12. Fiora

The car stops just outside of Serafina, and Vincent opens the door for me before driving off. I'm left alone, staring at the name on the sign against the brick building. This is one of the few restaurants my father will set foot in. It reminds him of his childhood summers in Italy and traveling the Mediterranean, which his family always did. He has kept that tradition alive with me and my siblings until my mother died. Once she was gone, every family tradition died with it.

I give myself only five seconds to let the autumn breeze wash over my heated cheeks before I step inside the busy restaurant. Papa doesn't like to be kept waiting.

As soon as I mention Godwin, I'm ushered into a private room near the back of the restaurant. I know it's the right one because my father's bodyguard, Alonso, stands nearby and nods to me as I pass. When I enter the room, my father is the first person I see, seated at a four-person table that already has full glasses of wine poured. Silvano Frost sits across from him, looking dapper in a pinstripe suit, his thinning hair slicked back out of his angular face.

And, to my dismay, Braken Frost sits next to him, green eyes watching my every move as I enter.

I try not to let annoyance twist my face. What are the Frosts doing here? They are the last guests I expect seated at a table with my father. Out of all the other rich families in the Northwest, they are the top of my shitlist. I can't trust anything to do with them. Why should I? I'm still not entirely convinced they aren't the ones responsible for Mason's murder.

But if they are innocent of that, they are still guilty. Mason would still be here if they had even an ounce of security present on their turf. People should know not to mess with anyone on Frost territory. If they are as powerful as Silvano Frost boasts, then a hitman wouldn't dare commit a crime where they do business in fear of the ramifications. People should fear the Frost name. But their failure to do that has ended with blood on their hands.

A small part of me is hopeful this dinner is an excuse to get to the bottom of Mason's death, but there's a knot in my stomach and a weight on my chest. I know the truth. I know why I'm here. I'm just not ready to admit it, even to myself.

"Fiora, sit down," my father orders with a snap of his fingers. "You're late."

I'm not, but I don't argue. Don't embarrass me, my father's voice replays as I step forward to kiss his cheeks. That means looking pretty and shutting the hell up.

"I'm sorry for keeping you all waiting."

I can feel Braken's eyes on me as I shift around my father and take my seat. Braken doesn't hide that he's been ogling me. His gaze bounces from the curves of my waist and chest, to the diamonds on my fingers and ears, and finally lands on my face. Tonight, he looks like he stepped out of one of his magazine photoshoots. His dark brown hair is pushed to the left, and his light gray suit is crisp and well-fitted, showing off his broad shoulders. The top button of his dress shirt is undone, and that tattoo on his neck and collarbone is once again visible. It's dark in the room thanks to the mood lighting, but his smirk is obvious.

I want to snap at him to keep his eyes off me, but I have to settle for a sarcastic smile.

"I didn't expect these to be your guests, Papa," I say. Thank God the wine is already poured. I'll need a lot of it before the night is over.

"Say hello to your fiancé, Fiora," my father says with zero emotion. "The Frosts have graciously offered to join our family in union."

I knew this was coming, but the knot in my stomach drops anyway now that it's been spoken. Fiancé. Married to the enemy. Handed over like livestock. What about Marco? I spent years trying to get my father to accept him, and after a few hot tips led to the discovery of spies within our business empire, he was beginning to trust the cop.

All it took was one second for everything to get turned upside down.

"Do you think this is a good idea, Papa?" I offer. He told me to be quiet, but I won't sit here and accept this without a fight. "It's so soon after Mason left us. Shouldn't we be looking for who did it?"

His eyes burn with a fire hotter than Mason's car bomb. "That is none of your business."

It's a firm warning to shut up and look pretty. I don't bother answering him. Instead, I reach for my wine glass and take a large gulp.

"The only business you need to concern yourself with is having sons."

My father claps his hands together twice, and the door slides open. Alonso enters, bows nearly ninety degrees, and fishes a manila envelope from his inner coat pocket. My father gestures toward Braken, and Alonso hand-delivers whatever is inside to him.

"These are from two weeks ago. She's in perfect health. Clean. Ready to bear children as soon as you're married."

I stare at the envelope in horror. My private medical records. My cheeks burn in anger and shame at the audacity.

"How did you get that?" I question a little harder than I intend.

"That doctor works for me." My father claps his hands together. "I always keep a close eye on my investments. It's high time you pay me back for years of your allowance. Go ahead and check for yourself, Braken."

Braken pushes the envelope to his left and doesn't pick it up. His jaw is tight, and his eyes seem to darken as he sits there. He's clearly angry, but I'm not sure why. Is he as upset about this arrangement as I am?

Why doesn't he refuse? He's a grown man? He's successful in his own right. Why would he do this?

Why would I do this?

I don't have to… and yet… why do I feel I do?

"That won't be necessary," he says, his eyes locking with mine. "I know what I'm getting myself into."

My father and Silvano laugh at Braken's words, which only further flames my face. Asshole. The worst part of all this is he does know everything about my medical history and that I'm on birth control. It was a requirement of participating in The Hunt. He already had access to everything, and his little secret—our secret—burns me alive. I don't like that he has that power over me. One slip of the tongue, and he can reveal where I've been and what I've been doing to my father.

I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I've already slept with this man. Multiple times. And in the most primal, filthy ways. If my father found out, he'd die of a stroke right here at this table.

I narrow my eyes at him, but Braken Frost is completely unfazed. He reaches into the pocket of his designer coat to fish out a small black box, setting it on the table next to his wine glass. All I can do is exhale through my nose. Everyone already knew about this but me. It's a bitter pill to swallow.

A large diamond sits between smaller diamonds arranged to look like leaves, all of them glinting as Braken pushes it my way. It's a test. He won't slide it on my finger himself because it's meant to be my answer. As if I have a choice in the matter. My job as first-born daughter is clear: marry to strengthen the family and be grateful for it.

I take the ring from the box and slip it on my finger without saying a word.

"I must say, this arrangement benefits me more." My father laughs as he lifts his wine glass in a toast. "As soon as you're married, her $10,000-a-month allowance is your problem."

"That's a lot of shopping trips." Silvano laughs and takes a sip of his wine. "What would our women do without our funding?"

"Be stuck walking the streets, I'm sure. Youth today always have to rely on our handouts," my father adds, not congratulating or even acknowledging that his daughter just had a huge life moment becoming engaged.

A knock on the door heralds a waiter who enters carrying a tray of appetizers. It's the perfect excuse to escape the room before I explode. I excuse myself to "freshen my makeup," clinging to my clutch as I rush to the bathroom. As soon as I'm locked in one of the stalls, I throw myself onto the lid and begin the breathing technique I learned a while back. Inhale one, two, three. Hold one, two, three. Exhale one, two, three.

I do that a few times until the burning anger in my veins lessens to a smoldering flame. All I can think of is Mama, who once smiled at my innocent childhood question of why she married Papa.

"Sometimes we have to do things out of obligation," she told me with a kiss to my forehead. "And I got four perfect kids out of it."

Now it's my turn to fulfill my obligation.

When I'm composed enough, I pat my cheeks, take one last deep breath, and step outside.

Only to run directly into Braken Frost himself.

"What do you want?" I snap.

"Just wanted to check on the woman who's meant to bear me a fuck ton of sons."

The comment immediately stokes the fire I just tried to put out. First Mason's death, and now this arranged marriage. The entire week's worth of pain, anger, and embarrassment accumulate into an incredulous scoff.

"Funny. I might be healthy, but what about you? Do you even know how to please a woman without chasing her down in the forest and fucking her with a mask on? I doubt it, seeing as how you're—what was the name of that article you were in last week? Oh yeah, ‘Married to Business'. My father just signed me over to a lifetime of shitty sex with a prick who probably never had a woman actually willingly have sex with him, hence why you run The Hunt. Go fuck yourself."

I expect to see anger or hatred in response to my tirade, but his lips lift into an amused smirk. He finds this funny. Braken takes two steps forward and traps me against the wall next to the bathroom door. He's close enough now that I can smell his woodsy cologne when he leans in.

"First of all, I was joking about giving me a fuck ton of sons in hope of lightening the mood. And I was going to play nice, but you just burned all your bridges. I hope you're ready to sit on your knees and beg for my forgiveness because you're going to need it."

I swallow down my nervousness. I refuse to back down to the likes of Braken Frost.

"Says who?"

"Me." He snatches my left hand and brings it close to my face, letting the engagement ring catch the dim light of the hallway. "This ring proves who the fuck you belong to."

I snatch my hand from his grip. "This gaudy thing? I have more expensive ones sitting in my vanity at home. You'll need to do better than this low-quality piss-yellow ring. Proof that money doesn't buy taste."

Braken chuckles. "I guess you would know jewelry with how much of Daddy's money you spend on it a month. For a minute in Heathens Hollow I might have mistaken you as someone other than a spoiled little rich girl, but it's clear to see your true colors now."

He doesn't know a thing about me, yet he speaks like he does. It makes my blood boil even more.

"Don't worry. Once we're married, I'll use your money to buy me something actually worthwhile. So go fuck yourself."

Fuck. I do sound like a spoiled rich girl. I've never been good at fighting and standing up for myself, and I'm proving that right now. He's winning this battle of wills, and I need to get out of here.

I push at his shoulder, and to my surprise, he takes a step back and gives me space to leave, but he doesn't let me go without a last warning.

"Foul language on delicate lips. This pretty little mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day. Maybe you should think of different ways to use it before it's too late."

"It already is too late," I counter dryly. "Since I'm tied to a bastard like you."

I stomp off before he can answer, but the smell of his musky cologne clings to me, reminding me that there's no way to escape him.