Chapter 2

Helena's POV

"What business?" I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop shaking.

Vincent walked to the desk in the corner and pulled out his phone. "Your marriage. I assume you want it ended?"

I stared at him. Of all the things I'd expected him to say, that wasn't one of them.

"Why would you care?"

"I don't." His tone was matter-of-fact. "But you do. And a woman who stays legally tied to the man who sold her is a woman who might have second thoughts. I don't like loose ends."

He was right. The thought of still being Ethan's wife, of sharing his name, of having any legal connection to him at all made my stomach turn.

"I want a divorce," I said. "Right now. Tonight."

Vincent nodded and made a call. "Marco. I need Santoro here in fifteen minutes. Divorce papers. Yes, now."

I couldn't look at Ethan. The sight of him made me want to start hitting him again, and I didn't trust myself not to. I focused on Vincent instead, on those calculating eyes that were watching me with something that might have been approval.

"You're stronger than you look," he said quietly.

"I'm not strong." My voice shook.

Something flickered in his expression. "That's what strength is, Helena."

The lawyer arrived in twelve minutes. The same thin man with wire-rimmed glasses who looked at the blood on both Ethan's face and my knuckles and didn't even blink. He produced real divorce papers from his briefcase and laid them out on the coffee table.

"Sign them." I stood over Ethan with my arms wrapped tight around myself. "Sign them right now and maybe I won't start hitting you again."

His hand was shaking so badly he could barely hold the pen. Good. I hoped it hurt. I hoped every stroke of that pen carved itself into his memory forever. I hoped he saw my face every time he closed his eyes for the rest of his miserable life.

When he finished, Vincent nodded to his men. They hauled Ethan to his feet.

"Where are you taking me?" Ethan's voice was small and pathetic.

"Out." Vincent's tone was final. "Your debt is paid. You're no longer my concern."

"What about Helena—"

"She's not your concern either. Not anymore."

They dragged him toward the door. The door slammed shut behind him.

The silence that followed felt enormous. I stood there alone in my ruined living room with papers scattered across the floor and blood on my hands, some of it Ethan's, some of it mine from where my knuckles had split open.

"Get dressed," Vincent said behind me. "Pack whatever you need. We're leaving in ten minutes."

I turned around slowly. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe." He finished the scotch and set the glass down. "Your husband had other debts, Mrs. Ashford. Other people who might come looking. You're safer with me than you are here alone."

He had a point. Ethan had probably borrowed money from half of New York by now and I had no way to protect myself. At least with Vincent I knew what the deal was. At least with him, I knew what he wanted.

I went to the bedroom and threw on the first clothes I found. I grabbed my phone and wallet and left everything else behind.

Vincent was waiting by the door when I came back out. His men were already gone.

"Ready?"

No. I'm not ready. I'll never be ready for whatever comes next.

"Let's just go," I said.

Vincent drove himself in a black Mercedes that smelled like leather and that same cologne he was wearing. I pressed my forehead against the passenger window and watched the city blur past.

My chest felt tight and my hands were still shaking in my lap no matter how hard I tried to control them. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Ethan's face, saw those papers with my signature on them, saw that cold calculation in Vincent's eyes when he looked at me.

I just agreed to sell myself to the mob to pay off my worthless husband's gambling debts.

The Rossi estate appeared suddenly behind high iron gates that opened automatically as we approached. It was massive. Right now everything just looked dark and threatening.

Vincent parked in the circular driveway and killed the engine. We sat there in silence for a moment and I couldn't make myself move. Couldn't make myself open the door and step out into this new reality.

"Most women would have fallen apart back there," Vincent said quietly. "Screaming, crying, begging. You didn't."

"I cried."

"But you didn't beg." He turned to look at me and I forced myself to meet his eyes. "You negotiated. You made demands. That takes strength."

"It takes desperation." I was so tired suddenly, bone-deep exhausted. "There's a difference."

We got out of the car and he led me through the front door. My footsteps echoed on the marble floor as we climbed a wide staircase to the second floor.

"This is your room." Vincent opened a door at the end of a long hallway.

The room was beautiful in that same old-money way. Four-poster bed with silk curtains, antique furniture. It looked like something from a magazine spread. It also looked exactly like a very pretty cage.

I walked in slowly and noticed the lock on the door. It was on the outside.

"You're not a prisoner here, Helena." Vincent had followed my gaze. "But you're not free either. Not until the debt is paid."

He walked to a small bar in the corner and poured two glasses of whiskey from a crystal decanter. When he handed me one our fingers brushed and I flinched.

"You hate me," he said.

I took the glass and drank, welcoming the burn. "I hate my husband for putting me here. You just saw an opportunity and took it. That's business."

Something changed in his expression.

"You're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" I was too tired to filter myself anymore. "Some crying damsel who'd beg for mercy? Some naive idiot who'd believe whatever lies you told her?"

"Something like that." He moved closer and I had to fight the urge to step back. He was so tall I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, and standing this close I could feel the heat coming off his body.

"You're smart," he said quietly. "Smart enough to know that fighting this won't help you. Smart enough to adapt instead. That makes you dangerous."

My heart was pounding again but I kept my voice level. "Is that a problem?"

"No." The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "It's interesting."

He stepped back and headed for the door. Stopped with his hand on the frame and looked back at me one more time.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow you'll learn how things work here. The rules, the expectations, all of it." His gaze held mine.

I drained the whiskey in one long swallow and climbed into the too-soft bed still wearing my jeans and sweater.