I didn't sleep.
How could I? Marco's words kept playing in my head on repeat. The same person who killed your husband. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those scars on his back, heard the pain in his voice when he said "us."
By five AM, I gave up. I slipped out of bed careful not to wake Marco. He looked younger asleep, almost innocent. Hard to believe this beautiful man might be a killer.
I walked through his penthouse barefoot, looking for answers I wasn't sure I wanted. The living room was dark, city lights throwing shadows across the expensive furniture. I needed to think, to figure out what I'd gotten myself into.
But first, I needed proof.
My purse was still by the door, and inside was the one photo of David I always carried. Our wedding day—him in his tux, me in white, both of us smiling like we had forever. God, we looked so stupid.
I took the photo to the kitchen and set it on the counter, then made coffee with Marco's fancy machine. The routine helped calm my nerves, but my hands still shook.
"Couldn't sleep?"
Marco's voice made me jump, almost dropping my cup. He stood in the doorway wearing just black boxer briefs, all muscle and olive skin in the morning light. Any other time, the sight would have made my mouth water. Now it just reminded me I was trapped with someone who might want me dead.
"Bad dreams," I said, pulling my robe tighter.
Marco's eyes went to the photo, then back to me. Something changed in his face—a hardness that made my stomach drop.
"Something you want to ask me, Victoria?"
I picked up David's wedding photo, holding it between us like a shield. "You said the person who hurt you was the same one who killed my husband."
"I did."
"But David died in a car crash. Single car accident on the FDR Drive. Police said he fell asleep at the wheel."
Marco walked into the kitchen, and I stepped back automatically. He poured coffee without looking away from me.
"Police say lots of things," he said calmly. "Doesn't make them true."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means your husband didn't fall asleep, Victoria. He was murdered."
The words hit me like a punch. I grabbed the counter to keep from falling.
"That's impossible. I saw the accident report. There was no evidence—"
"Evidence can be bought. Hidden. Destroyed." Marco sipped his coffee like we were talking about the weather. "When you have the right connections, anything's possible."
I stared at him, this gorgeous young man casually talking about murder over morning coffee. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you asked."
"That's not an answer."
Marco set down his cup and moved closer. I backed up until I hit the fridge, trapped between cold steel and his warm body.
"Your husband was a thief, Victoria. He stole something that belonged to my family. Something precious."
"David worked in currency exchange. He wasn't a thief—"
"Your husband was lots of things you didn't know about." Marco put his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. "He laundered money for the Torrinos. Stole from our drug shipments. Fed information to the FBI that got good men killed."
Each word felt like a slap. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Marco pulled out his phone, scrolled through something, then showed me the screen. "This is your husband meeting with Agent Sarah Chen three weeks before he died. They met every Tuesday for six months."
The photo showed David in a coffee shop with some woman, passing her an envelope. He looked scared. Nothing like the confident businessman I married.
"That could be anyone," I whispered, but I didn't even believe it.
"Victoria." Marco's voice was surprisingly gentle. "How do you think a currency trader afforded a Manhattan penthouse? Your gallery parties? The house in the Hamptons?"
I thought about our lifestyle, the money that always appeared when we needed it. David's vague explanations about "good investments" and "lucky breaks." How he always paid cash for big purchases, never wanting paper trails.
"He said he was good at his job," I said weakly.
"He was. Just not the job you thought."
Marco put his phone away and cupped my face. I should have pulled away, but I was too shocked to move.
"The money your husband stole belonged to my brother Alessandro. The information he sold got Alessandro arrested, tortured in prison, and killed. Your husband destroyed my family, Victoria. So I destroyed him."
There it was. Not because it was unexpected—deep down, I'd known since last night. But because of how casually he said it.
"You killed David." It came out as a whisper.
"I did."
"You murdered my husband."
"Yes."
I launched myself at him then, all thought gone. My fists hit his chest, his shoulders, anywhere I could reach. Marco let me for a few seconds before catching my wrists.
"Let me go!" I screamed, fighting his grip. "You're a monster! A murderer!"
"Yes, I am." His voice was calm, almost bored. "You done throwing your fit now?"
I spit in his face.
Marco didn't even blink as he wiped it away. If anything, he looked amused.
"Feel better?"
"Go to hell."
"Already there, sweetheart." He let go of my wrists but didn't step back. "Now that we got that out of the way, let's talk about your options."
"My options?" I laughed, high and crazy. "You just admitted to murdering my husband! I'm calling the police!"
I pushed past him and ran for my purse, digging for my phone. Marco didn't even try to stop me. He just leaned against the counter, watching.
"Go ahead," he said. "But let me explain what happens next."
Something in his tone made me pause, phone in my hand.
"First, you have to explain how you know about David's murder. Which means admitting you've been living with his killer. Sleeping in my bed. Coming on my fingers. That's gonna raise some uncomfortable questions."
Heat flooded my face. "That was before I knew—"
"Was it? Because I'm pretty sure I mentioned last night that someone hurt me and your husband. You chose to stay anyway."
"I didn't know you meant you killed him!"
"Didn't you?" His green eyes were ice cold. "Come on, Victoria. You're smarter than that. The tattoo. The scars. The debt. You knew something was wrong, but you stayed because the sex was good and you were tired of being alone."
His words cut deep because they were true. I had suspected. I just didn't want to look too close.
"Second," Marco continued, "you have to prove I actually killed David. Good luck. I have alibis for that night. Security footage putting me at a charity gala with three hundred witnesses. The crash looked natural because it was designed to."
"Someone will believe me—"
"Will they? Let's see. Victoria Sterling, the woman under federal investigation, claims her dead husband was secretly working for criminals, and his killer's been blackmailing her for sex. Oh, and she has no proof."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. He was right. It sounded insane.
"Third," Marco said, moving closer, "even if the cops believed you, what happens next? You think I'm the only Castellano in New York? You think my father doesn't own judges and prosecutors?"
The casual way he mentioned corruption made my blood freeze. "You can't just—"
"I can do whatever I want, Victoria. That's what power means. Right now, you have none."
I pressed my back against the counter. "So I'm your prisoner?"
"You're whatever I decide you are. But prisoner's such an ugly word. I prefer guest."
"A guest who can't leave."
"A guest who chooses not to leave because she understands the alternatives."
I looked at my phone, then at him. My finger hovered over 911. "What alternatives?"
Marco's smile was sharp as a knife. "You could run. Disappear. Start over with a new identity. I'd even give you a head start—six hours."
"How generous," I said sarcastically.
"I can be generous when it suits me. Course, you'd spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering when I'd find you. And I would find you, Victoria. Eventually."
The certainty in his voice made me shiver. "Or?"
"Or you accept the situation. Honor our contract. Play your part as my companion for the next year."
"While knowing you murdered my husband."
"While knowing I gave your husband exactly what he deserved."
I stared at him, this beautiful, terrifying man who'd just destroyed my world. "You're insane."
"Probably." Marco reached up to trace my jaw. "But I'm also the only thing standing between you and a very painful death. Because here's what you haven't figured out yet, sweetheart—David's betrayal didn't just hurt my family. He pissed off lots of dangerous people. The Torrinos. The Russians. Even the FBI's probably wondering if he told anyone else about their operation."
My stomach dropped. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that as David Martinez's widow, you're a threat to lots of people. They can't risk you knowing something that could hurt them. Which means you got a target on your back that's getting bigger every day."
"But I don't know anything!"
"They don't know that. And they don't take chances."
Marco's finger moved from my jaw to my throat, resting over my pulse. "So here's your real choice, Victoria. Run and spend however long you got left hiding from people who want you dead. Or stay with me, under my protection, and live."
"Some choice."
"It's the only choice you got." His thumb stroked my pulse. "But think about it—is staying with me really so terrible? You'll be safe, taken care of, and I promise to keep you very satisfied."
"You killed my husband," I said again, like saying it would make it less crazy.
"Your husband was already dead, Victoria. David died the day he decided to betray my family. I just made it official."
"How can you be so casual about this?"
Marco's face softened slightly. "Because I've been planning this for three years. I've had time to get used to it."
"Three years?" The timeline made my head spin. "You've been planning to kill David for three years?"
"I've been planning to make him pay. Death was just the first step."
"What's the second step?"
Marco's smile was soft and terrifying. "You."
The single word hung between us like a death sentence. I finally got it—David's murder wasn't the end of Marco's revenge. It was just the beginning.
"You want to hurt me because you couldn't hurt him anymore."
"No, Victoria." Marco cupped my cheek. "I want you because taking you was the one thing that would have destroyed David more than death. He loved you, in his way. The thought of another man touching you, owning you, making you scream—it would have driven him crazy."
"He's dead. He can't know."
"But you can. And every time you come apart in my arms, you'll remember you're betraying his memory. That his killer is the one giving you more pleasure than David ever did."
The psychological torture of it was almost beautiful. Marco hadn't just killed my husband—he'd turned me into part of desecrating his memory.
"You're sick," I breathed.
"Maybe. But I'm right, aren't I? Last night was the best sex of your life. This morning, knowing what I am, you're still wet for me."
I wanted to deny it, but my body betrayed me. Heat pooled between my legs at his words. God help me, he was right.
"I hate you," I whispered.
"No, you don't." Marco leaned in until his lips brushed my ear. "You hate yourself for wanting me. There's a difference."
Before I could respond, he kissed me. Soft, almost tender—nothing like what I expected from a man who'd just confessed to murder. I should have bit him, kneed him, done anything except kiss back.
But I did kiss back. Even as my mind screamed this was wrong, my body responded. When Marco's tongue traced my lip, I opened for him. When his hands gripped my waist, I arched into him.
He tasted like coffee and sin, and I hated how much I wanted more.
Marco pulled back just enough to speak against my lips. "See? Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind won't admit it."
"This doesn't mean anything," I said, even as my hands fisted in his hair.
"Doesn't it?" His hands slid down to cup my ass, pulling me against him. I could feel how hard he was. "Your husband's killer is making you wet, Victoria. What does that say about you?"
"It says I'm in shock. Not thinking straight."
"It says you're finally being honest with yourself." Marco's hands moved to my robe's belt. "David never satisfied you. Never made you feel wanted. But I do."
He was untying my robe as he spoke, and I didn't stop him. I stood there like an idiot, letting my husband's killer undress me in his kitchen.
"You want to know the truth about that night?" Marco pushed my robe off my shoulders, leaving me in just the thin silk camisole I'd worn to bed. "David saw me coming. Tried to run. Begged me not to hurt him."
His hands skimmed over my barely covered breasts, making my nipples hard despite everything.
"He cried, Victoria. Your strong, successful husband cried like a baby when he realized he was gonna die."
"Stop," I whispered, but I didn't push him away.
"He told me about you. How beautiful you were, how much he loved you. Offered me money, information, anything I wanted if I'd let him live."
Marco's mouth moved to my throat, placing soft kisses. "But there was only one thing I wanted from David Martinez. His life. And his wife."
"You're disgusting," I breathed, even as I tilted my head to give him access.
"And you're perfect." His teeth scraped my pulse. "Beautiful, smart, and so desperate to be wanted that you'll let your husband's killer fuck you."
The crude words should have snapped me out of whatever spell I was under. Instead, they made me wetter. What kind of person did that make me?
"I should run," I said, but my voice had no conviction.
"You should. But you won't." Marco's hands pushed up my camisole, exposing my breasts. "Because deep down, you know I'm the most exciting thing that's ever happened to you."
He wasn't wrong. Even terrified and disgusted by his confession, I felt more alive than I had in years.
"One year," I said finally. "Then this is over."
Marco's smile was triumphant. "One year."
He sealed it with another kiss, deeper this time. When he lifted me onto the marble counter and pushed my thighs apart, I didn't resist. When his fingers found me wet and ready, I moaned into his mouth.
I was making a deal with the devil. But as Marco's hands worked between my legs, bringing me to the edge in his kitchen while morning sun streamed through the windows, I realized something terrifying.
I didn't care.
David was dead. I was alone and hunted by people I didn't know existed. Marco Castellano might be a killer, but he was offering me protection, security, and the best sex of my life.
Maybe that made me a terrible person. Maybe I'd go to hell for this.
But I'd rather go to hell than spend whatever time I had left running scared and alone.
"That's my girl," Marco murmured against my throat as I came apart under his touch. "Welcome to your new life, Victoria."
As I shuddered through my orgasm on his kitchen counter, David's wedding photo watching from across the room, I knew there was no going back.
I belonged to Marco Castellano now.
The man who killed my husband.
And God help me, I was starting to think that was exactly where I wanted to be.
End of Chapter 3