NataliaI gripped the page with my test results on it, the logo for the hospital where I was an intern printed across the top. Would I live long enough to finish out my internship and become a fully qualified surgeon? Heart failure has progressed. Patient placed on transplant list. I stared at the words, numb. After I’d experienced some weird health problems at nineteen, I found out that I’d inherited a deadly congenital heart disease. I was in stage two of heart failure. The doctors had told me I could spend decades in stage two if I looked after myself. And I had. I’d made lifestyle changes and taken all of my medications religiously. Now, I needed a heart transplant. A transplant neither my mom nor I could afford. It was laughable. I worked at a hospital, and it turned out my insurance wouldn’t cover my heart failure because it was a pre-existing condition. Which led me to where I was—standing in the one place I had vowed to never set foot. About to see the one person I had sworn on my life I would never see again. I crammed the incriminating paper into my oversized handbag and then walked the remaining distance along the Manhattan street, to the building where apartments never sold for less than thirty million dollars. The Zanetti family owned most of the building, a powerhouse mafia who ran their corner of New York with an iron fist and cut-throat politics. We’d never asked the Zanetti family for a dime. But today, that was all about to change. The doorman eyed me as he let me into the luxury building. Probably because I looked like trash. I’d worked a double at the hospital, so I was still in my scrubs and my braid had mostly fallen out ten hours ago, but I hadn’t found time to fix it. Plus, the whole heart-failure thing wasn’t exactly good for the complexion. I rode the elevator up, my heart pounding out of control with anxiety. I reached into my bag and popped a couple of pills to calm my system down. I was supposed to be avoiding stress. Ha! Between my internship and heart condition, stress was my BFF. It felt like the elevator took forever to reach the upper floor. As I stepped out, I could hear yelling coming from the apartment. The voice was shrill, female. A second later, the yelling was accompanied by the sound of something shattering. I winced, my steps slowing as I walked toward the door. Obviously, this was a bad time. But I knew if I didn’t knock on the door and ask right now, I would lose my nerve and never be able to bring myself back here. Unsurprisingly, the commotion stopped after I rang the doorbell. A moment later, a harried looking maid opened the door. “Can I help you?” she asked, gaze raking over my disheveled appearance. “I’m here to see Frank Costa-Zanetti,” I replied, glad when my voice came out even, no hint of the tremor I felt inside. “Who should I say is calling?” asked the maid snootily. “Natalia,” I answered, tipping my chin a little higher. The maid’s eyes widened, but she stepped back. “Oh, I’m sorry, miss,” the maid said in a rush, practically groveling. “I didn’t recognize you. Please, come in. I’ll fetch him directly.” I stepped into the luxurious apartment, and now I could hear the murmur of low, intense voices. The argument hadn’t ended, it had just gotten quieter. I glanced around as the maid hurried off. What would it have been like to grow up here? A moment later, the maid returned and beckoned for me to follow her. She took me to a formal sitting room where Frank Costa-Zanetti stood, looking out at a small sliver of Central Park you could just make out through the tall windows. Inwardly, I winced when I saw he wasn’t alone. Lauren was also there. Along with her odious daughter, Felicity. “Natalia,” Frank said. “This is a surprise.” Lauren glared at me. “You couldn’t call ahead like a civilized person?” “I’m just trying to maintain the trash image of me you have,” I replied in a cutting voice, anxiety about my current situation making me speak out when usually I would have remained quiet. Lauren opened her mouth to reply, but Frank held up his hand to cut her off. “What’s this about, Natalia?” He sounded impatient. “It’s simple,” I told him, pausing to take a calming breath. “I’m dying, Dad.”
Felicity gave a cutting snort of disbelief.“Wow, dramatic much?” My half-sister rolled her eyes. “Clearly you’re not dying, or you wouldn’t be standing here.” “I’m in heart failure,” I told my father, ignoring Felicity for the time being. “I was born with a congenital heart condition that wasn’t found until a few years ago. It’s progressing. As of today, I’ve been put on a waiting list for a heart transplant. But my insurance won’t cover it, so—” Lauren gave an incredulous laugh. “So you came here begging for money? How pathetic. Does your father look like an ATM?” “Lauren,” my father said sharply. The woman shut up then, but it didn’t stop her from looking mutinous. “So you come to me, after all these years, and just expect me to hand over money?” my father asked, adjusting the heavy gold watch he wore. It was a flashy, ugly piece that matched the cliché gold chains he wore at his neck. I clenched my jaw over the urge to remind him that he was the one who’d kicked out me and my mom so he could move his mistress and his illegitimate daughter in. He was the one who hadn’t bothered with us for over two decades. He’d only married my mother to become don of the Zanetti mafia. “I didn’t know what else to do,” I replied, feeling a lump swell in my throat. And wasn’t that the god’s honest truth? Part of me actually thought for a second that maybe I would have been better off letting myself die than having to prostrate myself at the altar of my father’s ego for the cost of the transplant, which would probably be a pittance compared to the wealth being the don of the Zanetti family had netted him. My father considered me, and there wasn’t a speck of emotion in his gaze. At this moment, I had no doubt he was weighing up the pros and cons of saving my life. What he could get out of it versus what it would cost him. If I’d been a son, my father would have moved heaven and earth to save me. If I’d been a boy, he probably wouldn’t have kicked my mom and I out in the first place. Only sons could ascend to Don in the mafia. Hence why my only child mother had been married off to someone my grandfather approved of to take over. However, my father hadn’t produced any sons. Lauren had experienced complications in birthing Felicity and hadn’t been able to give him any more children. Honestly, I was surprised my father had kept her around after that. Maybe he really did love her, I thought bitterly. Even though I wasn’t part of my family anymore, I still heard things. Everyone did. There were rumblings amongst the other mafia families who ran Manhattan. What would happen to the Zanetti family—one of the oldest mafia families in New York—after my father passed away? Who would inherit? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care what happened to any of them. “You’ll owe me,” my father eventually said, a knowing glint in his eye. “I expected as much,” I said, glad my voice remained cool and detached. Because my pulse was skipping wildly, and it was all I could do not to tremble. “Anything I ask,” my father added, as if he needed to make sure I understood. “Anything,” I repeated with a nod. “Anything?” Felicity suddenly spoke up, her gaze calculating. Whatever she had in mind, I knew it was going to be bad news for me. A vicious smile curved over Lauren’s face. “She did say anything,” Lauren said, her voice a dangerous purr. My father looked at the pair, his expression unreadable. I didn’t know what was going on here, and I was too afraid to ask. “Come now, Frank,” Lauren said when my father remained silent. “The sacrifice must be made.” Sacrifice? Just what the hell was Lauren talking about? I had known coming here that whatever my father asked of me in return for funding my heart transplant would be steep, but now that I was standing here, I was beginning to consider the fact that he might ask me something I was unwilling to pay. My father looked back at me, and I could tell he was thinking hard about whatever it was Lauren and Felicity were suggesting. “In fact, this will work even better in your favor,” Lauren continued, clearly warming up to the subject. “Natalia is the one who is of the Zanetti bloodline, after all. I think Robert will greatly appreciate your gesture.” That seemed to cinch it for my father. I could see the moment he decided. “Then that will be my price,” he said with a nod of finality. “Which is?” This time I couldn’t stop my words from sounding faint. “If you want me to pay for your heart transplant, then you will marry Sebastian Creed.”
I didn’t know which part of that statement terrified me more. The marriage part—or the part where my father had said that my groom would be Sebastian Creed. I might not be in the mob life anymore, but everyone knew who he was. The Creed family was even older and wealthier than the Zanetti family. They owned so much of Manhattan, some people called it Creed Kingdom. And the king was Sebastian. According to the media, Sebastian had just been released from a short stint in jail, his time cut short when the case the DA had been building against him fell apart. No one could get anything to stick to Sebastian or the Creed family, and anyone who tried disappeared under mysterious circumstances. They were probably chained to concrete at the bottom of the Hudson River. “I—I don’t understand,” I stuttered. My father crossed his arms. “Robert Creed has me by the balls,” my father said, anger flashing through his expression. “Some of our lower-level guys got into it, and now Robert is calling in loans and blocking my new developments. He gave me one option—marry Felicity to his grandson, and he’ll write off every cent I owe him, and then some.” Of course, the long game was that since my father didn’t have a son, that meant the Zanetti family would fold into the Creed family. “This is completely out of proportion to what I’m asking. I need a few hundred thousand, and you want me to trade my entire life for it?” My father shrugged. “Seems to me if you don’t do this, you won’t have any sort of life at all,” he said calmly, as if he wasn’t discussing the death of his daughter. How was I related to this rat of a man? “We need a decision,” Lauren said, snapping her fingers impatiently. “Robert has a car waiting downstairs.” “What?” I said in confusion. Lauren’s words were slow and loud, as if she were talking to an imbecile. “For the wedding.” *** I climbed into a silver Lincoln Continental waiting for us in the underground parking garage of the building. As it rolled out into the street, two hulking black Cadillac Escalades fell in to escort us—one in the front, and one in the back—blocking us in from the rest of the traffic. Even I knew that an escort like this wasn’t normal. “What’s going on?” I asked my father uneasily, glancing back to find the tint on the Escalade’s windows was so dark, I couldn’t see who was inside. “Can’t be too careful,” my father said with a shrug. “Some rival families don’t want this marriage to happen.” That didn’t make me feel any better. I didn’t need the marriage I was being forced into to start some kind of war between the biggest Manhattan crime families. I sat there pulling at the hem of my scrubs nervously. My father cast a critical look over me. “You’ll need to make sure you freshen up when we reach the church,” he said, his lip curling. We stopped at a red light, and I stewed, trying to think of a retort. I was about to open my mouth when I heard a weird popping sound. “Shit!” my father yelled, ducking down. It wasn’t until the window right next to my head shattered and I was rained in glass that I figured out what it was. Someone was shooting at us!
I gasped hard enough that my breath caught in my chest as I threw myself down against the seat. More windows exploded, and then there was the deafening bam bam bam of our driver shooting back as he cursed and cut the wheel one-handed. The car mounted the curb onto the footpath to get around the traffic in front of us, and then sped through the intersection, leaving a chorus of honking in our wake. One of the Escalades had come with us, driving tight to our bumper, while the other had stayed behind. My father got on his phone then, and started shouting at whoever was on the other end of the line. “Jerry, find who fucking shot at me and take them to the clubhouse. I don’t care how many guys it takes or whose turf you have to step on, just do it!” My father practically had steam coming out of his ears when he finished the call, muttering about the nerve of some low-level gangbangers daring to shoot at Frank Costa-Zanetti. I was pretty sure I didn’t factor into the equation at all. I could have been killed just now, and he probably would have simply turned the car around and gone to fetch Felicity so the damn wedding could still go ahead. I’d never been exposed to this life the same way my mother had. I was only eight when Mom and I moved out. But even by then I knew the sound of gunfire, knew the sound of a man screaming in pain, knew the metallic scent of blood. I’d had nightmares for years after we left. Mom had spent a fortune on therapy, trying to get me as close to normal as a kid born into the mafia could ever get. After today, all those nightmares were going to come roaring back—plus a whole new host of nightmares and trauma to work through. I clenched my hands into fists, my nails digging painfully into my palms. If the car had stopped then, I would have gotten out and run as fast and as far away as I could, transplant money or not. But the Continental didn’t stop again, blowing through several red lights until we pulled up in front of a church that was probably closer to a cathedral. The sun was setting, throwing menacing shadows across the footpath in front of the old, ornate building. My father waited until his guys were out of the Escalade and had taken up defensive positions before climbing out of the car and walking around to open the door for me. I sat there, frozen, terrified over what I was about to do and who I was going to face when I walked into that church. My father reached down and wrapped a meaty hand around my arm, none-too-gently hauling me to my feet. “You better not be having second thoughts, or we’re going to have a problem. I won’t stand to be embarrassed in front of the Creed family. So, do we have a problem, Natalia?” “N-no,” I stuttered out. “Good girl. Now get inside; we’re too exposed out here.” My father steered me to a room with a bathroom attached and told me to get ready, before slamming the door shut. There was a wedding dress hanging on a rack. The price tag was still attached, and it was worth more than my entire annual salary. It was also in Felicity’s petite size and would never fit me. The enormity of what I was doing hit me in a wave of panic. Before I could sit down, everything went black. *** Twenty Years Ago “What are we doing here, Nonno?” I asked my grandfather as he helped me out of the car. I pulled at the black dress with white trim that my mother had made me put on earlier. “Paying our respects,” Nonno answered. “It’s important to respect our family, and the other families we’re aligned with.” My grandfather reached out and adjusted the delicate gold chain I wore around my neck, with the small dove pendant on the end. Mama said he’d given it to me the day I was born, and I’d never taken it off since. “Pretty as a picture, bambola mia,” Nonno said, smiling at me. A man approached then, and my grandfather stood to face him. “Go play on the lawn, Talia, but be sure not to get dirty,” Grandfather said, waving me away. I took off then, even though the shiny black shoes were pinching my feet. It was a relief to get away from the adults and their frowning faces. I reached a row of hedges and slowed, changing my run to a skip. There were pretty flowers along the edge of the lawn, and I followed the flowers as they changed color and shape, noticing butterflies flitting here and there. After a moment, I realized I’d gone too far and I wasn’t sure how to get back. Nonno would be cross that I hadn’t stayed on the lawn. I was about to try finding my way back when I heard a voice yelling, “Let me go!” My heart skipped and I followed the sound around another tall hedge of bushes and came to a stop when I saw a woman hauling along a boy who was maybe a year or two older than me. “You ungrateful little wretch!” the woman was yelling, her face red with anger. “You think just because your parents are dead, you can disrespect me like this? I am your guardian now, and you will obey me!” “You can’t threaten me! I’m Nonno’s heir.” “But you’re not his only heir. My Manny could easily take your place should any accidents befall you.” The boy’s expression screwed up in anger. “I’m gonna tell Nonno on you.” The woman came to a sudden stop next to a pond that was more like a small lake. “You will not breathe a word of this to my father,” the woman said in a cold, scary voice. “Or you’ll end up just like your parents. Do you understand me?” Before the boy could say anything else, her hands shot out, and she shoved him, sending him tumbling backwards into the water with a huge splash. I gasped, and then slapped a hand over my mouth when the woman looked around with narrowed eyes. Meanwhile, the boy was spluttering and gasping in the water. “Help me!” he called. The woman simply smirked. “You’re the almighty heir. Help yourself.” She turned and walked away. I waited until she was out of sight, then darted out from behind the bushes. When I reached the edge of the pond, the boy had gone under the water. The only hint of where he might be was a stream of bubbles coming to the surface. I didn’t think, just jumped into the freezing cold water. My mama had spent lots of time teaching me to swim in our pool. She had said it was an important life skill, and now I could see why. Even though we were at the edge of the pond, the water was deeper than I expected. I couldn’t touch the bottom. I ducked under and blindly reached around, waving my arms to feel for the boy. My hand knocked into something—the boy’s hand, I realized. I grabbed hold of it. I desperately pulled at it, but he was heavy. I kicked upward, my legs aching, but I could only just get my head above the water to gasp in some air. “Talia!” My grandfather was suddenly there, reaching for me. “Help him, Nonno,” I said, struggling not to let go of the dead weight. My grandfather’s eyes widened when he saw the dark head bob to the surface next to me. Somehow, my grandfather managed to pull both of us out, and his shouts had drawn other adults. I was shaking hard when Nonno set me on the grass, but he quickly turned his attention to the boy. His lips were blue, and as I watched, Nonno and another adult began pumping on his chest and breathing into his mouth. After a few moments, the boy started coughing and bringing up water. As my grandfather whisked me up in his arms, the boy opened his eyes and looked straight at me. I blinked because I’d never seen eyes that blue in my entire life. They were a pure, pale blue, like the sky after it rained. “Talia, we need to get you warm and dry,” Nonno said, taking me away. I didn’t see the boy again, but Nonno told me later that he would be fine, thanks to my quick actions. It wasn’t until I climbed into bed that night that I reached for my necklace and promptly burst into tears. I had lost my golden dove. It was probably at the bottom of the pond, and I would never see it again.
“Miss Zanetti, please, you have to wake up!” I blinked my eyes open to see an unfamiliar ceiling. An older woman leaning over me, her face concerned. “Are you okay? Do we need to call an ambulance?” she asked as I slowly sat up, making my head spin. I reached into my purse to pop another pill. All this stress was bad for my heart. At the rate I was going, I’d end up in ICU with critical stage four heart failure before I even got the money for a transplant. “I don’t need an ambulance. I worked a long shift at the hospital and didn’t have time to eat, that’s all,” I replied as I slowly got to my feet. The woman went to a sideboard and fetched me a bottle of water, which I took gratefully. “I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked once I had sucked down several mouthfuls and felt better. “My name is Renata. I will be your personal attendant,” the woman replied. “Oh, I don’t need any of that,” I replied with a wave of my hand. “You can go.” The woman looked slightly confused as she shook her head. “I’m sorry Miss Zanetti, but you don’t understand. I have been employed by Robert Creed to attend you. Now that you are to be married to Sebastian, it is only fitting that you have an attendant for your protection and who will see to your every need.” What was this? I needed some kind of babysitter now that I was marrying into the Creed family? But as I thought about it, I realized that Renata would undoubtedly be more like a prison warden. “I’m going to freshen up,” I told her, turning away toward the bathroom. I shut myself in and stared in the mirror. I looked horrible. Pale and drawn, and my eyes looked haunted. I shook my head and ran some water to splash my face, hoping it would wake me up a little. My mind wandered back to the memory I’d recalled when I’d fainted. Why had it popped up after all these years? I never did get my necklace back. To this day, I was still sad about it. And I never did find out who that boy was, or what had happened to him. My grandfather had died a few weeks later, and my life had been thrown into turmoil the minute my father took over as Don. All I seemed to do was stumble from one tragedy or hardship in my life to another. Had I somehow been cursed, or born under a bad star? It sure felt that way. The only luck I ever had going for me was bad luck. Just like my timing today, when I’d turned up to beg for my father’s help, and in return, he was forcing me to marry the devil himself. The only good things in my life were my career, my best friend Luca, and my mother’s unwavering love and support. I’d worked hard to become a doctor, and I’d been so successful during my intern years, that now I was about to become chief intern. It wasn’t a job for the faint of heart—which was kind of funny considering my predicament—but the director of the hospital had assured me that they were willing to work around my health issues and give me adequate time off when the time came for my transplant. I had to make sure this marriage remained a secret. Everyone in Manhattan knew who Sebastian Creed was. In fact, probably everyone on the East Coast. The Creed Empire ran enough legitimate businesses and real estate to cover up their criminal enterprises that Sebastian was seen as somewhat of a famous socialite. He regularly attended red carpet events, mingling with everyone from sports stars to pop stars and movie stars. The women he used as arm candy were always ridiculously beautiful, whether they were starlets or models. I had to believe Sebastian would be equally invested in keeping this arranged marriage hidden and getting out of it as soon as possible. Otherwise, it would impact his reputation as well. Even though I was terrified at the thought of going anywhere near Sebastian Creed, I took comfort in the fact that he would probably want very little to do with me. With that in mind, I patted my face dry, told myself that I’d opened people’s chests and held their lives in my hands, so I could get through a little wedding ceremony. I left the bathroom to where Renata was waiting for me. “Can I help you dress?” Renata asked, indicating toward the wedding gown. “It’s too small. I’ll stay as I am.” I reached up and pulled the elastic out of my hair, finger combed it as best I could, and then secured it into another braid. Meanwhile, Renata was staring at me agog. “You’re going to get married looking like that?” she asked, not bothering to hide her horror. “Let’s get one thing straight, Renata,” I said impatiently. “I don’t want to be here, and I certainly don’t want to be marrying Sebastian Creed. I can only imagine he feels much the same way. This is a marriage of convenience, and I can guarantee I will be getting a divorce as soon as I can.”
SebastianI paced as I slowly rolled up my shirt sleeves, taking my time about it, making sure they were perfectly straight. Versace deserved no less. The guy tied to the chair in front of me watched on, warily, eyes flicking. I could see him debating just how much shit he was in here. The answer to that was a whole fuck load. But he wasn’t smart enough to figure that out yet. “Let’s try this again,” I said, stopping to stand square in front of him. I tugged the knot in my tie free, the fabric making a slithering noise as it pulled free from my starched collar. I then undid the top two buttons as I tossed the tie aside. We’d been at this for an hour now, and so far, the guy was just a bit roughed up. Nowhere near as scared as he needed to be, as far as I was concerned. But the small-time Baldini family was known for hiring muscle who were dumb as a box of rocks. “You’re a Baldini,” I stated. “And don’t bullshit me any longer. I saw the edge of your tattoo at the neck of your shirt when Nico searched you.” The man clenched his jaw but didn’t deny it again. “So now you need to tell me why you were following me,” I said, setting both hands on the armrests of the chair and leaning over him. “Stop wasting my fucking time, or I’ll waste you.” “I got orders, just like anyone,” the man muttered defensively. “So, this came down the line, from the top? Why did Mario Baldini sic his guys on me?” I asked, pushing back again. However, this time, the guy kept his mouth stubbornly shut. I reached for the concealed sheath at the waistband of my pants and pulled out the knife I kept there. Slowly, I lowered the knife, so the tip was balanced on the top of the guy’s thigh. He finally started looking worried, shifting as sweat beaded on his brow. I flicked the knife so it opened up a slit in the material of his pants. The sharp point pressed against bare skin. “I don’t know nothin’, man,” the thug spat out. “I take orders. I don’t ask questions.” “Wrong answer,” I bit out, before viciously shoving down on the knife. The guy started howling as the door behind me scraped open. I turned to see Nico step in, closely followed by Raffa. The twins, Nicholas and Raphael, were my second cousins and best friends. Both acted as my next-in-command and right-hand men. “Robert called again,” Nico said, holding up his phone. “You were supposed to be at the church fifteen minutes ago.” I sighed in frustration and whipped out my own phone, texting my grandfather the same thing I’d told him all month long since he’d forced me into this position. I would go along with this arranged marriage to secure the Zanetti fortune and turf, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to attend the wedding.
I’d be damned if I was going to stand in that church and recite marriage vows to Felicity. That was what my attorneys were for. They’d assured me that a marriage by proxy was just as binding whether I was there or not. My grandfather messaged back that if I wasn’t going to attend my own wedding, then I could go to the late board of directors meeting at Mercy Saint hospital. Aunt Alberta wasn’t feeling well tonight, so someone needed to go in her place. Mercy Saint hospital was the most prestigious hospital in Manhattan. The Creed family had served on the board of directors since it had opened almost one hundred years ago. As one of the wealthiest, oldest families in New York, the Creeds had seats or stakes in almost every prominent business or organization in the city. There wasn’t any level of law enforcement or government where we didn’t have someone on our payroll. Which was why it’d been so laughable that the District Attorney had actually thought he’d nailed me this time. I’d gone to jail because I wanted to be there. It had suited my purposes. Several crime bosses had been caught up lately. The DA was newish; he was trying to prove a point and make his mark, cracking down on organized crime. What the idiot didn’t realize was that so-called organized crime was the foundation of New York City and always had been. One guy in a cheap suit with a law degree from Harvard that his mommy and daddy had probably paid for wasn’t going to unravel generations worth of systematic wealth and power in Manhattan. So I’d let myself get jammed up on some relatively minor charges that were never going to stick, no matter what the DA thought. I’d spent exactly two weeks in jail, making contact with those crime bosses, consulting with the ones we thought we could get out on appeals or technicalities, and negotiating with the ones who were stuck there, conveying how the Creed family could help run their turf while they were absent. All in all, it’d been a lucrative few weeks. Meanwhile, I sighed at the prospect of attending the hospital board meeting. Alberta, that old witch, never did anything that didn’t serve her own interests. Or that of her spoiled son, Amando. Although Alberta hadn’t made any obvious moves against me, I’d always gotten the feeling that she wanted to find some way to make Amando the Creed heir. My childhood had been beset by dangerous accidents that I’d always been lucky to survive. Once, when I was a teenager and the brakes had failed in the car I’d been driving, I’d said to my grandfather that it almost seemed like someone was trying to kill me. I hadn’t voiced my true concern that it was Aunt Alberta who was somehow orchestrating these accidents. However, my nonno had laughed it off, told me I had an overactive imagination and a penchant for bad luck. Or good luck, maybe, since none of those accidents had actually killed me. Still, something about Alberta had always made me uneasy. I knew she hated me, even though whenever my grandfather was around, she acted like a loving, doting aunt with a favored nephew. Once my grandfather passed on, I could banish her to some house in Jersey and never see her sneering face ever again. For now, however, I had to put up with the snake of a woman for my nonno’s sake. He couldn’t see the type of person his oldest daughter really was. Even though my grandfather had stepped aside some years ago and handed the reins of the family to me, he still ran things from the background, and I was forever standing in his shadow. I would be sad when my grandfather eventually did pass. But at the same time, the kingdom of the Creed family would finally be all mine. I would rule Manhattan. No enemy would stand a chance against me. I would destroy them. Even if they were family.
NataliaI walked into the church proper and saw nothing but lawyers and my father. I made my way up to the pew, where my father was talking to the priest. “Why aren’t you dressed?” my father asked in annoyance. “The dress didn’t fit,” I replied, crossing my arms. “It doesn’t matter. Can we just get this over with?” The priest winced, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else right now. “We’re still waiting for the Creed boy to show up,” my father said angrily, as if he didn’t appreciate being made to wait on the whims of Sebastian Creed. Before I could say anything, my father’s cell phone rang. I glimpsed the name Robert Creed on the screen before my father answered. The conversation was short and mostly consisted of my father agreeing with whatever Robert was saying. After a moment, he hung up again. “Sebastian isn’t coming,” my father announced, sending a cool spiral of relief through me. “Thank god,” I breathed out. My father’s eyes narrowed. “The wedding is still going ahead,” my father said. “It will be a wedding by proxy.” My hope of escaping this insane situation died a quick death, turning to ash. “Is that even legally binding?” I asked, confused. My father shrugged as if he didn’t much care. “The lawyers will take care of it.” He grabbed my elbow. “Come on. There are papers you need to sign.” My father steered me to a nearby table covered with contracts. “What is all this?” I asked in confusion. “The usual when you marry into the Creed family,” one of the lawyers answered dispassionately. The top one was a pre-nup, and the second was a non-disclosure contract. But after that, it took a dark turn. There were all sorts of things in there about any assets or possessions I acquired while married into the Creed family, stuff about the custody of any future kids—as in, I would give up custody and they would remain with the Creed family if we divorced—even a contract stating that I could not use any lawyers outside of the Creed family legal team. The last legal document, however, was what made my blood run cold. “What is this?” I asked, holding it up to the lawyer, who just stared blankly back at me as if he didn’t have a soul. Being one of the Creed’s top attorneys, he probably didn’t. “Exactly what it looks like,” he replied. I returned my attention to the document. It outlined how I was to comport myself as the wife of Sebastian Creed. I had to eat whatever the chef prepared for me. I had to regularly work with a personal trainer, maintain a high standard of appearance by regularly attending a spa, beauty salon, and hair-dressing establishment. I had to attend whatever events were deemed appropriate by Sebastian, but otherwise not be seen at other events alone. I wasn’t allowed to drive myself anywhere. I wasn’t allowed to see friends and family unless they were arranged prior with Sebastian and his security team—and those people needed to be vetted first. I was to live at Sebastian’s Central Park penthouse, but I was only to go into certain rooms; the rest were off limits. The list went on and on, covering every aspect of my life, even things I’d never thought of before. I was being stuffed into a gilded cage. How was I meant to build my career as a general surgeon if I was required to do all of this for Sebastian Creed? Once again, I vowed to get myself out of this marriage as soon as I could. Oh, and the final insult? Every single document had Felicity’s name peppered throughout. “I can’t sign these. They all have Felicity’s name on them.” The lawyer arched an eyebrow and looked at my father for clarification, as if I wasn’t even capable of speaking for myself. “This is my other daughter,” Frank explained. “Natalia Zanetti. There was a slight change of plans at the last minute.” “The legitimate one?” the lawyer confirmed, looking positively gleeful. “That’s right,” my father said with a nod like he was proud or something. “We can make amends after the fact,” the lawyer said, reaching down to shove the papers toward me. “Sign them, so we can get this show on the road.” When I didn’t move, my father nudged me, not gentle about it at all. I reached down to pick up the pen, my hand shaking. I looked at my father one last time. “We have a deal, right?” I asked my father, hating how my voice wavered with uncertainty. “You’ll get what you need,” my father said evasively. I didn’t trust him, but I also didn’t have a choice. I needed a million dollars for a heart transplant, and right now, my father was holding my life in his hands. With an uneven breath, I bent down. And signed my life away.
Sebastian“I have to go,” I told Nico in annoyance. “Robert is sending a car for me. Alberta can’t make the quarterly hospital board meeting, so I’ve been voluntold to go in her place.” Raffa snorted. “You should have gone to the wedding after all.” “No thanks,” I replied darkly. “I don’t plan on even laying eyes on that gold-digging Felicity Costa-Zanetti until I find some loophole to divorce her.” “Robert won’t make it easy to wiggle out of,” Nico warned, even though I already knew it. “I trust my attorneys to figure something out,” I replied. “Besides, if they don’t, they all know what’s in store for them.” “Nothing like a little mortal fear to motivate your employees,” Raffa said with a laugh. “You guys finish up with this moron. Find out what he knows and then get rid of him,” I said. “What?” the guy gasped, tugging against the restraints on the chair. “Come on, man, I’ll tell you what I know, but you don’t gotta kill me!” “No, I don’t,” I replied reasonably. “But you picked the wrong day to follow me. I’m not in the mood for mercy.” I reached down and yanked the knife out of his leg, blood spurting out like a geyser. I clicked my tongue at him. “Looks like I hit an artery. You’ve got about three minutes left to live. Better hurry up and tell my guys what I want to know.” I wiped the knife on his wrinkled shirt to clean it, then turned away from him. My silver Maserati MC20 had been brought up by the parking valet, but Gino and Joey were nowhere to be seen. Instead, I saw a couple of our other guys standing next to a sleek and sturdy black Range Rover SV. If I wasn’t mistaken, these guys were usually assigned to Alberta’s detail. But since I was going to the hospital board meeting on her behalf, I guess it made sense that Robert had re-directed them to fetch me. “Mr. Creed,” one of them greeted with a nod. “We were instructed to drive you after this morning’s minor incident.” I clenched my teeth and got into the Range Rover. That Baldini moron had screwed up my entire day with his little misadventure. Somehow, word had gotten back to my grandfather. It was only a few blocks to the hospital, though New York traffic meant it’d probably be faster to walk. A few minutes later, there was a weird clunking noise, and the guy driving pulled to the side of the busy street. “Is there a problem?” I asked in a clipped voice, making both of them glance at me nervously. “Engine trouble,” the driver said, pushing open the door. “Don’t we pay a full-time mechanic to make sure shit like this doesn’t happen?” I muttered as both guys got out of the car and popped the hood. After a few moments, it was clear neither of them knew anything about car engines, and one of them was calling someone. I glanced down at my watch. The board meeting was about to start. We were only a block and a half away from the hospital. I’d just walk the rest. I opened the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Mr. Creed,” one of them called out. “Where are you going?” “To my meeting,” I replied impatiently. The guy who wasn’t on the phone scrambled to get an umbrella out of the back and then catch up with me. “We were told not to leave your side, Mr. Creed.” A hint of apology tinged his voice, as if he knew exactly how much he was getting on my nerves. “Fine, but keep up.” I increased my long stride, annoyed. Just as I reached the end of the block, the guy walking with me stumbled into my side and slumped over. “What the hell—” I pushed him away, and he crumpled to the sidewalk. When I pulled my hand back, it was covered in dark, red blood. The window of the bus shelter I was standing next to shattered. I swore as I pulled my gun out from the holster hidden beneath my jacket, leaping for cover behind a nearby bench. It wasn’t the best shield, but it was all I had. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, heightening my senses as I looked around, trying to spot the shooter. The world stopped as a sharp, hot pain slammed into my chest.
Natalia Why did traffic always get so bad in New York whenever it rained? I’d given up on my taxi about two blocks back. If I kept sitting in it, I’d be late for the shift I’d agreed to cover for Lydia. I was also carrying Lydia’s drycleaning, since we used the same place, and she’d asked me to grab it for her while I was there. Lydia and I had a weird friendship. I didn’t even exactly consider her a friend. She was the only other female doctor who’d been assigned to the prestigious and competitive Mercy Saint, so she’d stuck to my side ever since my first day. Lydia was the kind of person who always managed to convince other people to do the bulk of her work for her, without the other person ever really realizing what they were getting themselves into until it was too late. Weirdly enough, we also looked kind of similar. We had the same honey-blonde hair, similar build, and hazel eyes. Once or twice, people had asked us if we were related. However, I was pretty sure Lydia’s blonde hair came out of a bottle, whereas mine was natural. So, even though tonight was technically my wedding night, I’d agreed to take Lydia’s shift when she called me. Anything to avoid going to Sebastian Creed’s penthouse, where I would be living in a gilded cage for the foreseeable future. But the whole wedding night thing… Ever since I’d left the church, it’d been spinning around my mind. I didn’t expect that Sebastian would want to actually consummate the marriage. But I also wasn’t sure. And that…left me feeling unsettled. I wasn’t exactly a virgin. I’d tried sex once at a frat party. Both of us had been drinking, and it’d seemed like a good idea to just get my virginity over with. Except the guy I’d been fumbling around with had barely penetrated me before he’d prematurely ejaculated, then rushed out, leaving me lying by myself on the couch. The memory still made me cringe. After that, I’d told myself I was too busy with getting myself through med school to bother with boyfriends or sex. As I reached the dark maw of the alley that ran alongside the hospital building, a tall form appeared out of nowhere, running into me. The only reason I didn’t fall was because the man caught me and pulled me against him. He slammed a palm over my mouth and dragged me back into the alley, my back pinned tightly to his chest. I dropped everything I was holding and fought as hard as I could, flailing and kicking, trying to bite his hand. But the man simply banded his arms tighter around my midsection, backing up until we were behind a dumpster. I couldn’t break free of his hold no matter how hard I fought him. He was a whole head taller than me, and his body felt like a wall of solid muscle at my back. I whimpered, panic shooting through me as I realized what was about to happen to me.
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