Page 17 of Claimed Through Deception

I watch her face, waiting for the weight of the name to hit her. At first, there is nothing but exhausted confusion. She has spent her life buried in double shifts and cheap apartments, she doesn't read the financial papers, and she doesn't follow the underworld gossip.

"You say your name like it means something, I don't know what that means," she whispers defiantly.

"It means I own the ground you are sitting on," I explain with a small shrug. "My family built the foundations of this city. We own the shipping ports. We own the real estate. I pay the salaries of the judges who sign the warrants, and I own the badge of every cop standing outside that door."

Her eyes widen.

"I am not just a man in a suit, Livia," I continue softly. "I am the current that runs beneath the streets. I can make a man disappear without a trace, or I can make him the mayor. I control the board."

She stares at me, her mind racing, connecting the dots. She thinks back to the alley.

"I can only think of two people who would enjoy this twisted game," she breathes. "You and…Marco."

Smart girl.

She looks at me, her eyes searching my blank, unreadable expression. "Did you do this?" she demands, her voice rising, a spark of the old fire returning to her eyes. "Did the both of you connive to do this? Did you tell him to frame me?"

"I didn't order Marco to plant the cocaine," I answer smoothly. It is the truth, though it omits the fact that I allowed it to happen. "Marco is a spoiled, arrogant liability who thought he could use my product to play God with your life."

"Then tell them!" Livia practically screams, rattling the cuffs against the table. "If you own them, tell them to let me go! Tell them it wasn't mine! They took my money. They took everything I saved. You have to tell them to give it back!"

I don't move. I let her panic ring off the concrete walls.

"I could," I say quietly. "But I won't."

The desperate hope in her eyes shatters, replaced by a devastating, hollow disbelief. "Why?"

"Because you need a reality check," I state, pushing off the wall and walking back to the edge of the table. I lean over her, placing my hands flat on the metal surface. "Let’s look at your current situation, Livia. You are sitting in a federal holding cell with two kilos of pure cocaine attached to your name. The DA will charge you with trafficking. The mandatory minimum is twenty years in a maximum-security prison."

She shakes her head frantically, tears finally threatening to spill over her lashes. "No. No, I'll fight it. I'll get a public defender."

"A public defender will take one look at the evidence and tell you to take a plea deal for fifteen," I counter ruthlessly, crushing her delusions. "You have no money. The civil forfeiture order drained your bakery fund down to zero. The state swallowed it. It is gone. You cannot buy your way out of this city anymore. You are completely, hopelessly trapped."

A single tear escapes, tracking a hot, wet line down her pale cheek. She bites her lower lip, trying to hold back a sob. It is a beautiful, tragic display of a broken spirit.

"You have absolutely nothing," I murmur, my eyes dropping to her trembling mouth. "Except me."

She looks up at me, the hatred burning through the tears. "What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"

I reach inside the breast pocket of my suit jacket. I pull out a folded, thick piece of legal parchment and a heavy gold pen. I drop them onto the metal table in front of her tied hands.

"I am offering you a way out," I say.

Livia stares at the paper as if it is a loaded gun. "What is that?"

"A contract," I answer smoothly. "You sign your name on the dotted line, and the charges completely vanish. The two kilos of cocaine disappear from the evidence locker. The dirty cops forget your name. You walk out of the front doors of this precinct a free woman, with no criminal record."

She doesn't reach for the pen. She knows better. "And the price?"

"One year," I state with a wolfish smirk. "Three hundred and sixty-five days. You will come live at my estate. You will serve as my personal maid. You will live behind my walls, sleep under my roof, and answer only to me."

Livia’s breath hitches. Her eyes dart from the contract to my face, reading the heavy, possessive intent in my gaze. She remembers the alley. You belong on your knees for me.

"You want to own me," she whispers, the disgust evident in her tone. "You want a slave."

"I want compliance," I correct her coldly. "I want you to learn that your fierce, untouchable independence is an illusion. You cannot survive this world alone, Livia. You need protection."

"I don't want your protection," she spits. "I would rather rot in a cell."