Chapter 2 - A Ring Beside the Heart Monitor
Mara woke three days later to the sound of rain against glass.
Everything hurt.
Her shoulder.
Her ribs.
Her throat.
Even breathing felt like an argument her body wasn't sure it wanted to win.
She opened her eyes.
A hospital room slowly came into focus.
Machines.
Flowers.
A television with the sound muted.
One enormous man asleep in a chair beside the door.
And Luca Valenti standing near the window.
He was looking out at Chicago.
No jacket.
White shirt.
Sleeves rolled to his forearms.
He seemed completely out of place beneath fluorescent hospital lighting.
“You're terrible decoration,” Mara whispered.
He turned instantly.
The man by the door woke at the same time.
Luca crossed toward her.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I lost a disagreement with a truck.”
“You were shot three times.”
“That would explain it.”
He pressed the call button.
A nurse entered.
The next twenty minutes disappeared into examinations, medication, questions, and warnings.
When they were finally alone again, Mara noticed something.
“Elena?”
“Safe.”
“Actually safe?”
“Yes.”
Mara relaxed.
Then remembered.
“The gunman.”
Luca said nothing.
“He knew my name.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Luca pulled a chair closer.
“Mara, before I answer that, I need you to understand something.”
“That sentence has never preceded good news.”
“The men who attacked the diner worked for Victor Marcelli.”
She recognized the surname.
Anyone in Chicago did.
Marcelli Construction.
Marcelli sanitation contracts.
Marcelli nightclubs.
Marcelli men who never seemed to be convicted of anything.
“They were trying to kill your mother.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor wants something I won't give him.”
“What?”
“Control of the South River terminals.”
Mara stared at him.
“You actually say things like that out loud?”
“To you, apparently.”
“And now?”
“They failed.”
“Good.”
“No.”
Something in his tone erased her humor.
“Why no?”
“Because one gunman recognized you.”
Cold crept across her skin.
Luca continued.
“We searched your apartment.”
“You did what?”
“To make sure nobody was waiting there.”
“You searched my apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Did you at least do the dishes?”
His mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Then he slid a photograph onto the bedside table.
It showed her apartment door.
Splintered.
Inside, drawers had been emptied.
Mattress cut open.
Cabinets stripped.
Her stomach dropped.
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“Why?”
“They were looking for something.”
“I don't have anything.”
“Apparently they believe you do.”
She looked at him.
“Because of my father?”
“Yes.”
Mara's father, Thomas Quinn, had died when she was twelve.
Car accident.
A highway outside Milwaukee.
Her mother died seven years later after a short illness.
There had never been anything mysterious about either loss.
At least Mara had never thought so.
“What did my father have to do with your world?”
“I don't know enough yet.”
“That's not reassuring.”
“No.”
He reached into his jacket.
Mara stiffened.
Then he placed a small black box on her blanket.
She stared at it.
“No.”
“You haven't opened it.”
“It is shaped exactly like trouble.”
“Mara.”
“No.”
Luca opened it.
Diamond ring.
Simple design.
Not simple price.
Mara stared.
Then slowly looked at him.
“You've been sitting in a hospital too long.”
“This isn't romantic.”
“Oh, excellent. I was worried.”
He ignored the sarcasm.
“Marcelli knows your face now.”
“So call the police.”
“The police are involved.”
“Then witness protection.”
“That takes time.”
“Safe house.”
“They'll keep searching.”
“So what, exactly, is your brilliant solution?”
Luca rested his forearms against his knees.
“I make your protection public.”
“How?”
“You become someone touching would cost Marcelli more than killing you is worth.”
Mara's eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“You still haven't heard the proposal.”
“You brought a diamond into an ICU.”
“Fair.”
“Luca.”
“Marry me.”
The heart monitor sped up.
He glanced at it.
“Don't.”
“I'm not doing anything.”
“You're looking at the machine.”
“It's reacting more honestly than your face.”
Mara stared at him.
“You're serious.”
“Yes.”
“You want me to marry you because someone shot me.”
“Because someone is trying to finish what they started.”
“That's worse.”
“I can relocate you under another identity instead.”
That surprised her.
“You'd let me?”
“I am not holding you prisoner.”
“Good to clarify before the wedding.”
His jaw tightened.
“You have choices. I want that understood.”
He explained.
A protected location somewhere outside Illinois.
New identity.
No contact with her old life until the investigation ended.
Or a public marriage to Luca Valenti.
The second option would announce that Mara was inside the Valenti family.
Hurting her would become an open declaration of war against every business partner and allied family Luca had.
“That's insane.”
“Yes.”
“At least you're self-aware.”
“Mara.”
She studied him.
“If I marry you, what exactly are you expecting?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Separate rooms. Separate finances. You don't work for me. You don't owe me affection. When the threat ends, you can divorce me.”
She frowned.
“You've thought about this.”
“For thirty-seven hours.”
“That's comforting in a deeply disturbing way.”
He looked exhausted.
More exhausted than a man she barely knew should have looked.
“What does your mother think?”
“She told me I'm an idiot.”
“Smart woman.”
“She also thinks it'll work.”
Mara closed her eyes.
Her apartment was destroyed.
A gunman knew her father.
Someone had searched everything she owned.
Her old life had already become unsafe.
She opened her eyes.
“If I agree, I have conditions.”
Luca leaned back.
“Of course you do.”
“You don't get to call me yours.”
His face became unreadable.
“This is protection, not ownership.”
“All right.”
“You don't lie to me.”
A pause.
“All right.”
“That pause was too long.”
“There are things I cannot tell anyone.”
“Then say you can't tell me. Don't lie.”
He considered it.
“Agreed.”
“And I keep working.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then we're done.”
“Mara, three bullets—”
“Not tomorrow. When I'm healed.”
“In a diner?”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
“See? This marriage is already failing.”
Luca exhaled slowly.
“We negotiate employment later.”
“Fine.”
She looked at the ring.
“And no giant wedding.”
“I had planned fireworks.”
She stared at him.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
“Fine,” she said.
Luca went completely still.
“You're agreeing?”
“I have apparently made worse decisions.”
“You jumped in front of bullets.”
“Exactly.”
Four hours later, a judge arrived at the hospital.
Elena came in a wheelchair wearing lipstick and a cream scarf.
Matteo stood witness.
Mara wore a hospital gown beneath a cardigan someone had bought her.
Luca stood beside her.
When the judge asked whether the decision was voluntary, Luca looked directly at Mara.
Not possessive.
Waiting.
Mara answered.
“Yes.”
The marriage lasted seven minutes.
When Luca placed the ring on her finger, his thumb brushed over her knuckles.
Nothing more.
He did not kiss her.
He bent near her ear.
“You're protected now.”
Mara looked at him.
“Then find out why they know my father's name.”
His expression darkened.
“I will.”
That night, after Mara slept, Luca stepped into the corridor.
Matteo was waiting.
“What did you find?”
“Thomas Quinn.”
Luca's face hardened.
“Tell me.”
“He wasn't just an accountant.”
Matteo handed him a thin folder.
“He kept books for your father.”
Luca opened it.
A twenty-three-year-old photograph showed Thomas Quinn beside Luca's father, Angelo Valenti.
And beside them stood a third man.
Luca's uncle.
Aldo.
Matteo lowered his voice.
“Thomas Quinn disappeared with a financial ledger two weeks before his car went off the highway.”
Luca stared at Mara's father's face.
“Where's the ledger?”
“Nobody ever found it.”
Matteo looked toward Mara's hospital room.
“Marcelli apparently thinks she has it.”
Luca closed the folder.
Inside the room, the woman he had just married slept peacefully for the first time in three days.
And Luca understood something grim.
May you like
The ring might stop a rival family from killing Mara publicly.
But if the missing ledger contained what he suspected, the most dangerous threat to his new wife might come from inside his own family.
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