Chapter 2 - The Terms of Engagement
Within an hour, Avery was moved from the sub-basement to the penthouse suite of Russo Tower. The transition was dizzying. One moment she was bleeding on a cold floor; the next, she was standing in a sprawling, minimalist apartment overlooking the glittering, rain-slicked skyline of Manhattan.
A female staff member named Elena had silently appeared, delivering an array of silk robes, medical supplies, and a hot bath. Avery sat on the edge of a massive velvet sofa, her feet bandaged, wearing a deep emerald silk robe that felt far too luxurious for a woman who had just escaped a gilded cage.
The door to the penthouse clicked open. Dante stepped inside. He had discarded his suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt to reveal dark, intricate tattoos creeping up his forearms. He carried a silver tray with two glasses of scotch and a file folder.
He set the tray on the coffee table and handed her a glass. "Drink. You're still shaking."
Avery took the glass, her fingers brushing his. She took a sip; the liquid burned its way down her throat, grounding her. "I'm not shaking from fear. I'm shaking from anger."
"Good," Dante said, sitting opposite her. "Anger keeps you sharp. Fear gets you killed." He tossed the file folder onto the table. "Our marriage contract. Standard terms, with a few modifications for our specific... situation."
Avery set her glass down and pulled the file toward her. As an engineer, she was used to reading complex blueprints and dense technical documentation. Legal contracts were no different.
"One year," she read aloud. "A separate bedroom. A public show of affection when required for media and government scrutiny. In exchange, I receive full legal protection from the Russo legal team, an independent bank account with a twenty-million-dollar balance, and full creative control over my engineering firm's remaining assets."
"And," Dante added, leaning forward, "I will personally oversee the dismantling of Grant Whitaker's operations. The data on your flash drive is a start, but it's not enough to crush him. He has deep roots in the city's political infrastructure. We need to cut those roots one by one."
Avery looked up from the paper, her eyes narrowing. "Why are you doing this, Dante? I know you need a wife for your shipping licenses, but you could have picked anyone. A socialite. A woman who doesn't come with an angry billionaire ex-fiancé and a war attached to her."
Dante’s gaze was unreadable, dark and deep as the midnight ocean. "A socialite doesn't know how to rebuild a city's broken foundations, Avery. A socialite would cry when the bullets start flying. You didn't cry. You ran toward the danger because you knew it was your only exit. I don't need a doll. I need a queen who can hold her own while I'm looking the other way."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. It wasn't the traditional, delicate diamond Grant had given her. It was a massive, emerald-cut black diamond set in a band of platinum, carved with subtle, interlocking geometric patterns that resembled architectural grids.
"Grant wanted to turn you into an asset," Dante said, sliding the ring across the polished wood table. "I want to turn you into a fortress. Sign the papers, Avery."
She looked at the black diamond, glittering under the penthouse lights. It looked heavy. Lethal. Protective. She picked up the pen beside the folder and signed her name at the bottom of the page.
May you like
No frauds this time. Her own, sharp, decisive signature.
"Welcome to the family, Avery," Dante said, standing up. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we announce our happiness to the world. Grant Whitaker is going to lose his mind, and I want to make sure we're watching when he does."
