Chapter 1 - THE SIX-YEAR-OLD FIANCÉ
My life had somehow come down to this: hiding in a freezing restaurant storage room while my stepmother’s men waited outside to collect me like property.
Then a six-year-old boy in superhero pajamas looked me straight in the eyes and whispered:
“Marry me. My dad scares everybody.”
Somehow, that ridiculous proposal was about to become the most dangerous promise I’d ever made.
My back pressed against a cold metal shelf inside a cramped Italian restaurant in Brooklyn, and I gripped a dented frying pan with both hands.
On the other side of the locked door, Regina’s voice cut through me like broken glass.
“You can hide all night, Aurora!” my stepmother screamed. “Tony’s men are outside, and I’m not losing fifty thousand dollars because you suddenly found a backbone!”
Fifty thousand dollars.
That was what my life was worth to her.
After gambling away nearly everything she owned, Regina had apparently decided her dead husband’s daughter was the last valuable thing she could trade.
For months, I’d been running from Brooklyn to Queens to the Bronx, sleeping in filthy motels, working cash jobs, and disappearing whenever someone looked at me for too long.
But somehow, Regina always found me.
A rustling sound came from behind several flour sacks.
Every muscle in my body locked.
I spun around with the frying pan raised, expecting one of Tony’s men.
Instead, a little boy slowly stepped into the light.
He couldn’t have been older than six.
He wore an expensive wool coat over superhero pajamas, and his frightened eyes widened when he saw the pan above my head.
“Please don’t hit me,” he whispered. “I’m not one of the bad guys.”
I lowered the pan slightly.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Hiding.”
“From who?”
“My dad.”
That was not the answer I expected.
“What did your dad do?”
“He said I have to see the doctor tomorrow.”
I stared at him.
“You ran away because of a doctor?”
He nodded seriously.
“Shots.”
Despite the terror squeezing my chest, a laugh escaped me.
“Then I guess we’re both fugitives.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You’re hiding too?”
“From bad people.”
He considered that.
“What’s your name?”
“Aurora.”
“I’m Zach.”
Another crash hit the storage-room door.
Zach jumped.
“Aurora!”
Regina screamed again.
“Get out here before I let Tony’s men drag you out by your hair!”
My fingers tightened around the frying pan.
Zach wasn’t looking at the door anymore.
He was looking at my wrist.
Purple bruises circled it where one of Tony’s men had grabbed me two nights earlier.
Something about Zach’s small face became painfully serious.
“In fairy tales,” he whispered, “when a princess gets chased by a witch, a knight saves her.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“I don’t see many knights around Brooklyn.”
“Me.”
He puffed out his tiny chest.
I stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You’re six.”
“Six and a half.”
“Terrifying.”
“My dad is scarier.”
Apparently, his father had money.
Men.
Cars.
And according to Zach, everybody listened when he spoke.
Then Zach explained his plan with the confidence only a six-year-old could possess.
“If you marry me, you’ll be in my family.”
“Oh?”
“And then the witch can’t take you.”
“Your father might have opinions about that.”
“He listens to me.”
Something told me that was not entirely true.
Zach held out his hand.
“Will you marry me, Miss Aurora?”
I stared at this tiny boy in superhero pajamas promising me protection because no adult in my life ever had.
Something inside me cracked.
Maybe exhaustion.
Maybe grief.
Maybe the memory of my father before he died, telling me nobody had the right to make me feel owned.
I crouched.
“And if I marry you, you’ll protect me from the witch?”
“One hundred percent.”
He held out his pinky.
“Promise.”
For the first time in months, I smiled.
I hooked my pinky around his.
“Then yes.”
His entire face lit up.
“I’ll marry you.”
The storage-room door exploded open.
I jumped in front of Zach, frying pan raised.
But the man standing in the doorway was not Tony.
He was tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark hair.
Perfect black suit.
Two equally intimidating men stood behind him.
My blood turned cold.
Michael Moretti.
Even people who had never met Michael Moretti knew his name.
New York newspapers called him a businessman.
Federal prosecutors had called him other things.
People in Brooklyn simply lowered their voices when they said Moretti.
His gray eyes moved first to the blood on my lip.
Then the bruises on my wrist.
Then to the frying pan.
Finally, he saw Zach.
“Zach.”
His voice was quiet.
That somehow made it worse.
“What did I tell you about running away?”
Zach hurried beside me and grabbed my hand.
“Dad, this is Aurora.”
Michael looked at our joined hands.
Something unreadable passed across his face.
Then Zach grinned.
“She just agreed to marry me.”
Silence.
One of Michael’s men coughed.
The other looked away.
Michael slowly returned his gaze to me.
“You agreed to what?”
“It was metaphorical.”
Zach frowned.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Zach.”
“We pinky promised.”
Michael rubbed one hand over his face.
Then Regina appeared in the doorway behind his men.
“There she is!”
Her relief transformed into irritation when she noticed Michael.
“This doesn’t concern you.”
Michael turned.
He looked at Regina once.
That was apparently enough to make her stop moving.
“Who are you?”
she demanded.
“Michael Moretti.”
The color drained from her face.
Tony’s two men appeared behind her.
They stopped too.
Everybody suddenly became extremely interested in the floor.
Michael looked at the bruises on my wrist again.
“Who did that?”
I did not answer.
Regina did.
“She’s dramatic.”
Michael’s gaze shifted toward her.
Regina swallowed.
“She owes money.”
“I don’t owe anyone anything.”
“You live under my roof!”
“I haven’t lived with you for nine months!”
“You cost me—”
Michael raised one hand.
Regina stopped.
“Why,” he asked softly, “does she have bruises?”
Nobody answered.
Zach tugged his father’s sleeve.
“The witch did it.”
Regina’s eyes widened.
“I am not a witch.”
Zach looked unimpressed.
Michael crouched in front of his son.
“Go with Luca.”
“No.”
“Zach.”
“She’s my fiancée.”
Michael closed his eyes briefly.
“We’re going to discuss that later.”
“She needs protection.”
“I can see that.”
Zach looked at me.
“You’ll come too?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Michael stood.
“No one is taking her anywhere tonight.”
Regina stepped forward.
“You don’t understand. She belongs—”
Michael’s face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“Finish that sentence.”
Regina stopped.
For the first time in my life, I watched my stepmother become afraid.
“She has obligations.”
Michael looked at me.
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Did you sign anything?”
“No.”
“Take money?”
“No.”
Regina exploded.
“Her father left debts!”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
She turned toward me.
“You think your precious father died leaving you something? He left liabilities.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
Michael watched us carefully.
Regina continued.
“Tony paid fifty thousand to settle part of it.”
“You sold me for my father’s debt?”
“I arranged a marriage.”
“You arranged what?”
“Tony’s nephew needs a wife.”
Nausea rose in my throat.
Michael spoke.
“There will be no marriage.”
Regina laughed nervously.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Zach raised his hand.
“She already has a husband.”
Every adult looked at him.
“Me.”
Michael stared at the ceiling.
I almost laughed.
Then one of Michael’s men leaned toward him.
“Boss.”
He handed Michael something found near the broken door.
My wallet.
It must have fallen when I ran inside.
Michael opened it.
Driver’s license.
Aurora DeLuca.
His expression changed.
Completely.
He looked at me again.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Aurora DeLuca.”
Michael stopped breathing for a fraction of a second.
Regina noticed too.
“Why?”
Michael ignored her.
“Your father.”
“What about him?”
“Name.”
“Gabriel DeLuca.”
His gray eyes went colder.
Behind him, Luca muttered something in Italian.
Michael shut my wallet.
“When did Gabriel die?”
“Seven years ago.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
Michael stared at me.
“That’s what you were told?”
My heartbeat became painfully loud.
“What does that mean?”
Regina moved backward.
Michael noticed.
So did I.
“What do you know?” I demanded.
Regina shook her head.
“Nothing.”
Michael stepped toward her.
“You recognized the name.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I knew Gabriel.”
“How?”
Regina’s face crumpled with panic.
“Michael, please.”
My stomach dropped.
She knew him.
Michael Moretti knew my father.
My stepmother knew Michael knew my father.
And nobody had ever told me.
Michael looked at Luca.
“Take Zach home.”
Zach immediately grabbed my waist.
“No!”
“Zach.”
“Aurora comes.”
Michael looked at me.
Then at Regina.
Then toward Tony’s men.
Finally:
“Yes.”
Regina shouted.
“You can’t take her!”
Michael turned.
“She can decide.”
Everybody looked at me.
Months of running.
Bruises.
Motel rooms.
Fear.
My father's supposed debts.
A stepmother trying to trade me.
And now the most feared man in Brooklyn was offering me a choice.
“Aurora?”
Michael asked.
I looked at Regina.
Then took Zach’s hand.
“I’m leaving.”
Regina lunged.
One of Michael’s men blocked her without touching her.
“Aurora!”
I kept walking.
Then Regina screamed the sentence that followed me all the way out of the restaurant.
“If Michael Moretti finds out what your father stole from him, he won’t protect you!”
I stopped.
Michael stopped too.
Slowly, he turned around.
“My father stole from you?”
I whispered.
Michael did not answer immediately.
His gaze remained on Regina.
Then he said:
“No.”
A long silence.
“Your father stole something much more dangerous from someone else.”
“What?”
Michael looked at me.
“The truth.”
And that was how I entered Michael Moretti’s world.
Holding his son’s hand.
Wearing a torn waitress uniform.
With a six-year-old fiancé beside me.
May you like
And absolutely no idea that my dead father had left behind a secret powerful enough to get all of us killed.
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