”
“Forget it, just tell me about him.”
“I don’t have much to tell; I barely know him,” I said, embarrassed by just how reckless it sounded.
Marcus stared at me, his mouth slightly open. Then he blinked, grabbed his phone, and started typing furiously. “What’s his full name? We’re looking him up.”
“Lorenzo Falcone…”
He looked at me, then back at his phone, then at me again. “Zara. Did you just say Falcone? As in organized crime, Falcone. His grandfather had been under investigation for years. His father has been linked to all kinds of crazy shit, including the damn mafia. And Lorenzo himself—here, look.”
