His Fathers's Ring, His Son's Touch

Amara's Pov I bolted out of the office building, my lungs screaming as the cold night air hit my face. My hands were still sticky with the iron-scented reality of what I had done. I didn't look back. I just ran, my heels clicking frantically against the wet pavement. I reached the corner of the block and stopped, my heart hammering against my ribs. Across the street, two men stood under the flickering amber glow of a streetlamp. They wore long black coats, their posture rigid and alert. One of them turned his head, and the light caught the jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw. My blood turned to ice. I knew that face. I had seen it in the rearview mirror of a car in Italy, right before the bullets started flying. They were the ones who had been sent to finish me at the hospital. How did they find me here in New York? I stumbled backward, a sob catching in my throat. I turned to run the other way, but my legs gave out. I didn't hit the ground. Instead, I fell into a wall of solid, warm muscle. Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a tight, crushing hug that smelled of cedarwood and expensive tobacco. "Easy, Amara," a deep voice rumbled against my ear. I looked up, my vision blurred by tears, and met the silver eyes of Victor. "Please," I whispered, clutching the front of his coat. My fingers left dark, wet stains on the grey wool. "Save me. Please... just take me back. Take me to your house. I'm being chased. Please." Victor didn't ask questions. He didn't look shocked. He simply swept me toward a black sedan idling at the curb. He opened the door, tucked me inside, and climbed in beside me. As the car pulled away, I looked out the tinted window. The men in black were staring at the car, their expressions unreadable as we disappeared into the New York traffic. The mansion felt different this time. Victor led me to living room. He went to a sideboard, poured a cup of steaming coffee, and handed it to me. "Drink," he commanded softly. I took the cup, my hands shaking so hard the ceramic clattered against my teeth. The warmth of the liquid helped settle the tremors, but the fear remained. "Who are they, Amara?" Victor asked. He was leaning against a desk, his arms crossed over his chest. I looked down at the coffee. If I told him the truth-that I was a target in Italy-he would throw me out. Or worse, he would hand me over to protect his own interests. "I... I don't know them," I lied, my voice small. "I think they were muggers. Or robbers." Victor watched me for a long moment, his silver eyes narrowing. "You're a terrible liar. But it doesn't matter." " What were you doing there by that time?" I asked curious. "You seem to know where I am. You even know my name." " You can say it's fate. I feel drawn to you, Amara. There is a spark in you that I find... intriguing. I can give you protection. My name is a shield in this city. No one touches what belongs to me." I looked up at him, my brow furrowing. Belong to him? Was he trying to be like Mr. Handerson now? "You want the protection, don't you?" he countered. His voice was smooth, devoid of judgment. "You want to feel safe when you close your eyes at night." "What makes you think I can't protect myself?" I asked. "You barely know me." " You can't," he said simply. He paused, his gaze dropping to my hands. "I can also clean up the mess at your office. The police will find no prints, no weapon, and no security footage of you ever entering that building tonight." The coffee cup nearly slipped from my fingers. I stood up, my eyes widening in horror. "How... how did you know?" "I saw it," Victor said. He didn't move an inch. "I happened to be there when it happened. I saw him touch you, and I saw you defend yourself. You have a survivor's instinct, Amara. I admire that." I dropped the cup onto the rug, the dark liquid spreading like a bruise. I couldn't trust this man. He had watched me kill someone and said nothing. He had let it happen. I turned toward the door, my heart racing. "I have to leave. I can't be here." "Where will you go?" he asked, his voice cool and level. "Back to your apartment, where those men are likely waiting? To the precinct, to confess to a murder you can't take back?" I stopped, my hand on the brass doorknob. He was right. I had nowhere. "Be my wife for three months," Victor said. The words felt like a physical blow. I turned back to him, stunned. "What?" "A legal marriage. Three months," he repeated. "It gives you my name, my legal team, and my security. At the end of ninety days, we annul the marriage, I provide you with a new identity and enough money to never work again, and you walk away free." I stared at him, my mind spinning. Like father, like son. Lucas had used me and then dumped me when things got hard. Now his father wanted to use me as a pawn. "I'm not interested," I snapped, my pride flickering back to life. I turned the handle, ready to walk out into the night and take my chances with the men in black, but the door swung open before I could pull it. I froze. Lucas stood in the doorway, his hand still on the outer handle. Beside him was the brunette woman-his wife.