Chapter 2 Forbidden Fruit

Nicholas POV

I watch this Cherry girl walk away and disappear around the corner. Something about her lingers in my mind. Not just her body, which I'd had just minutes ago, but her defiance. The way she refused my money, the way she spoke to me like I was just another man.

Seeing that I'm finished here, Leo walks back, eyebrow raised. "Sir, I see you're handling some legitimate business in San Laurent." His tone is playful, a liberty I allow few people.

"Enough with the jokes," I say, straightening my collar. "Follow her. Find out who she is."

"Right away, sir." Leo nods, his expression shifting to professional detachment.

As Leo drives away, I walk toward the entrance of Purgatory Club. The moment my foot touches the pavement, three of my men materialize from the shadows, falling into formation around me. It's unnecessary. No one in this club would dare touch me. But protocol is protocol.

Inside, the club parts for me like the Red Sea. Men in expensive suits nod respectfully; women's eyes linger a second too long. I'm led to my private room, where the noise of the club fades to a dull throb behind soundproofed walls.

I sit at my desk, pulling up tomorrow's agenda on my laptop. A dinner with the Millers—some failing manufacturing company looking for investment. I should be focused on preparing, but my mind keeps drifting back to Cherry.

Most women, after having sex with a stranger, would have taken the money. Especially considering my appearance and the Bentley Continental GT. They can smell wealth a mile away. But she had turned the tables on me, offering to pay me instead. Interesting.

The truth is, my sex with Cherry wasn't entirely because of her pleading or out of pity on my part. I'd been drugged, too.

The realization makes me clench my fist in frustration. I'm Nicholas, current head of the Salvatore crime family. I've survived assassination attempts, hostile takeovers, and federal investigations. Yet I fell victim to something as basic as a drugged drink.

The Salvatores are infamous in the underworld, with operations spanning America and beyond. Our headquarters in Chicago is just the visible tip of a very large, very profitable iceberg. Since taking over the family business, I've expanded our interests considerably. But San Laurent's government has recently begun cracking down on grey-market industries, forcing me to seek ways to legitimize our holdings here.

The proposed solution—a marriage alliance with the Millers—came from our consigliere. My nephew Vincent would marry the Miller daughter, we'd inject capital into their dying manufacturing business, and in return, we'd have a legitimate front for washing our San Laurent assets.

I hadn't planned on coming to San Laurent myself. Vincent should have come here to meet with the Millers and discuss the details of their engagement. But the idiot got drunk and fell down a flight of stairs. Three days in bed, minimum. He begged me to come in his place, so off I go, scouting potential entertainment venues for future legitimate business while I'm at it.

Then, within hours of landing, I'd found myself in a seemingly reputable bar, feeling an unnatural heat coursing through my body as women started pawing at me. I recognized the symptoms immediately. Someone had drugged me. I ordered Leo to drive me to Purgatory, planning to lock myself away until the effects subsided.

The aphrodisiacs they used weren't particularly potent, not compared to the substances I'd been exposed to during my education as heir to the family. I could have waited it out.

But then Leo hit her with the car. Cherry. I'm ruthless, but I don't harm innocents, especially ordinary women. I figured letting her into the car would be safe enough. My self-control would hold.

What I hadn't counted on was her being drugged, too. When she climbed into my lap, begging me to save her, to fuck her... I considered many possibilities at that moment. Including that she might be a plant from my enemies.

But the genuine desperation in her eyes told me she was a victim, just like me. So I gave in to what both our bodies were demanding. Afterward, I tried to pay her off. Standard procedure. But her response had been anything but standard.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by the ringing of my phone. My grandfather, Donovan.

"I hear you're handling Vincent's marriage arrangements?" His voice is gruff. "Since you're there, ask if they have another daughter for you. If you don't bring home a wife this year, I'm giving the overseas shares to Anthony."

I suppress a sigh. At thirty, I'm still unmarried and childless, a constant source of concern for my grandfather. He fears I'll die suddenly without an heir, throwing the family into chaos. Anthony, my oldest brother, is the family's public face, but he holds little real power. I, the fourth son, handle all domestic operations.

In some way, I need those overseas shares to counter internal power struggles. But marriage isn't something you can just conjure on demand.

"I'll keep that in mind," I tell him, ending the call as Leo returns.

"The girl entered a townhouse in the Upper East Side," he reports. "Her name is Cherry Miller, eighteen years old—"

I feel something cold drop in my stomach. "Eighteen?" Fuck, if I'd known she was that young, I would never have touched her. What kind of monster am I?

Leo continues, "She's Arthur Miller's daughter." He slides a photo across the desk. "The Millers are old money, but they've fallen on hard times recently. Sir, I believe she might have targeted you for blackmail..."

Leo is still talking, but I've stopped listening, my eyes fixed on the photograph.

I just fucked my nephew's bride-to-be.