THIRTY-SEVEN |

a smile like the finely-sharpened tip of a razor blade. He flashed it in my direction as I was dragged through the crowd, running a hand through his slicked back black hair.

I felt like a mouse staring up at a cat, waiting for its claws to be slashed in my direction. Viktor knew he was the cat, and he knew he had just caught the best prey he could have hoped for; he wore his grin like a trophy, as soon he would wear me on his arm.

"Stop struggling," my father snarled, snatching my jaw in his hand and jerking my head to the side. "Behave like a woman and he might go easy on you."

Viktor took a step away from his vehicle as we approached, and I noticed he had a security detail watching us from afar. I'd learnt a thing or two from my life with Arturo, especially how to recognise such subtleties. At a guess I estimated there were approximately six guns which could be turned in our direction in a heart beat.

"Florence Genovese," Viktor spoke my name in his heavy Russian accent, offering me that sharp, dangerous smile. "I have heard good things about you."

I couldn't help it when my jaw clenched. "I wish I could say the same about you."

Raimondo took a step forward while his men continued to hold me still. "Are you satisfied with the agreement?"

Viktor's glittering eyes didn't leave mine, "Pleasantly so."

"Where do you want her, in the back of the car?"

"Go to hell," I spat, but nobody was listening except for Viktor. A hint of amusement touched his dark features.

"We can sedate her," my father offered. It surprised me that he spoke with such submission to Viktor, as though he almost revered him. Whoever this man was, he was powerful. He had the ability to change the whole crime game in New York – he and my father both knew it.

"That won't be necessary," Viktor replied slowly. He was wearing a beat up leather jacket which matched his jet black hair, and as he spoke he placed his hands in his pockets. It might have been a casual gesture, but I didn't doubt his fingertips were touching hidden blades. "Florence will get in the car voluntarily, or not at all."

I saw Raimondo's posture grow tense. He hadn't counted on such a condition being implemented.

Suddenly all attention was on me. I could still feel my heart thundering painfully, my palms were sweaty, I kept glancing around for any sign of Arturo or his men.

"Get in the car, Florence," my father ordered.

Viktor shook his head. "Let her go," he countered, speaking to the two hench men who were currently holding me.

They relinquished their grip instantly.

My first instinct was to run, but I soon realised that I wouldn't get far before my father's men would drag me back. And where would I run to, besides? I could never find my way back to safety in this crowd.

Viktor took another step closer to me, his expression curious as he studied me. "Give us a moment," he requested of the other men, gesturing for them to leave.

"Viktor—"

"In private."

My father's men didn't like the idea any more than he did – if Viktor allowed me to escape, if I behaved in a way which displeased him, the whole deal would be off, and the Genovese mafia would be compromised.

"You've fulfilled your side of the deal," Viktor dismissed the men. "There's nothing more you can do. Leave us."

Raimondo nodded slowly. "We will give you some space, but we will be watching and waiting until the transaction is complete."

Once my father and his men left us standing alone, I felt the weight of the situation bearing down on me fully. I had to play this carefully, thoughtfully, because right now the Luccheses were at a disadvantage. They didn't know that this second exchange was happening – and they wouldn't know until I got into Viktor's car and the Genovese retreated.

Viktor moved closer, until we were practically toe-to-toe. I turned my head away to get some space from his intense gaze.

"Tell me, Florence," he said, voice much quieter now that we were so close, "do I really seem that bad to you?"

Even though his words were unconfrontational, I could feel the danger that radiated off his very skin. He was playing this game in a very specific, very thought-out way, and I couldn't allow myself to fall for any of it.

"Look at me," he commanded, but his tone wasn't harsh.

I did as he asked, noting the sharpness of his cheekbones, the raven-black colour of his hair and eyes. He was clean-shaven, unlike Arturo, and when his lips pulled back into a smile I could see his gold tooth glistening. "I am not going to force you to do anything," he said.

Instantly my attention piqued. Did that mean he would let me go if I refused his hand in marriage?

When he noticed the hope in my eyes he shook his head, letting out a small chuckle. "I am not going to force you to do anything, but if you refuse my proposal, you will be fair game to them." He tilted his head in the direction of my distant father and his men.

"So I don't really have a choice at all," I replied, my voice thick.

He shrugged, "This is not a bad offer, Florence. I want a wife, not a servant, I want someone to stand by me, someone to carry my children when the time comes. You think I would mistreat the mother of my children?"

"I don't know you."

"Have I raised a weapon to you, did I force you into that car, have I raised so much as my voice?"

"No," I admitted.

"I would keep you safe, Florence. Safer than Arturo or any other man could." I was grateful that even as his voice became stronger he didn't reach out to touch me, though I could tell that he so desperately wanted to.

"I don't–" I began, then faltered and changed tack, "–you don't love me."

"That does not mean I couldn't, with time. You could love me, too. We could trust one another in a way you and Arturo will never be able to."

"Don't talk about Arturo and I," I spat, suddenly irritated. All I wanted was for Arturo to swoop in and save me, I wanted him to hold me until I forgot about all of this, until the scent of Viktor's cologne and the sound of his voice were only distant memories.

Viktor nodded apologetically. "I understand how you feel, but that doesn't change the state of play. Look around you, Florence. You are surrounded by enemies, and which are the lesser evil? You already know I mean you no harm. Get in the car, or walk back to your father so he can trade you to some other, much more sadistic, criminal. The choice is yours."

As a war was waged inside my head, Viktor Ivanov began walking away.

If I were to follow him, it would mean Arturo's men might never find me in time. Worse than that, it would be a betrayal of the man I loved. Viktor had put me in the worst situation possible, because he wasn't dragging me kicking and screaming, he wasn't holding a gun to my head, he was letting me choose him under my own volition.

And what was the alternative? If I went back to my family, I couldn't trust that they wouldn't kill me right there and then. I might never make it back to the van Arturo was tracking, and even if I did, they would already be looking for a secondary getaway car.

There was that phrase again – the one that had been playing in my head for the past few days: no guarantee.

Betray the man I loved and hope he would still care enough to find me, or betray myself by going back to my family and facing death or, worse, marriage.

When Viktor reached his vehicle he didn't turn around – he simply opened the door. I had limited time to act, my time to think was running out and now I needed to move. Forcing myself not to overthink, I began moving toward Viktor, praying to god that Arturo would have the means to find me and save me.