She Discovered A Hidden Ultrasound Before Her Wedding—Then The Mafia Boss Came Into Her Life

Camille stood her ground in the middle of the dark rug, refusing to show the trembling in her knees.

"I am not calm, Mr. Moretti," she said coldly. "I am furious. And I am in no mood to play games with the man my ex-fiancé owes money to."

Valentin leaned back in his leather chair, a faint, intrigued arc rising in one eyebrow. "Ex-fiancé. So the wedding is officially canceled?"

"It was canceled the moment I found out he was a lying coward," Camille replied, stepping closer to the desk and slamming Trevor's leather notebook down onto the wood. "He left this behind. I assume these are your figures?"

Valentin glanced down at the notebook, then back up at her face. A slow, dangerous smile touched the corners of his mouth. "Trevor was always careless. He thought he was smarter than he was. He took three hundred thousand dollars from my casino operations under the pretense of investing it into a real estate venture. Instead, he used it to cover previous debts in Chicago."

"And the woman?" Camille asked before she could stop herself. "The pregnant one?"

Valentin’s grey eyes narrowed slightly. "You know about her?"

"I found the ultrasound," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "That's why he ran."

Valentin let out a soft, dry laugh that lacked any humor. "Trevor didn't run because of a baby, Miss Hunt. He ran because that woman happens to be the younger sister of a very dangerous man in the Chicago Outfit. Trevor played both ends against the middle. He promised her he would leave you, he promised me he would pay back the loan using your family’s inheritance trust, and he promised you a white wedding."

Camille felt a sudden nauseating wave hit her chest. Her inheritance trust. Her grandfather had left her a modest trust fund meant for buying a home or starting a business. Trevor had known about it. He had planned to use her money to pay off his mob debts all along.

"He never loved me," she whispered, more to herself than to Valentin.

"Men like Trevor don't love people," Valentin said, his voice dropping into a harsh, pragmatic tone. "They use them. And now, he has left you holding his debts."

"I don't owe you a single cent," Camille said fiercely, looking straight into Valentin's cold grey eyes. "I never signed a paper. I didn't know about the loan. Legally, you have zero claim over me or my family."

"Legally?" Valentin chuckled, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. He leaned in so close she could smell the faint scent of his cologne—rich, woody, and dangerous. "Miss Hunt, do I look like a bank to you? Do I look like someone who files claims in civil court?"

"What do you want, Mr. Moretti?"

Valentin studied her face for a long moment, taking in the fierce, unbroken fire in her eyes despite the ruined wedding day and the terrifying world she had just been dragged into.

"Trevor is hiding," Valentin said smoothly. "He thinks he can disappear into the noise of Chicago or South America. But he cares about one thing above all else: his pride. He cannot stand the thought of losing what he considers his status."

Valentin stood up. He was tall—over six feet—and his broad frame seemed to command every inch of space in the room. He walked around the desk until he was standing just inches from her.

"I want Trevor brought back to this city," Valentin said. "And the fastest way to draw a rat out of his hole is to take the thing he thought he owned."