Page 2 of Merciless Proposal

Her legs look ready to give out, the shock of whatever happened inside still paralyzing her. Without hesitation, I scoop her up, cradling her against me. Her arms wrap tightly around my neck as I carry her back to the car, and I can feel her head turning, her gaze locked on the building, scanning for threats.

When we reach the car, I nod to the driver, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Take us to the penthouse.”

Red can chew me out later for ducking out early. Right now, Natalia needs space, safety. And even though I just met her, there’s something about her—something in the way she clings to me—that makes it impossible to say no.

Chapter Two

NATALIA

I didn’t think far enough ahead when I called in the tip earlier today. I should’ve known I might come face to face with my family’s rivals. Obviously, I knew they’d be involved—I’m the one who reached out to them, after all. But I could’ve timed my escape better. Or planned for the fact that I’d end up sitting next to Jace.

Jace doesn’t seem all that bad, though. Not for a mobster, anyway. He’s kind—gentler than I expected—and there’s a calm confidence in him that feels nothing like the chaos I grew up with. He’s nothing like my family. Nothing like my father. Jace would never be involved in something as horrific as the trafficking ring my dad started.

What’s stranger is that I actually feel safe with him. The way he talks, the way he moves—it’s as if nothing in the world could touch me while I’m near him. I don’t think it would matter if he knew who I was. But I’m not ready to test that theory. Not yet.

Since we got in the car, he hasn’t said a word. He just sits there, solid and steady, like an anchor I didn’t realize I needed. And somehow, I’m calmer now than I’ve been in years. Everything feels less sharp, less terrifying, simply because he’s here.

When the car finally stops in front of a gleaming high-rise, Jace breaks the silence. His voice is soft but resolute.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” he says, glancing at me with those steady, unreadable eyes. “You’ll be safe here, I promise.”

I let him help me out of the car, his hand tight around mine as he leads me through the lavish glass doors. We get onto an elevator, and he nods at the concierge at the front desk. Once we’re inside the elevator, he looks me over. I’m worried that he might see some resemblance between me and my father.

Jace surprises me by asking, “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”

I blink at him, relief rushing through me. I say, “I’m okay now,” and I mean it.

A part of me wants to tell Jen. Up until now, I considered her my closest friend. We shared everything—our secrets, our lives, our fears. Then, she confessed something dark to me, something I couldn’t unhear. She said she’d been leading girls into our families’ safehouses for the sole purpose of being trafficked. I wanted to scream, throw up, rage…but instead, I made the call that would change everything. So no, I can’t tell her about Jace.

“Good,” he says firmly, grabbing my hand again and squeezing it softly.

We step off the elevator and into the penthouse. It’s fancy, but in a way that feels understated—everything is sleek and modern, but not gaudy. The furniture is high-end, the kind that’s comfortable but clearly expensive. There aren’t many decorations, just enough to tell the story of a place someone uses more for sleeping than living.

Jace leads me to the white couch, plush and inviting. He lingers, almost reluctant to let go of my hand. His fingertips brush against my palm when he finally pulls away. Then, he crouches down in front of me, his presence no longer as imposing. He rests his large hand on my cheek, and for a moment, I almost flinch from the heat of his touch.

“I’m going to grab you something hot to drink,” he says, his voice low and soothing, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. “You look like you’re freezing.” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “Then, I’ll ask you a few questions.”

I open my mouth, but the words don’t come right away. I swallow hard, trying to steady myself. My eyes flutter shut as the warmth of his touch sinks deeper.

“I don’t…” I start, my voice shaky. “I don’t want to answer any questions.”

I hate lying to him. Even though I don’t have any reason to tell him the truth, it feels like I’m starting this... whatever this is between us, based on lies. But then again, is there even a relationship? We’ve barely spoken, yet every look we share, every subtle shift in the air, tells me there’s something there. Chemistry. And when I look into his honey-brown eyes, I swear I can see a future.

“It’s nothing intense,” he promises, his voice gruff, like softness isn’t something he’s used to giving. I feel something warm curl in my chest. Special.

But then he pauses, like he’s holding something back, like he doesn’t want to push any further.

“I don’t want to go home,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them, wondering if that’s what all of this is leading to.

“Then I don’t have any questions for you,” he replies, standing up straighter, the resolve in his voice shifting. “Well, I do have some, but they’re not as urgent. Our guys can figure out what I need to know.”

With that, he turns toward the kitchen, his touch still lingering on my cheek even after he’s out of the room. I hearthe soft sounds of him moving around—water running, cabinets opening and closing, the hum of a kettle boiling. A few minutes later, he’s back, holding a steaming mug in his hands.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches as I sip the drink, the warmth spreading through me. Once I’ve taken a few swallows, he speaks again, his voice as soft as I think it can be.

“Can you tell me how you ended up there? Or who took you?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, and even though it’s not a full lie, it feels like one. A lie by omission.

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