Page 6

CHAPTER 6

Haze

Ophelia breaks her silence, turning to me. “Can you tell me about the Villa? I’d feel better knowing something about it before we arrive.”

“It’s a beautiful place to come home to,” I say.

“I told you, I won’t call that place home.” A tear slides down her cheek. Angry she’s shown weakness, she swipes it away.

“God, don’t cry.” My words sound harsher than I meant. I’m already affectionate for her; the last thing I need is to see tears fall from her blue eyes.

“I’m not crying,” she snaps. “I don’t cry.”

“Okay.”

I have no idea what to say to a crying teenage girl who says she’s not crying. I try to come up with something, but it’s a wasted effort because she’s now sliding back into her nervous-talking phase.

“It’s not like I shouldn’t be crying if I were, which I wasn’t. If I did cry, I would think you’d be able to understand why. This whole thing—it’s... crazy!” Overwhelmed, she shakes her head.

I attempt to swallow back my soft feelings towards her. “Here. Put this on.” Lifting her coat from the seat, I lay it on her lap to calm her.

She pulls her jacket up to her chin, covering her chest like a blanket. “Breaking into my house… how did you even get inside?”

“Thank God I came into your room when I did,” I retort. “Who knows what could have happened with that shithead.”

She side-eyes me. “What you did wasn’t much better.”

“You begged me to keep going.” I want her to stop crying, so I give her a cocky grin.

The face I pull gets results. She rests her head against the headrest, throwing her hands in the air. “Gah! You’re insufferable.”

I’ll gladly take her anger over her sadness. “Do all teens use such big words?” I ask sarcastically.

She rolls her eyes. “Expensive school—large vocabulary.”

I don’t want to see another tear. I try to appease her, thinking of the benefits of our arrangement. “You’ll have everything you could ever want. All your needs will be met. You can study without having to work, and you can even graduate early if you like.”

“All in exchange for becoming your child bride.” She eyes me. “Should I also wear long braids and a dress down to my ankles?”

“No. You’ll wear Armani. Or Prada. Whatever designer you choose.” I stroke a finger over the satin fabric of the coat that covers her, tracing along the upper curve of her breast. She sucks air in at my touch. “A gown made just for your body—the fabric, style, cut, all chosen to complement your beauty. Have you considered the upsides?”

Her hand swipes at mine, pushing me away from her. “Fate has played me a dastardly hand.”

Fate…

There’s that dirty four-letter f-word again.

Why does it keep coming up with this girl?

She goes quiet, and we stare out our respective windows. As we get closer to the lake, I question my decision to bring her here. I wanted my revenge, and I needed a bride. She’s a means to an end. I glance over at her, where she sits perfectly frozen, her beautiful face deep in thought.

She’s so young—teasing me about my name—yet seems like an old soul. An emotion deeper than lust stirs in me, reminding me of our kiss. I can’t deny the intensity of our connection, even though we have nothing in common.

Yet, there I was, driving by that day when she just happened to be taking out the trash, and seeing her made something shift in me.

Could it be fate that’s brought us together?

A bitter man with issues. A barely legal virgin. A forced marriage.

“You want to know about the Villa.” I distract both of us from our thoughts by returning to answer her question. “It started as one home—a white mansion on the shore of the lake. The house was called the Villa. Now, there are more houses, built like the first to house Italy’s family branch as it grows, but the name hasn’t changed.”

“And everyone there belongs to the mafia?” she asks.

“Mafia is a complicated word. You mean a member of the Bachmans. And yes. Well, no, not exactly,” I explain. “We have staff on site who we call ‘Bachman friendly.’ They’re our trusted allies, but not part of us. To become a Bachman, you join by marriage or initiation. When men are initiated, they legally change their last name to Bachman, leaving the old name behind with their past life.”

“Isn’t that incredibly difficult leaving everything behind?” she asks.

“For most of us, it’s easier than you’d think. People attracted to the Bachmans tend to be missing something from their lives—searching for their chosen family.” My voice drops as I admit this. “Although we tend not to realize that’s what we’re looking for until it happens.”

Her words are warm. “That’s… nice. I like that.”

Clearing my throat, I move on, shocked that I opened up about something so intimate. Subject change. History lesson time. “The Brotherhood originated in New York in the early 1900s. The family would rob from the rich and redistribute the wealth among the people.”

“Like Robin Hood.” She sniffs. “I would loooove to see you in tights.”

“Stop,” I warn.

She chokes back her laugh. “Are you sure ‘redistribute’ isn’t a word you use to feel better about your crimes?”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Anyway, that was a long time ago. Now, we mainly make our billions by investing our millions.”

“Investing the money you stole,” she corrects, “to make more money.”

“It’s not that simple,” I say.

“Dastardly,” she says.

I balk. “We have plenty of programs to help the less fortunate.”

“Like the Bachman Education Fund you use to buy students for wives?” she quips.

Ignoring her dig, I answer, “The Higher Education Fund. Yes. Exactly.”

She narrows her gaze, her brain constantly on the move. “But you have enemies like the mafia, right?”

I drum my fingers on the seat beside me. How much do I tell her? Eventually, she’ll need to know everything the other wives know, but she’s already going through nervous spells. Tonight is too soon to explain that we don’t always play well with others.

“It’s nothing you have to worry about. Especially if you follow our rules?—”

The screeching of tires from another vehicle on the road cuts off my words. This road is always quiet this late at night, and the sound makes the hair on my neck stand up. With the privacy screen in place, I can’t see the road.

“What was that?” She stares out her window.

“Maybe someone swerved to avoid hitting a deer,” I offer, knowing it’s unlikely. “Hold on. Let me find out.”

I reach for the call button but miss as the car pulls to a harsh halt. The momentum sends us flying forward against our safety belts, then snapping back. The backs of our heads hit the headrests. The car finally comes to a complete stop. I shake off the rattle, and my only thought is her wellness.

I reach for her. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” She shakes her head. “I’m not hurt. I’m fine.” Our abrupt stop shakes her, but she holds her composure.

I push the button, calling out to Nico over the intercom system. “What the hell was that?”

A woman’s shrill voice with a thick Italian accent comes over the speaker, along with Nico’s calm demeanor. “Signora, please step away from the vehicle,” he speaks out.

Her voice is closer and more unmistakable now as she shrieks at Nico. “Tell him I’m here. Right. NOW!”

Ice creeps through my veins. I snap my finger away from the button. “God dammit.” Rage bubbles inside me. I can’t believe she’s doing this kind of thing. Again. Liam told me I needed to have eyes on her, but I didn’t think it had gotten this out of control.

“Who was that with your driver?” She looks from me, back out the window, then back to me. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s fine.” I unsnap my safety belt and grab the door handle, locking gazes with her. “Stay here. Do not move.”

“Okay—” Her breaths come quickly, clearly rattled.

I grab her hand. “Promise me you’ll stay here.”

“I will.” She nods.

I squeeze her hand warningly, or maybe it’s offering comfort; I’m not sure.

“Stay here!” I fly from the car, closing the door behind me with Ophelia safely inside. I run to the front of the vehicle to help Nico. He’s standing at the hood of the Alfa, the driver’s door flung open. He’s not yet pulled his gun, but his hand is on his hip, ready.

She stands there in the headlights, the shiny, red Porsche Macan I bought her parked skewed over the center lines of the road. A string of curse words in Italian streams from her red lips as she runs her hands up and down the sides of her pale, gray wool coat. “Where is HEEEEEE!”

Fuck. Bianca—my ex.

The woman who made me swear off all romantic relationships that lasted longer than the afterglow of sex.

“Bianca.” My booming voice snaps her out of her piercing shriek. “What do you want?”

“Harrison! There you are.” At the sight of my face, hers falls into a crumpled mess. Huge sobs rack her body as she wails. “Why won’t you answer any of my calls?”

She runs to me, but Nico flings his tree trunk of an arm straight out, wrapping it around her waist and stopping her. “Niiiicooooo! Please! Let me see him.” She digs her chipped red fingernails into his forearm, which luckily is protected by his black leather jacket.

“What the hell are you doing? You could have caused an accident. How did you know I was on this road anyway?” A chill creeps up my spine. “Have you been following me again?”

“What choice do I have? Amore mio ? My love—” she cries out.

“Do not call me your love,” I warn.

“Harrison. Come here.” She reaches out for me.

I’ve heard she tried to buy a gun recently. We stopped her. Still, I don’t want to take chances. I scan her hands for a weapon. Thankfully, they’re empty.

An animal-like howl rises from her. “How can you say that? After all we’ve been through? And the baby—our precious baby.”

Not this again. A groan rumbles so deep through me that I feel it in my toes. Yanking my hand through my hair, I clench my jaw. There’s no civil response to what she’s just said.

A new, younger voice joins the conversation from behind me. “Baby? What baby? Who is this woman?”

Ophelia.

“Tell me that is NOT your voice that I hear, Ophelia.” Fuck. I shouldn’t have used her name in front of Bianca. I want to turn and face Ophelia, but I can’t. I keep my gaze trained on Bianca, ensuring she doesn’t make any sudden moves.

“I came out to see what was taking so long,” Ophelia replies in a sheepish tone.

“Who is that, amore mio ? What’s that girl doing with you?” Bianca peers past me, lunging against Nico as he plants his boots into the concrete, grunting as he holds her back.

“No one, Bianca,” I say. “Just?—”

“No one?” Ophelia sniffs.

Bianca isn’t only unhinged—she’s dangerous. Think fast, Haze. Keep her safe .

I gesture behind me. “This is Liam’s little cousin we’re bringing back from the airport.” I take my eyes off Bianca only long enough to turn my head over my shoulder and stare daggers at Ophelia as I shout, “Get your ass back in the car. NOW!”

“Fine. Fine.” Ophelia puts her hands up in surrender. “I’m going.”

I watch Ophelia until she’s back in the car with the door closed.

“Boss,” Nico says, getting my attention. His hand slides toward the pocket of his trousers. “I hate to use it, but I don’t think we have another choice.”

Seeing no alternative, I nod in agreement. “There is no other choice.”

“What do you mean?” Bianca’s head snaps frantically from Nico to me. “What are you talking about? No other choice than what?” Her eyes widen, and a feral look drops over her face. “You’re going to kill me?”

One arm still firmly around her, Nico pops the cap off a syringe and has it firmly planted in her buttocks before I can reach him to help.

“ Merda ! That freaking stings. What the hell? What have you done?” She swings her head back to see what’s been stuck in her ass. The meds hit her as she turns. Suddenly, she sways, unsteady on her feet. “Oh… oh…”

I watch with relief as Bianca slumps into Nico’s waiting arms. “That was fast.”

“’Course it was.” Nico braces himself, pulling her up. “A full dose of Dr. Bruno’s magic potion on a woman that can’t weigh more than a few sacks of flour. Plus, she doesn’t eat. Remember?”

I’d forgotten about Bianca’s signature diet of red wine and licorice. This should have been a red flag sooner in the relationship, but it became a source of contention on nights out. I love to eat.

Moving quickly, I check to see that Ophelia’s door is still shut, then cross the road to where he stands. “Let me help you get her to the car.”

I edge an arm under one of Bianca’s, redistributing some of her weight from Nico to me. She may not weigh much, but when you’ve had a hefty dose of our serum, you go boneless, and your body becomes like a sack of stones.

Nico and I take her back to the Porsche and settle Bianca in the passenger seat. I pull the safety belt over her chest, click it into place, and close the door.

“I’ll have someone drive her home.” I pull out my phone and send the order for two men. One to drive Bianca and the Porsche back to her apartment. The other to follow them in one of our cars. I type out a long-overdue message to Liam as well. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I admit, “I think it’s time I finally took Liam’s advice and put a team of eyes on her.”

“ Si ! You’d best get eyes on Bianca 24/7,” Nico laughs. “Unless you want to find bunny rabbits boiling in pots on your stove.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“American movie reference,” Nico clarifies. “I swear, we Italians have seen them all. How have you not watched Fatal Attraction? Glenn Close is pure gold.”

“Boiled bunnies in pots?” I laugh. “Sounds like a five-star film. Luckily, I don’t have pets. We’ll wait in the Alfa ‘till someone comes to collect her.” I head back to our car as Nico pulls the Porsche off to the side of the road and parks it on the shoulder.

I open the back door of the Alfa, finding a very curious Ophelia peering up at me. Her blue eyes are wide, she’s clutching her olive jacket to her chest, and I can tell she’s ready to fire off her latest string of burning questions.

She doesn’t hesitate, and they come like missiles. “What was that all about?” she demands. “And who was that woman? Did she say something about a baby?”

“Can I at least sit down first?” I ask.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, scootching over. I slide in beside her, closing the door behind me.

“That,” I say, “was no one.”

“Oh. Great!” She sniffs. “A no one, just like me!”

I shake my head. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Simultaneously, she rolls her eyes and slumps back against the seat. “Is she also a cousin of Liam?”

Nico returns to our car to drive us home, pulling to the shoulder of the road. I glance down at her seat belt. “Buckle yourself up. And you don’t need to worry about her.”

She grabs her seat belt, tugging it over her and latching it. “She said she has your baby—and you’re trying to marry me. I think I deserve to know who she is.”

“You deserve to know what I share with you,” I say. “Now, sit tight and prepare to enjoy the rest of the ride in silence. Please.”

She mumbles back her final retort. “She almost snapped my neck with that car stunt she pulled, and I can’t even ask a few questions?”

At Ophelia’s mention of getting hurt, my entire body bristles. Bianca was only pulling a stunt, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have gone further than she meant. Ophelia could have been hurt. The idea makes me feel lightheaded, like I’m spinning out of control.

Retrieving my phone, I message the head of security, letting him know I want around-the-clock coverage of Bianca starting yesterday. With Bianca handled, I focus on the next task at hand.

For Ophelia’s safety and my sanity, she must obey every command or suffer the consequences.

I eye the black box stowed below the seat in front of me.

Inside is something I’ve hand-selected for her.

If she won’t listen to me, I’ll train her body to obey me.

“You’ve asked a lot of questions, Ophelia. I think it’s time I asked one of my own.” Cupping her face, I lean in close enough to kiss her. Our eyes lock, and my voice drops two octaves. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in the car?”