Chapter 2 - “Let me go.”
Cassian crossed the room in 3 long strides.
He seized her shoulders with enough force to approach pain.
“Because you are mine.”
The polished exterior disappeared.
“You do not clean my blood from your hands and leave because my name appears on a wedding invitation.”
His voice became a raw whisper.
“You have belonged to me from the day you entered this office.”
“I am not property.”
“No.”
Cassian’s answer struck her physically.
“You are my heart.”
Rachel stopped moving.
Cassian Gallow did not speak about hearts.
His language involved leverage, debt, and retaliation.
He pulled her closer and placed his forehead against hers.
He was trembling.
A man who ordered executions without visible reaction trembled against Rachel.
“I am marrying Beatrice to keep the Commission from attacking us.”
Cassian explained that the marriage was a shield and nothing else.
“But you—”
He struggled to breathe.
“If you leave, I have nothing.”
Cassian warned that he would burn the city while searching for her. He would dismantle every life she tried to establish.
“I will never release you.”
Rachel closed her eyes and fought the tears.
It was a declaration of love concealed inside a threat and delivered by a sociopath.
It was precisely what she had feared and secretly wanted.
“You are a monster.”
“I know.”
Cassian pressed his mouth against her forehead.
“Return to your desk. We have work.”
He released her and replaced the vulnerable man with the syndicate leader.
Rachel remained in the office with adrenaline and despair moving through her.
She looked toward the exit.
Then she looked at Cassian.
Rachel slowly lifted her tote from the floor.
She did not return to the elevator.
She entered her glass office, sat inside the ergonomic chair, recovered the resignation letter from the wastebasket, and fed it into the shredder.
The machine reduced her freedom to unreadable fragments.
Rachel was trapped.
The worst part was not that Cassian locked the door.
It was that she stopped pulling the handle.
The terrarium effect began on Tuesday.
Rachel’s office had always been a sanctuary of glass and steel. It represented transparency, reminding capos and lieutenants that Cassian’s money was managed openly, cleanly, and beyond their reach.
Now the glass resembled a display case.
Rachel felt Cassian watching her constantly.
He no longer closed his office doors. He sat behind the large oak desk like a ruler on a throne and watched her draft emails, answer calls, and drink terrible coffee.
The surveillance was not subtle.
It was physical weight against the back of her neck and a constant reminder that her shredded resignation letter was meaningless.
Everyone on the floor recognized the change.
Tony stood near the elevators instead of reception.
Men spoke quietly and avoided looking toward Rachel.
The ecosystem had shifted.
Its dominant predator paced an invisible boundary around her.
The outside world entered at 2:00 p.m. on Thursday when the private elevator sounded.
The soft tone was reserved for family members and important guests.
Rachel continued working on the laundering matrix for several construction companies.
She did not need to look up.
The perfume reached the ventilation system first: jasmine, bergamot, and an extravagant amount of money.
Beatrice Cavali did not walk.
She glided.
She was everything Rachel was not.
Rachel wore dark pencil skirts and neutral blouses. Beatrice wore a tailored cream silk suit worth more than Rachel’s automobile.
Her dark hair fell in effortless waves.
At 24, Beatrice had been raised for her precise role and possessed the calculating eyes of a woman who understood the monetary and political value of her bloodline.
Two large Cavali soldiers followed.
Rachel raised her eyes and watched Beatrice move through the bullpen into Cassian’s office.
Cassian stood.
He did not smile, but he walked around the desk, accepted both her hands, and kissed her cheeks.
It was a cold and traditional greeting.
Then Beatrice laughed brightly and placed her palm against his chest.
The diamond on her left hand was nearly the size of a hazelnut.
Fluorescent light struck it and threw fractured color across the room.
Rachel’s stomach tightened.
She forced her attention onto the spreadsheet.
Column D.
Offshore routing.
The numbers blurred.
Ten minutes later, the office doors opened.
Footsteps approached Rachel’s glass enclosure.
There was no door she could close.
“So this is the fortress.”
Rachel turned her chair.
Beatrice leaned against the glass frame.
Cassian stood immediately behind her with an expression like carved stone.
His eyes warned Rachel not to react.
“Miss Cavali.”
Rachel stood and smoothed her skirt.
“Welcome. I am Rachel Hayes.”
“I know who you are.”
Beatrice entered and extended her hand.
“My father calls you Cassian’s ghost.”
She said dirty money entered Rachel’s office and emerged smelling like fresh laundry.
Rachel accepted the hand.
Beatrice’s grip was unexpectedly firm, and the diamond pressed coldly against Rachel’s knuckles.
“Your father favors colorful descriptions. I am an accountant.”
“Do not be modest.”
Beatrice smiled while examining everything: Rachel’s empty desk, tightly arranged hair, and absence of personal objects.
Her gaze moved briefly to Cassian and returned.
“Cassian says you will handle the wedding vendors.”
She named the florists, caterers, and venue deposits.
Cold pressure entered Rachel’s chest.
Cassian had not warned her.
His jaw was so tight that a muscle moved beside his ear.
He did not look at Beatrice.
He stared at Rachel, waiting for a reaction.
He was requiring Rachel to construct the stage on which he would become another woman’s husband.
“Of course.”
Her voice carried no emotion.
Beatrice could send the invoices to Rachel’s secure account. Rachel would route the funds through appropriate legitimate entities, preventing connections to unstable accounts.
“Perfect.”
Beatrice brought her hands together.
“You are precisely as efficient as everyone claims.”
She turned toward Cassian and placed her arm through his.
“We have a cake tasting at 3:00. Are you ready?”
“Tony will accompany you.”
Cassian removed her arm gently but firmly.
“I require 5 minutes with Rachel regarding the dock manifests.”
Beatrice’s smile contracted almost invisibly.
“Do not be late.”
She left with her men, and Tony joined them.
The private elevator closed.
The temperature of the bullpen appeared to fall.
Employees studied their shoes.
Cassian entered Rachel’s office and activated the wall control.
The smart glass became opaque, sealing them from view.
Rachel sat and opened another spreadsheet.
She typed meaningless numbers to occupy her hands.
“Look at me.”
Cassian’s command was quiet.
Rachel pressed Enter.
“I need the vendor list by Friday if you expect the retainers paid this month.”
She continued typing.
“It is poor practice to mix syndicate funds with personal celebrations.”
Rachel suggested establishing a new limited-liability corporation for the wedding.
“We could call it Nuptial Holdings.”
Cassian’s hand struck the keyboard, trapping her fingers against the keys.
Errors filled the screen.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
Rachel finally looked upward.
Her eyes burned with contained fury.
“Doing my work?”
She pulled her hands away.
“You assigned me to manage your wedding.”
Rachel stood so quickly that the chair moved backward.
“I am being efficient.”
“I did not assign you.”
Cassian said Beatrice presented the request to her father as a loyalty test and a Cavali attempt to examine his accounts.
“You believe I want you involved with this?”
“I believe you do not care what I touch as long as I remain inside the room.”
Rachel moved around the desk.
“You wanted me to stay. I am staying.”
She refused to behave like a grateful prisoner while Beatrice inspected the cage.
“She is politically necessary.”
“What am I?”
The volume surprised them both.
The opaque walls muted the sound but could not soften the pain.
“What am I, Cassian?”
Rachel listed her duties.
She concealed his money, solved his problems, and wrote checks for flowers to decorate his wedding tables.
“You called me your heart.”
Her voice became sharp.
“If this is how you treat your heart, I would hate to be your enemy.”
Cassian advanced.
Rachel moved backward until the frosted wall stopped her.
“I protect my heart.”
His voice became dangerously calm.
“I lock it away behind bullet-resistant glass and armed men because if it is taken, I die.”
Cassian placed both hands against the glass beside Rachel’s head.
Sandalwood and smoke overwhelmed every trace of Beatrice’s jasmine.
“You may hate me, resent me, and despise every moment inside this building.”
He watched the pulse inside Rachel’s throat.
“But you will do it beneath my roof, where I can see you.”
The final boundary disappeared.
Wedding preparations became slow and methodical torture.
For 3 weeks, Rachel learned every detail of a royal organized-crime wedding.
She transferred a $100,000 deposit to a sprawling estate in the Hamptons.
She paid a private charter company to deliver white truffles from Alba.
Rachel reviewed the security invoice and calculated the number of armed men required to protect a perimeter containing 400 senior syndicate members.
She completed everything with mechanical numbness.
Rachel stopped returning to her apartment.
She slept on the small leather sofa inside Cassian’s private suite beneath a spare wool blanket and woke at 4:00 a.m. to resume the ledgers.
She began losing weight.
Darkness beneath her eyes resembled bruising.
Cassian deteriorated beside her.
He became violent during meetings.
After finding a small discrepancy inside a dock shipment, he broke a capo’s jaw—an offense he would normally have addressed with a warning.
Cassian paced his office like an animal inside a cage, living on espresso and anger that frightened his men.
He refused to allow Rachel outside his sight.
When she entered the break room for water, Tony remained 3 steps behind.
Rachel and Cassian barely spoke.
They communicated through brief sounds, nods, and folders moved across polished wood.
The tension surrounding them became combustible gas filling the sealed floor.
It required only a spark.
The spark came on a rainy Tuesday night, exactly 1 month before the wedding.
The bullpen was empty and dark.
Headlights from traffic below moved rhythmically across the walls.
Rachel sat before her monitor beneath pale-blue light.
The final jeweler’s invoice filled the screen.
Beatrice’s wedding band was platinum and covered with flawless baguette-cut diamonds.
It cost more than Rachel’s university education.
Her hand shook when she reached for cold coffee.
The mug fell.
Dark liquid spread across the desk and soaked printed shipping records.
“Damn it.”
Rachel searched for paper towels while coffee entered the documents.
It was a small and meaningless mistake.
It broke her.
She lowered herself into the chair, covered her face, and released 1 ragged sob.
Rachel rarely cried.
She had not cried after being grazed by the bullet or when her father died.
Sitting before invoices for her captor’s wedding and trying to remove cold coffee, she finally collapsed.
Fast, heavy footsteps came through the dark corridor.
Cassian appeared without his jacket, his tie loose and a glass of Scotch in his hand.
He stopped when he saw Rachel’s shaking shoulders.
“Rachel.”
He placed the glass on a cabinet and reached her in 2 strides.
Cassian ignored the coffee and lowered himself beside her chair.
“Are you injured?”
His hands hovered without touching her, as though she might break.
“What happened? Look at me.”
Rachel kept her face covered.
“Do not. Leave me alone.”
“I cannot.”
Cassian closed his hands carefully around her wrists and pulled them away.
Her face was wet, and her reddened eyes held fury.
Rachel hated that he saw her vulnerability.
She hated the concern marking his face.
It belonged to a lover rather than a boss.
It was the lie keeping her there.
“It is coffee.”
Rachel attempted to pull her hands free.
“I damaged the manifests. I will print them again.”
Cassian’s grip held.
He examined the desk.
Then he noticed the invoice for Beatrice’s ring.
Concern collapsed into hollow pain.
Cassian stood and brought Rachel with him.
She was too tired to resist.
“I cannot continue.”
Her voice fractured.
“You broke me.”
Rachel looked at him.
“You won.”
She could no longer look at the accounts, rings, or Cassian.
“Do not say that.”
The words came from his chest.
“Why not?”
Her tears stopped beneath cold clarity.
“You want me as a loyal animal managing scraps while you create a dynasty with someone you do not even like.”
Rachel was suffocating.
“If you cared about me, if I were truly your heart, you would let me leave before this killed me.”
“I am keeping you alive.”
Cassian shouted and seized her shoulders, shaking her with frantic restraint.
“The Commission knows about you.”
He explained that every enemy had noticed the person he trusted most was a civilian accountant without family protection.
“You are the most valuable target inside my organization.”
If Rachel left his protection, she would be dead within 1 week.
Enemies would take her, torture her for financial information, and abandon her inside a vehicle at John F. Kennedy International Airport.
“I do not care.”
Rachel pushed against his chest.
“I would rather risk them than die slowly while watching you marry her.”
Her voice rose to a scream.
“At least they would kill me quickly.”
Cassian froze.
The room seemed to lose its air.
His eyes widened, and his pupils became black.
The muscle inside his jaw stopped.
For 3 seconds, there was complete silence.
Then the restraint holding him broke.
Cassian lunged.
His hands moved from her shoulders to the sides of her face. His thumbs pressed against her cheekbones as his mouth struck hers.
It was not gentle.
It contained fury, desperation, and 5 years of concealed obsession.
Rachel gasped.
Her mind ordered her to fight.
Her body betrayed her.
The hands pressing against Cassian’s chest closed around his shirt and held him like a lifeline.
Rachel kissed him back.
It was angry, uncontrolled, and violent.
They collided like vehicles on a wet road, neither attempting to stop.
A deep sound moved from Cassian’s chest.
He drove Rachel backward until her knees touched the desk.
With 1 arm, he swept the keyboard, monitor, and ruined documents onto the floor.
The equipment struck loudly.
Cassian lifted Rachel by the waist and placed her on the desk.
He moved between her thighs without ending the kiss.
His mouth tasted of Scotch and destruction.
Rachel closed her hands inside his hair and pulled him nearer, pursuing the heat she had denied herself for 5 years.
Cassian kissed her cheeks, jaw, and the skin beneath her ear.
His breathing was uncontrolled.
May you like
“You are mine.”
The words touched her neck.
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