Chapter 1 - The Ring and the Wolves
The silence in the grand hallway of Blackwood Manor was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic dripping of rainwater from Claire’s ruined coat onto the polished mahogany floorboards.
She stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. In her arms, the small, shivering body of Isabella DeLuca felt incredibly light, yet the weight of the moment was crushing. Standing a mere three feet away, Roman DeLuca looked less like a man and more like a dark monument carved from marble and shadow. His gray eyes, cold and calculating, didn't blink.
On the ornate table between them lay the black leather folder. The gold nib of the fountain pen gleamed under the crystal chandelier, catching the light like a small, sharp tooth.
The Terms of Survival"My wife," Claire whispered, her voice barely carrying over the sound of the wind rattling the high stained-glass windows. "You don't even know me. You don't know who I am, where I came from, or what I've done."
"I know exactly who you are, Claire Bennett," Roman said. His voice was a low, resonant baritone that vibrated through the soles of her wet shoes. "You are thirty-two years old. You spent four years as the silent partner of Whitmore Holdings, a company built on your sweat and your culinary reputation, only to be discarded with forty-three dollars to your name. You are a woman who has been systematically starved of respect. And right now, you have nowhere else to go."
Claire flinched. The raw accuracy of his words stung worse than the freezing rain.
"And what do you know about the children?" she asked, tightening her grip on Isabella.
"I know they are my late brother’s triplets," Roman replied, his gaze softening by a fraction of a millimeter as he looked at the children. "And I know that since their parents were murdered six months ago, they have not slept through the night. They do not eat unless forced. They do not trust. Yet, my niece is currently clinging to you as if you are the only solid object in a shipwreck."
Indeed, Isabella’s small hands were knotted into the damp fabric of Claire’s green sweater. The two boys—Leo and Mateo—had descended the stairs slowly, their identical, pale faces watchful, their dark eyes reflecting a shared, ancient grief. They stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a tiny, unbroken wall of defense.
"A nanny is an employee," Roman continued, stepping closer. The scent of expensive tobacco, leather, and rain drifted off him, wrapping around Claire's senses. "An employee can be bought by my enemies. An employee can run when the security alarms sound. But a DeLuca wife? A DeLuca wife is protected by the entire weight of my family’s syndicate. No one touches her. No one questions her. And she does not leave."
"And if I refuse?" Claire asked, her chin lifting. "If I walk out that door right now?"
Roman looked toward the dark windows, where the rain was turning into sleet. "Then you will freeze, or your ex-husband’s men will find you. Julian Whitmore is a weak man, Claire. Weak men are highly predictable when they are trying to hide their secrets. He will not let you wander the streets of New York with the knowledge you possess about his finances."
Claire looked down at Isabella. The little girl’s breathing had finally slowed, her small thumb slipping into her mouth as she breathed in the scent of cinnamon and vanilla that lingered on Claire’s skin—a remnant of the baking she had done for her catering business before it was stolen from her.
May you like
She looked at the pen. She looked at her forty-three dollars.
With a steady hand, she reached out, picked up the heavy gold pen, and signed her name on the blank line.
