Chapter 3 THE TURN OF EVENT

(VINCENZO'S POV)

I woke to the sound of rustling. Through half-opened eyes, I saw a woman frantically gathering clothes from the floor.

She's beautiful even in this panicked state. Dark brown hair tumbling over bare shoulders as she struggled into her dress. I should say something before she disappears.

"Morning," I offered, my voice rough with sleep.

She froze like a startled deer, clutching her dress to her chest. "Hi," she says tightly. "I was just...leaving."

I sat up, trying to look less intimidating. "Without saying goodbye?"

Her eyes narrow slightly. I must have said something wrong, though I'm not sure what.

"I have somewhere to be," she said, fumbling with her zipper.

"I didn't catch your name last night," I admitted.

"Marianna," she says, not meeting my eyes.

"Vin," I reply, though she didn't ask. "Can I make you some coffee, Marianna?"

Something shifts in her expression. She reached into her clutch, pulled out her wallet, and before I understood what's happening, she tossed two hundred-dollar bills onto the bed.

"That won't be necessary," she said coldly. "This should cover everything."

The bills land on my chest. For a moment, I can't process what's happening. Then it hits me.

"What the hell is this?" I demanded, holding up the money.

"For your services," she replied, zipping her dress. "Isn't that how this works?"

I'm out of bed instantly, not caring about my nakedness. "I'm not a goddamn escort!"

"Could have fooled me," she snapped, grabbing her purse. "Thanks for the night. Let's not do it again."

Before I can respond, she's gone, the door slamming behind her. I stood there, naked and furious, the crumpled bills in my fist. Did she really think I was some kind of... hired companion?

I wanted to chase after her, set this ridiculous misunderstanding straight, but what would be the point? She clearly made up her mind about what happened here.

As I turned to head for the shower, something caught my eye beneath the bed. A delicate silver bracelet with a sapphire charm. Must be hers.

I picked it up, the metal cool against my palm. Probably means something to her.

My phone rang from the nightstand. Scott's calling.

"What?" I seethed.

"Reminding you about the Poldstone meeting in one hour. Your father specifically asked me to ensure you'll be there." he replied, unfazed

Shit. Missing it would be corporate suicide, especially with the merger negotiations underway.

"I'll be there," I promised, already calculating how fast I can shower and dress.

I ended the call and looked again at the bracelet in my hand. I should throw it away after how she treated me.

Instead, I tucked it carefully in my pocket before heading to the shower. My family doesn't tolerate tardiness, especially my father.

But even as hot water pounded against my back, my mind kept returning to the woman who thought I had to be paid for. Marianna with no last name.

By the time I arrived the Poldstone investors were already seated in the conference room. It's three minutes before the meeting is scheduled to begin.

My father noticed my entrance with the barest flicker of acknowledgment, which, for Victor Lombardo, is practically a warm welcome.

I took my seat at his right hand, as tradition dictates. The next in line after the heir apparent.

I looked around for my elder brother, he wasn't even in this meeting.

I nodded respectfully to Mr. Oswald and his associates before opening my portfolio.

The meeting proceeded with the usual dance of numbers, projections, and veiled threats disguised as business concerns.

Two hours later, contracts got signed and the Poldstone delegation filed out. My father remains seated, his expression unreadable as he reviews the signed documents.

"Your tie is crooked," he says without looking up.

I adjusted it silently, waiting for the real criticism.

"You were nearly late."

"I arrived with time to spare," I countered carefully.

"Three minutes is not 'time to spare,' Vincent. It's cutting it close." He finally looked at me, icy blue eyes identical to my own. "The Kingwicke meeting is tonight. I expect you to be better prepared."

My stomach tightened. "The Kingwickes? I thought that was next month."

"They moved it up." He closed his portfolio with a snap. "My office. Now."

I followed my father closely behind him as we headed to his office.

When I enter, he's not alone. A stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair stands by the window, drinking my father's private-reserve scotch.

"Vincent," my father called me, "you remember Don Santino."

I do. The head of the Santino crime family, our oldest allies in a city carved up by rival organizations.

"Don Santino," I greeted him with appropriate respect, shaking his hand firmly.

"The boy has grown into a man," Santino observes, clapping my shoulder. "Last time I saw you, you were graduating business school."

"Over a decade ago," I confirmed. "A lot has changed."

"Not enough," my father interjected. "Vincent, we have a situation. All rival families have doubled their territories in the last six months."

I absorbed this information silently. Our family may operate legitimate businesses now, but our roots are deep in the underworld.

We've maintained our position through strategic alliances rather than street warfare, but things are clearly shifting.

"The old agreements are breaking down," Santino adds, swirling his scotch. "Everyone is restless."

The eight families-the oldest, most powerful organizations in the city. Mine included.

"What does this have to do with the Kingwickes?" I asked, though I'm beginning to suspect the answer.

My father exchanged a glance with Santino. "The Kingwickes has the upper hand in our grand plan. A partnership with them would solidify our position for the next decade."

"And by partnership, you mean...?"

"Their daughter, Sophia, is of marriageable age," my father said bluntly. "A union between our families would be beneficial to all parties."

I stared at him, ice forming in my veins. "You're arranging a marriage for me?"

"I'm creating an opportunity," he corrected. "The meeting tomorrow is to discuss business initially, but Edward Kingwicke is bringing his daughter. She'll be taking over their European operations soon. You will make a good impression."

"And if I don't want to marry a stranger for business?"

My father's expression hardens. "This isn't about what you want. It's about everything we've built. Don't blow this for us, Vincent."

Santino watched this exchange with the detached interest of a man observing pieces being moved on a chessboard.

"The Kingwicke girl is beautiful," he offered, as if that made a difference. "Educated at Oxford. Speaks four languages. You could do worse."

I wanted to argue, to refuse, but I know the rules of our world. Family comes first. Always.

"I'll be there," I said finally. "Properly prepared."

My father nodded, satisfied. "Good. Don't disappoint me again."

As I left his office, the weight of family expectations heavy on my shoulders. I'm not going to completely take control of everything but somehow, I'm always the one at the receiving end.

My first love and fiancée went after my elder brother when she found out he was the next don and not me. The other encounters? Can't remember

I found myself thinking inexplicably of the woman from last night.

Marianna.

A brief escape from the reality of who I am and what's expected of me.

I touched the sapphire bracelet in my pocket, wondering if I'll ever see her again.

I prepared for tonight's meeting like I promised my father and we arrived at the private dining room in the Kingwickes hotel that has been reserved exclusively for tonight's meeting.

"Vincent," my father beckons me over. "Meet Edward Kingwicke."

I shook his hand firmly. "A pleasure, Mr. Kingwicke."

"The pleasure is mine. May I introduce my son, Joseph, my daughter-in-law, Martha , and their daughters, Sophia and Marianna."

"Please, call me Joe" his son chipped in

Martha Kingwicke is elegant in that old-money way, pearls at her throat, silver-streaked hair in a perfect chignon.

Sophia is classically beautiful, blonde and poised, with calculating eyes that assessed me as thoroughly as I assessed her.

"Sisters?" I thought. They are two?

I turned, prepared to offer another practiced greeting, and froze.

Standing there, looking equally stunned, is Marianna.

Her eyes widened in recognition, color draining from her face before a flush replaced it.

She's transformed from the disheveled woman of this morning, now wrapped in emerald silk, hair elegantly styled, diamond drops at her ears.

She's a Kingwicke.

"Vincenzo Lombardo," I managed to say, extending my hand mechanically.

Her fingers were cold as they briefly touched mine. "Mr. Lombardo," she greeted, her voice controlled but strained.

My father watched this exchange with narrow-eyed interest. Don Santino looked amused, though he couldn't possibly understand the magnitude of this disaster.

The woman my family wanted me to charm tonight is Sophia Kingwicke. But the woman standing before me is her sister, Marianna Kingwicke.

And I'm still carrying her sapphire bracelet in my pocket.