Chapter 3 - The Offer on the Walnut Desk
The grandfather clock in the corner of Leo Casaro’s private study ticked heavily, marking seconds that felt like hours.
The warmth of the room—infused with the rich scents of aged leather, pipe tobacco, and bourbon—contrasted sharply with the icy emptiness settling inside my chest. I stood before the massive walnut desk, my bare feet cold against the Persian rug, holding my high heels like a pathetic shield.
Leo didn’t look away. His dark, sharp eyes searched my face, stripping away the shock, the heartbreak, and the lingering remnants of the girl who had believed in fairy tales just twenty minutes ago.
“You knew?” Leo finally spoke, his voice deep and gravelly, carrying the quiet authority of a man accustomed to ruling kingdoms from the shadows. “About your father’s medical bills? Or about what my son was saying upstairs?”
“I knew nothing about the bills until three minutes ago,” I answered, my voice steady, surprising even myself. “And I heard enough to know that your son’s word is worth less than the glass of champagne I left in the hallway.”
A heavy silence hung between us.
Leo leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. He looked at me not with pity, but with a strange, calculated assessment—the same look he undoubtedly gave capos and rival bosses across a negotiation table.
“Nico is a fool,” Leo said without a shred of paternal defense. “He takes after his mother’s side of the family—entitled, impatient, and blind to the true cost of power. I told him months ago to leave you out of his petty games. He promised he would.”
“A Casaro promise,” I murmured bitterly.
Leo didn’t flinch. Instead, a faint, humorless smile touched the corners of his mouth. “You’re standing in my private study barefoot, holding your shoes, having just discovered the man you loved treated you like a poker chip. Yet your hands aren’t shaking. Why aren't you crying, Myra?”
“Because I spent the last eight months crying over a dying father, worrying about grocery money, and thanking a monster who was laughing behind my back,” I said, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “I used up all my tears. Now, I just want to know what happens next.”
Leo studied me for another long moment. Then, slowly, he picked up a crystal decanter, poured two fingers of amber whiskey into a clean glass, and slid it across the mahogany desk toward me.
“Drink it,” he ordered gently.
I didn’t hesitate. I picked up the glass and took a sharp sip. The burn hit my throat, hot and fierce, clearing away the fog in my head.
“Nico thinks he owns you because he bought you an illusion,” Leo said, leaning forward. “He thinks that by the time Christmas arrives, you’ll be trapped in his bed, tied to his name, just another trophy in his collection.”
“He’s wrong,” I said quietly. “I’m walking out those front gates tonight.”
“And go where?” Leo raised an eyebrow. “Your apartment lease is up next month. Your bank account has been drained trying to keep up with the social circle Nico forced you into. If you walk out of here tonight with nothing, my son will hunt you down, drag you back, and use your family to break you.”
My stomach tightened. He was right. Nico wasn't just arrogant; he was possessive in the way only dangerous men could be.
“Unless,” Leo continued, his voice dropping to a low, magnetic register.
“Unless what?”
Leo stood up from behind the desk, towering over me with an imposing presence that commanded absolute submission—yet, for the first time, I felt no fear. Only a strange, dark kinship.
May you like
“Unless you let me protect you,” Leo said smoothly. “Marry me instead.”
The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering against the Persian rug as the amber liquid soaked into the fabric.
