Chapter 2: THE MAN I WAS SUPPOSED TO MARRY

Marcus Bellamy had never loved me.

He had wanted to own me.

There was a difference, although my father had never seemed to understand it.

Seven months earlier, I had been living in a beautiful mansion in Lake Forest, surrounded by everything money could buy.

Marble floors.

Expensive furniture.

A bedroom larger than most apartments.

And absolutely no freedom.

My father, Anthony Russo, was a wealthy businessman whose trucking empire had been built through decades of questionable partnerships.

He believed daughters existed to strengthen family alliances.

My marriage to Marcus was supposed to secure one of them.

Marcus was twenty-one years older than I was.

He had been married twice.

Both marriages had ended badly.

And I had heard enough whispers about his temper to know I would never be safe with him.

Three times, I refused.

Three times, my father ignored me.

“You’re being childish, Elena,” he told me.

“I’m twenty-five.”

“Then start acting like a woman who understands responsibility.”

“I don’t love him.”

My father barely looked up from his newspaper.

“Love doesn’t keep businesses alive.”

I remembered the last dinner before my escape.

Marcus sat beside me, smiling for our guests.

Under the table, his fingers closed around my wrist.

Hard.

“Stop embarrassing me,” he whispered.

“You’re hurting me.”

His smile never changed.

“Then stop resisting.”

My father saw everything.

He simply poured another glass of wine.

That night, I finally understood something terrible.

Nobody was coming to rescue me.

If I wanted freedom, I would have to take it.

At 12:43 a.m., I cut off my hair.

At 3:17 a.m., I climbed through the laundry-room window.

And before sunrise, Elena Russo had disappeared.

Now, seven months later, Marcus was sitting inside Dante Moretti’s office.

I couldn’t hear everything through the closed door.

But I heard enough.

“She’s somewhere in Chicago,” Marcus said.

Dante’s voice followed.

“Who?”

“My fiancée. Ran away before the wedding.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to marry you.”

Marcus laughed.

“Women don’t always know what they want.”

There was a long silence.

Then Dante spoke.

“That’s a dangerous assumption.”

I froze.

Marcus’s voice hardened.

“Her father wants her home.”

“And what does she want?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

Another silence.

Then Dante said something I would never forget.

“Not to me.”

My eyes filled unexpectedly.

I hadn’t heard a powerful man defend a woman’s right to choose in a very long time.

But I couldn’t afford to believe Dante was different.

Powerful men had destroyed my life once.

I wouldn’t give another one the chance.

When Marcus finally left, he walked slowly past my workbench.

Then he stopped.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Eli.”

“Eli what?”

“Ross.”

He smiled.

“Well, Eli Ross, you remind me of someone.”

I forced myself to meet his eyes.

“Hope that’s a good thing, sir.”

Marcus’s smile disappeared.

“That depends.”

He leaned close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne.

“Some people spend their whole lives running from me.”

Then he walked away.

I didn’t breathe until his SUV disappeared.

But across the garage, Dante Moretti was watching.

And this time, he wasn’t looking at my hands.

He was looking at my fear.