Page 7 of Beauty and the Daddy

But normal's a joke right now, and I'm the new cautionary tale for rock bottom.

Goodbye, stable-headed Belle. Hello, Belle feeling things she doesn't even know.

What the hell just happened?

"You must have a twisted sense of humor." I tip my head back to the ceiling, praying someone's getting a laugh out of this, and claw my fingers through my hair.

My father just sold me to the Beast of New York.

Welcome to what the actual fuck, Belle. Population: you.

I take a few deep breaths and let my eyes sweep around the room.

Gorgeous, a four poster bed with a mattress that looks like it's been donated by angels, beautiful windows sweeping over the grounds of Moretti's estate.

The furniture in this room is worth more than my dad's entire house.

Hell, it's probably worth more than my entire existence, according to the going rate for daughters these days.

And here's the worst part—mixed in with the fury and fear is something else I can't even dare to name.

The way Luca looked at me had my heart fluttering like a string of papers, and it wasn't from fear.

He took up space like I was already his, and part of me hated how my stomach twisted at that.

I sit right there, with my ass on the carpet, and replay it over and over.

"You belong to me now."

"You're not serious," I'd said to Moretti. "People don't do this. This isn't... This isn't medieval times. You can't just claim me like I'm some archaic bride price."

"Call your father back in," was all he said. "Hear it from him."

Of course, I didn't believe him. What sane woman would?

Turns out, he wasn't crazy. I was.

Dad's face when he explains what Luca really is? I'll never forget it.

"The Morettis aren't just businessmen, Belle." His voice cracks like cheap paint. "They're... they run things. The kind of things that don't show up on tax returns."

"You borrowed money from the mob?" The words taste impossible.

"I borrowed money from the only people willing to lend it." He still won't look at me. "When the banks said no, when we were three days from closing..."

The rest clicks into place like bullets into a chamber.

It was then, from the way his voice trembled, that I knew they didn't call Luca Moretti The Beast of New York for the fight moves I saw out the window.

This man ran a criminal underworld, and somehow, I'd stumbled straight into the knots of his web.

And in that moment, I felt the first real taste of terror, like a fly realizing too late the spider's already watching.

"Belle, I owe Mr. Moretti a significant sum. The company... it's not just struggling. We're finished. And I… I made promises I couldn't keep."

"What promises?" I'd asked, watching my father squirm for an answer.

Luca had stood there, leaning against his desk like some GQ model who moonlights as a hitman.