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HAVEN

Four years later

THE MORNING LAS Vegas sun beats down on me. Sweat covers my face, neck, and chest along with the rest of my body. “Garden” by Halsey blares in my ears from my wireless earbuds. My phone strapped to my upper arm.

My feet pound the ground as I push myself, knowing I don’t have much farther to go. This is my morning ritual; wake up, drink a cup of coffee, and then run until I feel like I’m dying. It helps clear my mind and keeps me in shape.

I see the old stone and stucco mansion come into view at the end of the two-lane road in the exclusive neighborhood. I’m sucking in breath after breath, and my sides burn, but I push harder. Faster. My thighs scream, and my feet hurt, but I don’t quit. I’m too close. My once tight ponytail has come loose, and strands hang down around my face, sticking to my sweat-covered neck and chest. It makes my skin itch.

My mind wanders, thinking about where I am in my life right now and why I’m still stuck here in Sin City. At twenty-four years old, I’m currently living with my parents and trying to get my train wreck of a life back on track. I’m what most would call a fucking mess. But am I supposed to have my life figured out at my age? I’ve heard stories from others that you’re expected to go crazy in your twenties, to party and sleep around. If you ask the right people, they’d say I’m on the right track.

Nearing the end of the road, I take a hard right through the open gate, and the sight of a black Bugatti La Voiture Noire makes me stumble.

As if my legs trip over an imaginary rope, I fall on the driveway, my knees hitting the hot concrete first. Then I drop to my side, rolling a few times from the momentum. “Motherfucker!” I hiss, yanking the damn earbuds from my ears.

Looking over at the car sitting in my parents’ driveway, I feel like a hurricane is about to destroy everything in my life without any warning. No time to board up my feelings and hide away from what I know will be catastrophic to my psyche.

Nothing involving that car is ever good. And the black Cadillac SUV with bulletproof windows parked beside it can only belong to one person.

Pushing up to my feet, I don’t even bother brushing off my bloody knees or elbows. Instead, I storm up the steps to the two glass front doors and shove them open. “Dad?” It bounces off the high ceilings and grand foyer. I can’t tell if my heart is pounding due to my fall or the fact that he’s here.

What the hell …?

“Dad!” I shout this time, storming down the long hallway and then running up the spiral staircase to his office on the second floor. I come to the closed door and don’t even bother knocking. Instead, I barge into it, sucking in breath after breath.

My gray sports bra is soaked in sweat, and my white capri yoga pants stick to my ass and legs as a result of my three-mile run. I don’t give a shit that I don’t look presentable and stink.

“Haven,” my father announces to the room, jumping up from his seat behind his desk. Clearing his throat, he looks me up and down, the disapproval clear in his blue eyes.

“What is going on?” I demand, not even bothering with introductions.

My eyes slide to the man who slowly stands to my right. He towers over me at every bit of six feet four. His jet black hair is parted on the right and combed over. His impressive charcoal suit with black button-down matches his shiny shoes. I know it costs him more than most hardworking men make in a year.

He looks the same as I remember him. Intimidating. Eyes so dark, they look like two endless black holes. He has his arms crossed over his chest, and the gold ring on his right hand looks like it could be used as a weapon. Why is he here? He lives in New York and very rarely makes appearances in Las Vegas. Well, or so I thought.

My father clears his throat. “Come here, Haven.”

I search the room for the set of eyes that haunts me every time I close mine, but I don’t see him.

“What’s going on?” I ask again, standing my ground.

“You’ve been sold.”

I spin around to face the man who spoke. He leans up against the wall next to the door I had just barged through. He’s got a pair of dark jeans on and a white fitted shirt. A cigarette sits tucked behind his ear and his tatted arms are crossed over his chest. His matching black eyes fall to my sweat-covered yoga pants. Matteo was never as funny as he thought he was.

I narrow my eyes on him, and he runs his tongue over his upper lip. Turning back to my father, I ignore his ass, knowing that he just wants to wind me up. “What’s really going on?”

He glares at Luca’s younger brother, then looks back at me, but he says nothing. My heart skips a beat when his hard features soften, and he lets out a sigh, regret flashing across his face.

“Daddy …” I walk over to this desk and place my sweaty hands on the cool surface. “What is going on?” I ask for a third time.

Looking down, I go to pick up the papers that sit on top of the dark wood, but he beats me to it and snatches them up.

“Are you deaf?” Matteo barks out. “I already told you. You’ve been sold.”

I turn once again to face him as he pushes off the wall. “Bullshit!” I snap. I don’t believe him for a second. “I am not for sale, and my father would never do that.”

Where the fuck is Luca?

The corners of his lips turn up, and he comes to a stop before me. “People will do a lot for money,” he says simply.

My stomach drops, but I shake my head. Sold? It’s not even an option. The thought is unfathomable and, not to mention, illegal. “No,” I whisper.

“Yes,” he replies, lifting his right hand to touch my bare stomach. “We’re here to collect. You’ll marry …”

“I won’t marry you!” I interrupt, shoving him away.

Is he insane?