Chapter 2 - Beneath the Silk and Lies
“Get up,” Enzo said, his tone softening just enough to betray the storm brewing inside him.
“Please,” she whispered again, a tear finally escaping her eye and tracking down her pale cheek.
“I said, get up, Harper.”
Slowly, as if moving her limbs through freezing water, Harper unfolded. She kept her arms crossed over the torn front of the wedding dress, trying desperately to cover herself. Enzo stood, shedding his heavy wool suit jacket without breaking eye contact. Before she could protest, he draped the dark, warm fabric over her shoulders, wrapping her frame in his clothes.
The jacket swallowed her, smelling faintly of cedar, gunsmoke, and expensive cologne. It was heavy, grounding her against the tremors shaking her body.
“Sit on the bed,” Enzo ordered, gesturing to the massive carved mahogany frame behind her.
Harper hesitated, then obeyed, perching on the very edge of the mattress like a trapped bird ready to bolt. Her breath came in shallow, rapid gasps.
Enzo walked to the ornate armoire in the corner of the room, pulled open a drawer reserved for extra linens, and retrieved a soft, heavy cashmere throw blanket. He walked back, knelt beside her, and gently draped it around her shoulders over his jacket, creating a barrier between her and the world.
“Listen to me,” Enzo said, resting his forearms on his knees as he looked up into her glassy blue-gray eyes. “I didn't marry you to hurt you. I married you to destroy your father.”
Harper blinked, a flicker of confusion cutting through her terror. “What... what do you mean?”
“Preston killed my brother,” Enzo said bluntly, watching her face for any sign of deception. “Nathan was twenty-seven. Your father ordered a staged robbery on the South Side to cover up a bad debt. I spent two years tearing down his empire, freezing his accounts, and backing him into a corner until he had nothing left. That’s why he gave you to me.”
A bitter, humorless smile touched the corners of Harper’s lips. It was a tragic, hollow expression that broke something behind Enzo’s ribs.
“You think my father gave me to you as a sacrifice?” Harper whispered, her voice rough. “You think he cared enough about me to use me as a bargaining chip?”
Enzo frowned. “He handed you over to a known criminal without a second thought. He sold you to save his own skin.”
“No,” Harper corrected, staring down at her trembling hands. “He didn't give me to you to save his skin. He gave me to you because my twenty-fifth birthday is next week. That’s when my mother’s true trust fund—the one my father couldn't touch, the one he’s been embezzling from for a decade—legally unlocks in my name.”
The room seemed to drop another ten degrees.
“Explain,” Enzo demanded.
“My father needed me out of his house before the independent auditors finished reviewing my mother’s estate,” Harper said, her voice steadying slightly, though her eyes remained haunted. “If I was living under his roof when the audit cleared, I would have discovered that he stole thirty million dollars from my inheritance to fund his failing hedge fund. But if I was married off—if I was legally transferred to another man’s household, under a different roof, with a husband who controlled my legal standing—he could force me to sign a power of attorney transferring the remaining funds to him under the guise of ‘marital asset management.’”
Enzo felt a cold rage build in his chest, so intense it made his vision blur. He had thought Preston Whitcomb was just a common killer.
He was a monster who had tortured his own daughter for years, only to use her as a final escape hatch for his financial crimes.
“And the scars?” Enzo asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, lethal whisper.
Harper flinched, pulling the cashmere blanket tighter around her neck. “My mother died when I was ten. After that... my father’s business deals started failing. Whenever a deal went wrong, whenever the market dropped, whenever he lost money at the private clubs downtown... he came home looking for someone to blame. The staff was dismissed years ago. There was no one to see. No one to help.”
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She looked up at Enzo, her gaze piercing straight through his armor.
“You thought marrying a mob boss was my worst nightmare, Enzo?” she asked softly. “It’s the first time in ten years I haven't locked my bedroom door from the inside.”
