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Ramiel's POV

"Hell," I whispered. "this is going to be fun."

A breath hitched as her heel slipped on the marble.

I moved before she could fall.

My hand locked around her waist. Her body collided with mine exactly as it had years ago—and it wrecked me with how right it felt.

Then she raised her hands to push me, but she was a heartbeat too late.

I swept her off her feet before she could fall again, shifting her carefully over my shoulder despite her frantic hits and muffled protests.

“Put me down!” she demanded.

Her voice cracked on the last word.

For five years, she had pretended I didn’t exist.

I broke her heart because it was the only move that wouldn’t get her killed. And now, he was going to finish what he started.

We burst through the cathedral doors into the echo-filled lobby. Two of my men formed a shield around us, blocking lines of sight, lowering hands to discreet earpieces. A guard stepped forward to intervene—until Hael flashed the badge that made him pale and step back.

My Trasco-armored Mercedes-Benz idled at the curb, flanked by my men. One of them yanked open the rear door the moment he saw us.

“You bastard!” she cried. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home,” I said.

She fought me, frantic—but her eyes told a different story. Not just fear. Something else flickered there before she buried it.

When she was buckled in, I took her face in my hand and turned her toward me, forcing her to see me.

Her jaw trembled, but she didn’t look away.

“I’m doing this for you,” I murmured. “Even if you hate me for it.”

Then I stepped back and slammed the door.

Hael was already loitering near the rear bumper, grinning like the idiot he was.

“She doesn’t look thrilled,” he said. “I wouldn’t be either.”

“She’ll understand.”

“She’s the kind of pretty men ruin themselves for.” He craned his neck toward the tinted glass. “I get why—”

I stepped between him and the window. “Finish that sentence and I’ll bury you under the cathedral.”

“Noted, Don.” He raised both hands. “Possessive type, huh?”

“I am now.”

“Alright.” He backed away, smirk lingering. “I’ll take the Wrangler. I’m fond of keeping all my bones intact.”

“Smart choice.”

Hael was still laughing when he peeled off toward the Wrangler idling behind the Benz. I shot him a glare he didn’t bother acknowledging, then slipped into the back seat beside Kamaria.

One tap of my knuckle against the driver’s headrest—

the partition slid upward at once, a smooth hum filling the space as it locked into place.

Just her and me.

Exactly the way it needed to be.

Top of FormBottom of Form

“You do realize this is abduction,” she said as the car lurched forward. “Abduction?” I echoed. “You’re mistaken. You’re my wife. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“I am not your wife,” she snapped. “And don’t you dare talk about protecting me. You’re exactly what I need protection from.”

If protecting her meant letting her hate me, then so be it.

Her fury lit her up—God, I’d forgotten how beautiful she was when she fought. “You’re feistier than I remember,” I said.

“Don’t smile at me,” she snapped. “I fell for that once. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”

“In my world, the man willing to be the cruelest gets his way. I rarely lose.” I leaned back.

“Figures,” she muttered, turning toward the tinted window. “If I scream… will anyone hear me?”

“Not a chance.”

I expected her to lash out again, to claw at the door or at me—anything but go still.

Instead, she drew in a shaky breath and sank back into the seat, like surrender was the only weapon she had left.

I reached into the drink drawer and poured a whiskey, letting the burn roll down my throat as the Mercedes drifted through London traffic on its way to my estate.

It was quiet for a while.

“Is it true?” Kamaria asked suddenly.

I didn’t look at her. “Is what true?”

“When the cops pulled me out of that hellhole… they told me you’re the don of the Valcanti Mafia.”

“It’s true.” I turned my head. “But don’t pretend you didn’t already know.”

She’d gone pale since the courthouse, like someone had stolen the warmth right out of her skin. Anyone else would’ve been falling apart by now—my world does that to people.

But Kamaria didn’t.

She held herself together with that impossible strength she always had.

And the sight of it hit me low and hard.

“They said you’ve killed countless men. Some women too.”

“Not entirely true. I don’t kill women.” I lifted the glass to my lips.

“They told me you took over for your father, who was just as ruthless a don as you are.”

“True.”

She folded her arms and sank into a brooding silence. I took another slow sip of whiskey.

“The men who took me that night…” Her voice was quieter now. “Is it also true you were the reason I was kidnapped and locked up five years ago?”

Her question dragged me back to the one night I never let myself think about.

Five years ago—the first time I saw her.

Across a crowded restaurant, red dress, bold lips catching every eye, but her gaze had locked on me. Trouble, spelled out in every line of her jaw.

I should’ve walked away.

But I didn’t.

And that choice? It lit a match I couldn’t put out.

“The cops did a lot of talking, huh?” I said. “Funny how they forgot to mention it was me who told them where to find you.”

She jerked back like I’d just slapped her. “What?”

“I tipped someone off inside the department,” I continued. “Gave them your exact location. That’s how they found you.”

She stared, blinking like she was trying to process a punch to the gut.

“Those men should never have taken you from that restaurant,” I murmured. “I should’ve stopped it.”

But I didn’t.

I left her. Pretended it was strategy, not cowardice. But I’d relived it every damn night since.

“So it’s true,” she whispered. “They took me because I was with you.”

“Yes.” I hesitated. “You didn’t deserve to go through that.”

She went still, and looked straight at me.

“Do you know who gave the order?”

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber cling to the ice.

“Was it someone you know?”

“I do.” I met her eyes. “It was family.”

“Family?” She blinked. “Why the hell would your family have me kidnapped and locked up—”

“D’Arcy Valcanti.”

She jerked as if the name had teeth. “Who is that?”

“My cousin.”

Her head snapped up. “Your cousin?”

“D’Arcy’s been waiting a long time to make me pay for what happened between us.” My voice felt like gravel. “He saw you with me that night… and realized it’d hurt more if he made you the target—used you to get to me. And he was right.”

“So let me get this straight,” She looked ready to snap. “Your cousin’s got a vendetta against you, and I end up in the crossfire just because we were together that night?”

“It sounds insane, I know—”

“Of course it’s insane.” Her voice cracked. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? What you two put me through?”

She paused to gather herself with visible effort.

“I thought I’d die in there,” she whispered. “Every night. For years.” She blinked hard, forcing the tears back, letting the anger hold her upright. “And you show up after five years to tell me this?”

“Kamaria…” I called.

“Why now?” she was getting teary.

I swallowed. There was no easy way to say it.

“Because he’s back,” I murmured. “And this time… he’s coming for you.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “What are you talking about?”

“He found you over a year ago,” I said.

“What?” The word scraped out of her. “He’s been following me for over a year?”

“No.” I held her gaze. “He didn’t need to.”

I hesitated—just long enough for her to sense something was wrong.

“He was already in your life… up until now.”

At first, she blinked at me like the words didn’t make sense. But then her face began to tremble, color draining as her fingers dug into the seat beside her. “No…” The word slipped out of her on a breathless whisper. “It can’t be.”

“Kamaria… you weren’t marrying your fiancé.” I said quietly. “You were marrying the man who gave the order to have you abducted.”