3. Lexi

3

LEXI

W hen Grey finally falls asleep, I cling to him, trying to let the heat of his skin warm me, but nothing touches the freezing terror coursing through me. Franco's demands and Ramsey's threats hover in the forefront of my thoughts—making it impossible to think of anything else. My teeth chatter and my heart feels like a block of ice. I've made a terrible mistake. A deadly mistake.

How could I have been so stupid?

Okay, so I'm not exactly the mafia princess they want me to be. To pretend to be. I don't know how to navigate this life, this twisted web of manipulation and deceit. I don't know how to do any of this. I should never have agreed to spy for Franco. It won't save Grey's life—because of course Franco will kill him when this is over anyway. Hell, I doubt it will even save mine.

Franco threw me away once without a thought. He doesn't give a shit whether I live or die unless I can be of use to him.

And now…I can't tell Grey. There's no way he'll believe me. Not when his friend of so many years will tell him different. Why would he put his trust in a virtual stranger over Ramsey?

You've seen what we do to traitors.

I shudder at the memory of Ramsey's words.

While Grey sleeps, I go over and over it, turning it feverishly in my mind, but I can't find an escape. Every scenario leads to death. Grey's. Mine.

Vincenzo is a world-class asshole, but at least his plans involve keeping me alive—for now. Franco on the other hand… The way he looked at me tonight leaves no doubt he'd kill me as soon as use me. The man might be my grandfather by blood, but he's a heartless monster as far as I'm concerned. A cruel stranger deserving of nothing but my hatred.

I still can't understand what would make Ramsey spy for that bastard. He can't possibly think Franco cares about him any more than Vincenzo does. And yet, he drove me right to Franco's doorstep and offered me up. Turned me into a traitor.

And the thought of betraying Grey… I can't bear it. He's not like his father. Not the villain I once thought he was. He's a victim of his family, just like I am. Born into this horrific game of kill or be killed.

I've only known him a short while, but already, I can't picture my life without him in it. Then again, if I don't come up with a way out for us both, neither of us will survive anyway. Star-crossed lovers, destined to be one another's downfall.

W hen I rub the sleep from my eyes, Grey's standing in the doorway with a tray in his hands, chasing sleep away with the scent of bacon and coffee.

"Morning," he murmurs as I sit up.

My heart flutters at the sight of him, at his tousled hair and sleepy eyes. The tattoos and cut of his jaw contradict that softness, adding to his sexiness. But as he sets the tray down on the bedside table, his expression shifts, concern clouding his features.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his brow furrowing with worry. "Still sick?"

I shake my head, instantly tense. "I'm good."

Doubt flickers in his eyes. He studies me as if he's trying to decipher some hidden message. Guilt tugs at me, but I remain silent.

He lets it go—for now, at least—and places the tray in my lap then climbs onto the bed beside me.

"This is way too much food," I say, trying to change the subject.

"Perfect," he says. "More for me then."

We eat in comfortable silence, the only sound the clinking of cutlery against plates and the occasional sip of coffee.

But even as we share this tender moment, I can't shake the feeling that he knows something's very wrong, that he's just waiting for me to admit it. And part of me wants to tell him, wants to confide in him and let him share the burden. Help me figure a way out of this. But another part is terrified of what might happen if I do. So, I push those thoughts aside and focus on the warmth of him beside me.

For now, that's enough.

It has to be.

When we're finished, he takes the tray and sets it aside then turns back to me, excitement sparking in his eyes. "I have a surprise for you."

Anticipation mixes with a cold dread as I try to pretend the idea of a surprise under these circumstances doesn't terrify me. "What is it?"

"Come see." He climbs out of bed and takes my hand, leading me from the room.

I half-expect us to turn for the living room where a firing squad awaits me, but he heads the other way—to my bedroom. The door hangs open at an awkward angle where he shoved through it last night. Inside, he stops and moves aside, and when I see what's waiting, I stop too.

A familiar duffel bag sits on the bed: navy blue with a small tear on the side. Whoever stuffed it full of my clothes tried to zip it shut, but the zipper hasn't worked properly in years. Beside it are two more paper shopping bags full of items. My leather bomber jacket spills out of one.

My heart swells as emotions swirl one after another.

Surprise.

Confusion.

Then gratitude and something else I can't name that leaves me warm and tingly.

I turn to Grey. "These are my things," I say. "From Lakeland."

"Yeah."

"What are they doing here?"

"I contacted the manager at the weekly motel and had him overnight everything here."

"Seriously? When?"

"Yesterday. While you were shopping with Mia."

I can only stare at him, touched that he's taken care of me—without me asking, and without a single reason to do it at all considering the walk-in closet of clothing he's already bought me.

"Thank you," I say, my voice strangled.

Guilt weighs heavily on my shoulders. I haven't even actively betrayed him yet, and I already feel like a villain. Like a monster.

"You shouldn't have," I add, sort of wishing he hadn't. His kindness makes this so much harder.

"I want you to know that I'm sorry," he says, which has me biting back a groan. "I took you from your life, and I can't put you back. But I can bring what's left of your life to you. Or that was the idea, anyway." He looks almost sheepish.

I study him, suddenly wondering if I was wrong to assume he only wanted to take me out last night because of the paparazzi. This gesture is genuine and gains him nothing. Maybe I was wrong, and he does care…

My heart leaps at the thought.

I push up to my toes and kiss him on the cheek. "It's very thoughtful."

He grabs me and pulls my mouth against his, kissing me fervently. My guilt blooms until it's too painful to bear, but I kiss him back.

Playing the part , I tell myself. But it's more than that.

I want this.

A man who gives me unexpected gifts. Kindness. A man who takes care of me. Someone I can lean on.

It's not real . Or it won't be once he knows what I've agreed to do.

But I'm not above pretending.

From his bedroom, Grey's phone rings, and he breaks our kiss, cursing softly before doubling back to his bedroom to grab it. Alone, I look over at the bags. My bags. And listen while he speaks to whoever's calling.

"Yeah," he answers.

From his tone, I know it's not Dutch. He's too guarded for that. The only person I've heard him speak to that way is his father.

"Of course she's here," he says. "Where else would she be?"

I stiffen, unable to breathe or move while I wait for his next words. If Vincenzo's asking about me, it could mean he knows where I was last night. Who I was with. The only thing worse than Grey finding out I was with Franco is if his father does.

Grey sighs. "Fine. Where and when?"

Another pause.

Fear squeezes my chest.

His tone relaxes. "No, I'll make the reservation."

"She's fine. She got food poisoning from lunch."

He goes quiet, and I strain my ears, trying to figure out what's happe?—

He's suddenly in my bedroom doorway, blocking out the light. I jump but then force myself to relax. With the phone still pressed to his ear, he's paying me no attention.

Frowning, he says, "It won't happen again."

The caller says something I can't make out, and the call ends.

"Who was that?" I ask, forcing my voice to remain even.

"My father." My legs wobble as I imagine Vincenzo discovering what I've agreed to do. "He wants us at dinner tonight."

"With him?" I ask.

"No. He doesn't want to be there. But he wants us to go somewhere public, where the paparazzi can photograph us. Keeping us in the headlines as a happy couple reiterates to the public that Franco's dynasty is now merging with our bloodline. It furthers my father's attempt at a political takeover." He shrugs. "Or so he thinks."

"Why did he ask about me being sick?"

His expression clouds. "He heard about you not making it to dinner last night. He was…concerned."

"He thought I ran away."

He shakes his head, moving away to pace. "I don't think his ego would allow that idea, but yeah, he was worried. Told me to keep you on a tighter leash."

I catch myself before protesting. That…might actually work. "Maybe you should."

He stops pacing and gives me a dubious look. I can't blame him. It's not what either of us expected me to say. But I double down on what's probably an incredibly stupid idea.

"You should," I repeat. "Keep me close, I mean. We need to show the world we're a happy couple, right? So, let's paint the picture for them. Show them what a good idea it is to merge our families."

He gives me a wary look. "We'd be giving my father what he wants."

"It's not your father people will be watching."

He doesn't respond, so I press on, latching on to the only lifeline I can think of right now. "If we can bring the people to our side, won't that help when it comes time to make your move against him? Even our odds?"

He nods slowly, though he's clearly not quite convinced. "It's true. We can't afford a pack war without bringing some of them to our side first."

"Maybe we can use these public appearances to do that." And I need to be so glued to Grey's side, I won't be able to get away long enough to give Franco any information.

It's a flimsy plan, but it's all I've got. At least until I think of something better.

"Okay." He still looks a bit unconvinced, so I smile, hoping it comes off as genuine and not as terrified as I feel.

"What's on our agenda today? So I know how to dress."

He frowns, clearly distracted as the wheels in his head turn my words over and over. Finally, he seems to make some sort of decision.

"Wear a bathing suit," he says, "and your ring." Then he walks out, looking at his phone as he goes.