On the flipside, he could tell Valentino and the world the truth—that their marriage had been a drunken error, a foolish misstep by a man who should have known better. And then? He grimaced as he thought of the consequences, stalking towards the front door. His grandfather would see it as irrefutable proof that Luca was far from reformed. That he was more messed up than ever—and definitely not ready to be granted full legal control of the Di Santis empire.
What choice did he have, really?
He didn’t need to collect the piece of paper on which she’d scrawled her hotel name. He remembered it clearly, as well as her room number. Strange that both would have imprinted in his brain so quickly—but convenient. Downstairs, in his sleek, custom Mercedes, he revved the engine and made for the exit of the underground parking lot, brain already working on the problem of how to convince Allegra to be his wife a little while longer.
Her hotel roommight have overlooked a busy side street with a fast-food restaurant on the corner, but the moment Allegra walked into her tiny, dimly lit room, she couldn’t hear anything over the rushing of her blood and the pounding of her heart.
Her hands flew to her lips of their own accord, and she pressed her back to the door, fear rendering her temporarily motionless.
It wasn’t as though the room were trashed in the sense of Hollywood movies, with the mattress thrown across the floor and her bags tipped upside down. But the window was open, the ancient, stained curtain billowing in the desert breeze, and the small duffel bag she’d left on the edge of her bed was now across the room, on the tiny table.
Her feet seemed to be made of concrete all of a sudden. They wouldn’t move. The door behind her was providing invaluable support.Run,a voice in her mind screamed.Fight,another responded. But how could she fight? What with? She stayed perfectly still, trying to listen for any sign that an intruder was still in the room. There were very few hiding spaces. There was a wardrobe, but only a child could have squeezed into that space, and she was pretty sure that even with her diminutive stature she could probably defend herself against someone that small? But the bathroom was another story. It could definitely have accommodated a grown man or two. She strained to hear, holding her breath, waiting. Waiting, and waiting some more, and finally when she heard nothing but the hum of traffic outside, she tiptoed across the room, hands balled into fists.
At the bathroom door, she sucked in a quick breath then threw open the door, launching herself into the space like a cat whose tail had just been yanked, flying around with her hands ready to punch and scratch if she was met with an intruder.
But the bathroom was just as she’d left it: brown and orange sunburst tiles, a cream laminate benchtop and a shower that leaked from the faucet.
She let out her breath, whole body shaking now as she went to the window and pushed it down, emphatically slipping the locking mechanism in place. Next, she moved the bag back tothe bed and began to go through it. She hadn’t really brought anything of value—she didn’thaveanything of value—but she still methodically checked the bag to see if anything was missing.
Instead, her fingers brushed against the crispness of an envelope—an envelope she’d never seen before.
She opened it with trembling hands, and slid a single piece of paper out.
We never forget a debt: or take no for an answer. You can’t outrun this.
Was it any wonder she screamed when a heavy knock sounded at her door? Any wonder she screamed and stared at the door as though her worst nightmare was about to come storming through? Her fingers clung to the note almost as though they were welded to it, and her feet refused to move. The door burst open and she squeezed her eyes shut, braced for the worst.
“Dio mio,what has happened?”
Though she’d only had a handful of conversations with him – that she could remember – the man’s deep Italian accent was instantly familiar. Reassuring too, at least because he wasnother worst nightmare. Though in other ways, terrifying, because even then, she couldn’t help but be aware of the way he walked, the breadth of his shoulders, the command he brought simply by stepping into the room.
“What do you mean?” her voice was a whisper. She closed her eyes, tried to reassure herself that she was okay. But the note was right there in front of her, the words burned into her brain.
She balled it up quickly, stuffed it into the pockets of the beautiful pants he’d had bought for her.
“Allegra. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
She shook her head, trying to think clearly. “I’m fine.” It was obviously a lie. “What are you doing here?” He must have left the penthouse shortly after she had. “Did I forget something?”
His eyes though were boring into hers, his expression contemplative. “Why are you in Vegas?”
She looked quickly towards the window, memories of fear making her blood run fast. “Does it matter?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I have a proposition for you. A business proposal. But I always do my due diligence before I get into bed with someone. Financially speaking.”
Her brows shot up, surprise quickly usurping any other emotion she felt. “What business, exactly?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive gesture if ever she’d seen one. Only, he wasn’t defensive. He was too…something, for that. She eyed him warily, finally understanding the idea of the expression ‘caught between a rock and a hard place’.
There was something deep inside of her that was warning her to stay far away from this guy. Something about him that felt inherently dangerous. But that was just a gut feeling. An instinct. The note jammed in her pocket was a literal, terrifying threat.
“I want us to stay married.”
CHAPTER 2
