Chapter 4

The wind howled against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining room. A violent storm had rolled in off the Atlantic, hammering the Hamptons estate with sheets of freezing rain.

Dinner had been agonizing. Donte sat at the head of the long mahogany table. Gene and Alvie sat on opposite sides. The only sound in the room was the scraping of silver forks against porcelain plates.

As soon as the meal ended, the butler stepped into the room.

"Sir, Madam," he bowed slightly. "The storm has flooded the main roads. The police have closed the highway. Everyone must remain at the estate for the night."

Gene's chest tightened. She stood up immediately, leaving her napkin on the chair, and walked briskly up the sweeping staircase. She headed straight for the large guest bedroom at the end of the hall.

She stepped inside and grabbed the edge of the heavy oak door, ready to throw the deadbolt.

A black leather dress shoe wedged itself into the gap.

Alvie shoved his weight against the wood, forcing the door open. He stepped inside and slammed it shut behind him. His eyes were wild, filled with a frantic, possessive energy.

Gene backed away instantly. "Get out," she ordered, her voice cold. "I am not sleeping in the same room as you."

Alvie thought about the way Donte had looked at Gene during dinner. The masculine intuition that another predator was circling his property made him lose his mind.

He took a heavy step toward her. "You are my wife," he snarled, his voice thick with desperation. "We are not divorced. I have every right to be in this room."

He lunged forward. His hand clamped down hard on her wrist. He yanked her toward the massive four-poster bed, his grip bruising her skin.

The forced physical contact sent a violent shockwave through Gene's system. The memory of being tied to the pillar, unable to move, crashed into her brain. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid.

But she didn't cry. She didn't beg.

Gene planted her left foot, twisted her hips, and drove her right knee straight up into Alvie's stomach with everything she had.

Alvie let out a choked gasp. The air rushed out of his lungs. He dropped her wrist and stumbled backward, clutching his abdomen, his face contorted in pain. He looked at her like she was a monster.

Gene didn't stop. She spun around, grabbed the heavy, solid brass base of the bedside lamp, and lifted it high above her head.

Her eyes were wide, feral, and completely devoid of fear.

"Take one more step," Gene hissed, her knuckles white around the brass, "and I will smash your skull open."

Alvie froze. The sheer, murderous intent in her eyes terrified him. But his fragile ego wouldn't let him back down. He gritted his teeth, preparing to rush her again.

Three sharp, heavy knocks echoed from the oak door.

The sound wasn't rushed, but it carried an undeniable weight of authority.

"The walls in this house are thin," Donte's deep, icy voice bled through the wood. "And you are interrupting my work on the European merger."

The casual complaint hit Alvie like a bucket of ice water.

The anger drained from his face, replaced instantly by dread. Everyone in the family knew what happened when Donte was interrupted during a major deal. It was corporate suicide to cross him.

Alvie shot Gene a look of pure venom. He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "This isn't over."

He turned, unlocked the door, and yanked it open.

Donte stood in the dimly lit hallway. He was wearing a dark silk robe, his hands shoved casually into the pockets. His expression was completely blank, but his eyes were lethal as they swept over Alvie's hunched posture.

Donte's gaze bypassed his nephew entirely and landed squarely on Gene. She was still standing by the bed, her chest heaving, the heavy brass lamp raised like a weapon.

Seeing that she was untouched, the rigid tension in Donte's jaw relaxed by a fraction of a millimeter.

"Go sleep in the east wing guest room, Alvie," Donte ordered. It wasn't a suggestion. "Your temper is too loud for this floor."

Alvie's fists clenched at his sides. His face burned with humiliation. But under the crushing weight of Donte's stare, he bowed his head. "Yes, Uncle Donte."

Alvie walked away quickly, his footsteps heavy on the carpet.

Donte remained in the doorway. He looked at Gene through the open frame. The sound of the torrential rain battering the windows filled the silence between them.

Gene slowly lowered the brass lamp. Her muscles ached from the adrenaline crash. She swallowed hard, her throat dry.

"Thank you," she said, her voice rough.

Donte didn't acknowledge the gratitude. His dark eyes roamed over her face, reading the lingering panic she was trying so hard to hide.

He turned to walk toward his own room right next door.

"Lock the door, Gene," Donte said over his shoulder, his voice dropping an octave.

He shut his door. Gene stood in the quiet room, her heart hammering against her ribs.