Lucien’s Pov

The alarm tripped in Lucien’s head the second Carter called.

“She’s gone,” his right hand man said flatly through the earpiece. “Took the service stairs. Smart girl.”

Lucien Valez closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. He stood in his study, overlooking Manhattan’s glittering skyline with bourbon sweating in his palm. He had given her some freedom, water, food, space to breathe, because she wasn’t a prisoner in his mind. She was leverage.

But Cassia Monroe didn’t know the difference.

“Bring her back,” Lucien ordered.

By the time he reached the penthouse corridor, two of his men had her. She was thrashing between them, her violin case clutched like a weapon and her eyes wide and furious.

“Let me go!” she snapped, her voice was awfully too loud for comfort, and her hair fell over her shoulders in unruly strands. Try as she could, but Lucien could not get the image of her the night before out of his head.

Lucien stepped into view. “Enough.”

Her head jerked toward him. For a second, relief crossed her face, before rage took over.

“You,” she spat. “You think you can keep me here like some, some prisoner? I don’t know anything, damnit.”

“Release her,” Lucien told his men.

They obeyed instantly, and the moment her arms were free, Cassia lunged for the elevator panel. He caught her before her fingers brushed the button. “Calm down Cassia.”

His body burned from the contact. Her skin was soft, her hair smelled like lavender and her ass was pressed against his pelvis and it took everything he had in him to control himself.

Lucien slammed her back against the wall, pinning both her hands above her head. Not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to remind her what he was capable of. His hand braced against the wall beside her head, his body caging hers. Her chest heaved in fast breaths and her brown eyes blazed up at him with a fire he secretly admired.

“You ungrateful little—” He inhaled deeply. “Do you have any idea what’s out there waiting for you?”

“I’d rather take my chances,” she shot back, defiantly even with his face inches from hers. “Than rot in this glass prison of yours.”

He stared at her, she wasn’t trembling. She wasn’t pleading and she was challenging him. And God help him, he felt it like a spark catching dry kindling.

“Still pretending you’re innocent,” he murmured, his mouth dangerously close to hers.

“I am innocent,” she hissed. “And you know it.”

Something inside him snapped, and before he could think better of it, his lips pressed against hers. Cassia shoved at his chest, but he pressed closer, tasting defiance, tasting the sharp edge of her anger.

Then eventually, her fists balled in his shirt and she pulled him closer, her lips parting for one wild second. The world narrowed to her mouth, her heat, the sound of her strangled breath.

God…she tasted so good.

Then she tore away, shoving him with all her strength. “Don’t ever do that again,” she gasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as though he’d poisoned her.

His chest heaved, and his self-control, usually carved from iron, felt dented and cracked. Lucien stepped back, forcing composure into his tone. “You can fight me, but not them.”

“What?”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, moving through messages. Carter had forwarded the intel minutes ago. Miguel Ramirez’s men were on the move, and they were looking for her.

“Your old friend’s father thinks you’re hiding Elena.” Lucien’s gray eyes met hers. “Which means you’re not safe without me.”

Her face was drained of color. “No—”

“Yes. The cartel won’t stop until they’ve wrung every drop of information out of you, and they won’t care if it’s true or not.”

She swallowed hard, and he could see her anger warring with her fear. “So what? You’ll just keep me here until I break?”

Lucien studied her. He should let her believe that. It was cleaner. Easier. But the image of her face when she’d kissed him back, when she’d burned against him, remained with him. He could not stop thinking about exploring more.

“No,” he said finally. “I’ll keep you alive.”

Her laugh was bitter. “You expect me to thank you?”

“I expect you to listen.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “The annual Mafia gala is in three nights. Every cartel affiliate, every rival, every man who would slit my throat for a seat at my table, they’ll all be there. If they know you’re with me, if they believe you’re under my protection, they’ll hesitate.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, blinking,

“I mean, if you wear my ring, pretend to be engaged to me, or even married, then you can be safe.”

Her lips parted in horror. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly serious.”

“No.” She shook her head, the waves of her hair brushing her cheeks. “I won’t be paraded around like some…like some trophy.” her arms flailed about.

“You don’t have a choice. Because if you refuse, your mother dies.”

Cassia eyed at him, a motion he was beginning to love. Her hands curled into fists, trembling against her sides. “You bastard.”

“Say what you like.” His hand slipped into his pocket. When it emerged, a velvet box rested in his palm. He opened it with one finger, revealing the ring inside. It was a platinum diamond ring that caught the light everywhere it turned.

Cassia stared, her breath ragged. She opened her mouth like she had something to say, and then closed back when Lucien reached for her hand. She jerked back, but his hold was firm, sliding the ring onto her finger with the finality of a lock clicking shut.

The diamond glittered against her skin. She looked at it as if it were a shackle.

“Congratulations, fiancée.”

Cassia’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her wide brown eyes burned into his, and she snatched her hand back.

Lucien smiled at her. He had her exactly where he wanted her.