Chapter 2

I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, asking myself what the fuck I got myself into. I knew Beckett Benson was a snake of a human being, but I didn't realize he was the type to force his own niece into marrying someone as evil as Enzo Romano.

His niece stood in the room, reminding me of a dove. People immediately connect them to greed—greed and hunger. But deep down, they are independent, quiet, observant, and most of all, smart.

She looked around, pretending it was a normal situation she had just been thrown into, playing the part that it was all fine. She didn't flinch, nor did she pale. She simply took in her surroundings, making it seem like she was happy to be there.

But still, how she's found herself wrapped up with someone like Enzo Romano is mind-boggling. The dude has been suspected of not only sending deadly and debilitating drugs into the United States, but is also believed to be involved in major sex trafficking crimes. I have no doubt that Beckett is well aware of all of this. Hell, he's probably involved too. Yet just hours ago, there he was, delivering his innocent, sweet-looking niece on a silver platter.

That room was filled with filth, making her the only pure thing. She stood there, pretending to be strong. To be immune to things like a man about to get shot in the back or drugs being packaged up for delivery, off to ruin people's lives. But I could see through it easily. She was terrified. From the back of the room, I watched her stare as her soon-to-be husband pushed the barrel of his gun into a stranger's back. And even though I couldn't see her once I was outside, I imagined her flinching when she heard the gunshot, indicating I had done my job and killed him.

In a world filled with vultures, it's always easy to spot a dove.

In this job, I see sexy, seductive, stunning women daily. All too eager to throw themselves at whoever wants them.

Seeing her walk into the room was different. She came in, and everything in the room looked less shitty. I tried not to stare, instead looking away quickly before she saw me watching. But for those measly few seconds, I saw her. The pain in her eyes was unmistakable. And I could see her asking herself what she had gotten herself into.

A beautiful woman with fear in her eyes, though she hid it well. And now, she thinks I'm a murderer. Even though I didn't shoot anyone. The man she thinks I killed is a detective too. And right now, he's in a secret place, believed to be dead. But knowing she went to sleep tonight after looking at me like a murderer bothers me. And what bugs me even fucking more is that I care.

I have no business caring what she thinks of me. I've gone six years without looking at a single woman lustfully, and I'm not about to start tonight.

She's not my problem, and I'm not about to make her my problem either. This job is so much bigger than just one person, even if that person has the face of an angel and eyes filled with broken promises. I can't save her. It would put everything I've spent the past few years working on at risk, not to mention jeopardizing the entire mission. Rossi has worked too hard for me to do anything of the sort.

The weirdest part of this arrangement is that I don't even get to stay in my own fucking place. I'm here in this mansion they call the crew complex, which is basically the size of a hotel. It houses all of the Romanos' employees. And Beckett and his wife are staying here too. But much to my surprise, so is the dove.

I assumed she'd be moving in with her fiancé, but a few hours after her arrival, I overheard Enzo talking to Beckett in his study, demanding she stay here until he wants her around. Apparently, he likes to have women come and go, and having his fiancée at his home would fuck that up for him.

Her uncle, a man who should be protecting her, chuckled before slapping his shoulder, saying, "Attaboy."

Basically, Briar was brought here as a plaything for Enzo to use when he sees fit. But listening to him talk about how attractive he found her made my stomach churn. Or hearing Beckett promise that in a few weeks, his business partner would be giving her breast implants to match her pretty face.

His fucking niece. And he's talking about giving her fake tits.

Through the fitted deep red dress she wore, I could tell she already had perfect tits. Her hips were curvy, and her legs weren't toothpicks, but strong and smooth.

Why the fuck am I thinking about her legs? I'm here to protect her and her fiancé, for fuck's sake.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I all but force myself to picture some damn fluffy sheep jumping over the moon so I can count them until my mind shuts the hell off and I can fall asleep.

It's already after two a.m., and morning is coming way too soon. And then I can wake up and do it all over again—all while being stuck in the presence of Briar James.

I'm not going to so much as look her way.

One thing I will never be is unfaithful.

Though I should have been asleep hours ago, I draw tirelessly in my sketch pad with my pencil. For as long as I can remember, this has been my outlet. Drawing—my escape from it all. But right now, I'm not drawing some great fantasy from my mind. No. I run my fingers over my work. Over the man's face, who Enzo called Hercules. I had planned to sketch every man I saw to one day show the police in case I ever get out of here alive, but my mind is blank for anyone else who was in that room. The one left is the man with the cold eyes and the icy demeanor who took the guy outside and shot him.

The beautiful monster who had come from the shadows when Enzo called his name.

A yawn rips through me, but I know even if I tucked my sketchbook away, I wouldn't fall asleep. Insomnia is something I've struggled with for most of my life. When darkness falls, it's like every worry inside of my brain closes in, making it impossible to rest. During the sunshine hours, I'm fine. But when the night creeps in, all bets are off. To top it off, the time change is completely throwing my mind and body for a loop. I was hoping it would make it easier to sleep at night, but it's actually done the opposite.

I try to think of the other faces in the room, but the only one that comes back to me is his. Hell, even the poor dead guy who was shot is gone now.

Frustrated, I toss my pad to the end of the bed, throw my head back on the pillow, and squeeze my eyes shut.

Within seconds, my phone vibrates on the mahogany nightstand. Snatching it quickly, I freeze when I see Walker's name on the screen. My brother isn't going to be happy that I'm over here. But in a way, I think he's given up on trying to tell me what to do because he's known since we were kids that I just need to figure things out for myself.

Walker knowing why I'm here will only make him worry about me more than he already does. As my younger brother, that shouldn't be his job. Besides, he's already been through more pain than anyone his age should. And he's always been that guy who puts everyone else before himself. If he knew I was in trouble, he'd jump on a plane and be here before I could tell him no.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he barks through the phone. "I called you, like, ten fucking times last night and this morning. It just went to voice mail."

I gaze around the elaborate room and sigh. I debate not telling him the truth, but I hate lying to him. As far as true family goes, he's all I have.

"Um … I'm in Italy." I swallow. "Don't freak out."

There's a short pause before he breathes out a sarcastic laugh. "Oh. You're in Italy." He laughs harder. "You're just in Italy. It's no big deal. It's fine. You're only in fucking Italy !" He growls the last part, and in my mind, I picture him dragging his hand through his hair, his face reddening with anger. "What the fuck are you doing in FUCKING ITALY, Briar?"

I could tell him I'm going to marry a man I've exchanged a total of maybe five words with, who is a monster and is tied in deep with the Mafia. That I've gotten myself into shit so deep that waders wouldn't save my clothes. I could, but he'd just lose his mind. So, instead, I play it off like it's all fine.

"Beckett and Natasha were coming here for business, so I tagged along." The words come out smoothly, and I almost feel bad about how easy it is to hide the truth in my tone. "You know I've always wanted to travel."

"Oh, you want to travel now?" he snarls. "Who the fuck are you, Briar? And what have you done with my sister?"

"I'm sorry," I say. This time, my voice threatens to crack. "Please, just accept that I'm doing this, okay?"

"When you find yourself in a fucking mess over there and Beckett gets you wrapped up in whatever weird illegal shit he's into, you'll know exactly why I stay away from him." He pauses. "I thought you were smarter than this, B. Stronger than this."

The line goes dead. I look at the screen to see he's hung up, and tears gather in my eyes.

I feel a pang of pain shoot through my chest. I hate hurting my brother. I hate even more that he probably feels so alone right now. For so long, we were all each other had. Growing up with addicts as parents on a shithole road made us incredibly close. Walker always saw the best in our parents, even when they were completely strung out. He wanted so much more for them, and a lot of times, I put on a brave, bright face just to make him believe it didn't suck as bad as it did. But the truth is, things were really hard. And a lot of the agony I experienced as a child, I carry it with me on a day-to-day basis, never knowing what to do with the agony.

For so much of my life, I needed my mom to talk to, but she was too high to even listen, let alone talk back. Every bit of money we had was used for drugs, and there were a lot of days Walker and I went to sleep hungry and woke up with hunger pains so intense that we felt like we were dying. But no matter what, no matter how deep into their addiction they got … I knew they loved us. Always.

They might have wanted more for us, but I wanted more for them. And I really, really wanted more for my brother, which is why I'm here. Because as long as Beckett is free, he's going to try to dictate my and Walker's future. Walker might ice him out as best he can, but once my brother goes pro and makes it into the NHL, I have no doubt Beckett will be there, trying to attach himself to Walker's success. I need to put this man where he belongs. Prison. Hopefully a maximum-security one.

When our parents died, it felt like something inside of my brother snapped. He cut out everyone he loved to some extent. He shut out his best friends, Van and Poppy. Hell, he even grew a bit distant from me. Losing our parents hardened him, and I worry he'll never get back to his true self.

Walker is right about one thing. I am getting involved in a situation that won't be good for me. But I'm here now. And there's no going back.

One day, when I learn the answers to things I've been seeking for so long and bad people, like Beckett and the Romanos, are behind bars, my brother will understand. It won't be for nothing. It'll be for … everything.

And when I learn the history of what type of business my grandparents were into and what my mom had to witness firsthand, making her turn to drugs, Walker will get why I'm here, why I've done all of this. I'm not weak. I'll show him that.

If I get out of here alive, that is.