Prologue 1
Meredith Bannerman
Thirty-One Years Ago
Ihaveonlybeenmarried to my husband, Daniel Bannerman, for two short months when I first seehim. He is tall, with thick dark hair, coffee-colored eyes, and beautiful olive skin—the epitome of what a man should look like. The broad shoulders, tapered waist, and well-fitted suit draw many admiring female eyes.
His features are the counter to mine; while he is dark, I’m fairer. My hair brushes my shoulders in golden-brown waves and my eyes are a particular amber color that often get compared to those of a lioness.
He catches me glancing at him across the bar, and the corner of his mouth lifts as his eyes roam over me, stopping abruptly on the ring that I’m still not used to wearing. His eyes narrow, and I drop mine in shame. I have no business looking at another man. Not when I’m still in the honeymoon phase of my marriage.
I’ll fully admit that I made a mistake marrying Daniel. In the beginning, he was everything I could have hoped for in a man. Although no model, he was handsome enough, even if his blond hair was starting to show signs of thinning. He wined and dined me, complimented and wooed me. I ignored friends and family that tried to warn me we were moving too fast.
At twenty-one, I knew it all. There was nothing anyone could tell me that I would have considered listening to. I should have.
The first time Daniel hit me was on our wedding night. He apologized profusely afterward. It was the stress at work, he claimed. His sister, Presley, married the handsome and wealthy Robert Harrison, and they now live in the exclusive Thousand Oaks neighborhood of Willowmen, Illinois. Instead of consummating our marriage, I spent my wedding night huddled on the floor, listening to Daniel’s drunken ravings about how his sister had it all, while all he had was a mediocre job at an insurance company.
It was the end of a perfectly awful day.
Once he calmed down and made many promises to never hurt me again, we settled into his small three-bedroom home on a large lot that afforded us privacy from nosy neighbors. Daniel is anxious to have children as soon as possible, and while I was previously delighted by the idea, I now worry about bringing a child into this house.
Daniel’s arm comes down hard across my shoulders, knocking me out of my reverie as he trips over his feet coming back from the bathroom. “Another beer!” he shouts out, knocking on the bar loudly. I inwardly flinch at the noise, my shoulders tensing as my body prepares for the blow.
Of course, it doesn’t come—Daniel isn’t stupid enough to touch me in public. Raising my eyes, they clash withhis, and I see his brow furrow as he takes in my demeanor. Swallowing his whiskey, he tosses a few notes on the counter, then begins to make his way toward us, my eyes widening in consternation and fear.What is he doing?
Sitting down next to Daniel, he holds his hand out to him. “Vincenzo Gianelli.”
Daniel removes his death grip on my shoulder and narrows his eyes as he takes in the god-like man sitting next to him. “Daniel Bannerman. Who the fuck are you?” he asks belligerently, his words slurring just enough to indicate intoxication.
“I’m the man that makes dreams come true. Tell me, Daniel—what is it you desire?”
Daniel squirms in his chair, one hand rising to flick through his hair. I’ll admit that it is a disconcerting question, especially from a stranger. And one that must certainly be more suited to Lucifer himself, as opposed to the sharply dressed, incredibly handsome man sitting opposite.
“Ha!” Daniel cries out, a sneer spreading across his face. Holding up his bottle of Corona, he tilts it toward Vincenzo before bringing it to his lips. “What do I desire? I want to own a car dealership. And not one of those shitty used car places.” He weaves slightly on the barstool, his eyes reddening with every sip of beer. “One of those luxury ones, with fancy sports cars. That’s what I want.”
Vincenzo’s eyes gleam, and just for a moment, I’m sure I see the fires of hell dancing in their depths. His tongue darts out, wetting his full bottom lip, and his hungry eyes rake over me, turning me into a puddle.
Clapping Daniel on the back, he leans forward to speak softly to him. “I don’t provide dreams for free,” he says in a hypnotizing voice that sends shivers running down my spine. “Give me your wife for one night, and tomorrow, you’ll have the keys to the finest dealership in Willowmen.”
Daniel rears back in shock and tumbles off the stool, landing in an undignified heap as several patrons leer at him. He pulls himself up with a scowl and wraps his hand around my bicep, digging his fingers painfully into my arm. “My wife isn’t for sale,” he says with a growl and tosses a few notes on the bar to cover our drinks.
Vincenzo grins and reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a business card. Standing, he hands it to Daniel, a smirk spreading across his face.
“Everyone is for sale,” he murmurs. He reaches forward and grabs my hand, placing a kiss on the underside of my wrist, just on the pulse point.
I yank my arm back as confusion swirls through me. He’s just made my night so much worse. Daniel will blame this on me.
Nine Months Later
Nathaniel Vincent Bannerman. I gaze down at the perfect little boy sleeping peacefully in my arms. Nurses bustle around the delivery room, putting away equipment and getting ready to move me to my room. They blatantly ignore the finger-shaped bruises on my upper arms, turn away from the marks on my neck.
Glancing up, I spot Daniel through the window, his pacing speeding up as he runs his hands through what’s left of his hair.
The car dealership Vincenzo “gave” Daniel after our night together wasn’t the deal Daniel thought it would be; instead of the owner, he’s the manager, and he’s never forgiven me for it since.
As if it wasn’t his own doing—as if, when he sobered up after that night in the bar, he hadn’t realized his mistake, and called Vincenzo that very morning, setting my life on a whole new course. And leaving me pregnant.
Daniel has made me promise to never reveal to Nate who his biological father is, and I agreed. What else could I do when he had a knife to my throat?
