Giovanny stared at her. His eyes dropped to her chest, then slowly moved down her arm to her red, swollen wrist.

A dark, violent flash crossed his eyes. It was there and gone in a second.

Clarissa opened her mouth. Her throat was dry. "Giovanny, I can explain-"

He raised a single finger.

The gesture was so small, but it cut off her words like a knife to the throat. She snapped her mouth shut.

Giovanny slowly turned his head. He finally looked at Dwayne, who was now being forced to his knees by two guards.

Dwayne's face was red with anger. "Do you know who my father is? He owns half the real estate in Manhattan! I'll have your badges for this!"

Giovanny let out a low, dry laugh. It held zero humor.

He reached into the inside pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a custom, encrypted black phone.

He dialed a single number. He didn't wait for a greeting.

"Activate Protocol Omega on all Boggs assets," Giovanny said. His voice was smooth, deadly calm. "Liquidate their credit lines. Yes, all of them. I want them bled dry before midnight. Now."

He hung up. He slid the phone back into his pocket.

Less than ten seconds later, Dwayne's phone started vibrating violently in his pocket.

Giovanny nodded at his guard. The guard loosened his grip just enough for Dwayne to reach into his pants.

Dwayne pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Dad?" Dwayne said.

Even over the heavy club music, Clarissa could hear the hysterical screaming coming from the speaker. The voice on the other end was sobbing, screaming that Wall Street had just pulled every single line of credit the family owned. They were ruined.

All the blood drained from Dwayne's face. He looked like a corpse.

His hand went limp. The phone slipped from his fingers and shattered on the marble floor.

Dwayne looked up at Giovanny. True, primal terror filled his eyes. He finally realized who was standing in front of him.

Dwayne's knees gave out completely. He tried to crawl forward on the sticky floor to grab Giovanny's shoes. "Please. Please, I didn't know-"

Giovanny stepped back. His face twisted in pure disgust.

The guard stepped forward and kicked Dwayne hard in the chest, sending him sprawling backward onto the floor.

"Take the trash out the back door," Giovanny ordered. His voice didn't rise above a conversational tone.

The guards grabbed Dwayne by his collar and dragged him away.

Giovanny turned his attention back to Clarissa. The air between them turned to stone.

Maya groaned from the floor. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, blinking up at Giovanny in a drunken daze. She let out a loud hiccup.

Giovanny looked at Maya. His upper lip curled in revulsion.

"You put yourself in danger for this worthless social interaction," Giovanny said. His words were clipped, hitting Clarissa like bullets.

Clarissa's hands shook. "She is my best friend. I couldn't just leave her here like this."

Giovanny took a step closer. His chest almost brushed hers.

"Clause four of our prenuptial agreement," Giovanny whispered, his voice dark and low. "You have an absolute obligation to maintain the public image of this family."

He looked her up and down. "And tonight, you are fighting at a bar like a cheap escort. You are in breach of contract."

Clarissa bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. Tears burned the back of her eyes. The humiliation settled heavy in her stomach. She refused to let the tears fall.

Giovanny raised his left arm. He pulled back his cuff to reveal a Patek Philippe watch.

"It is ten forty-five," Giovanny said.

He dropped his arm. He looked straight into her eyes.

"As a consequence of your actions, your curfew is now eleven o'clock. Every night. Starting tonight."

Clarissa's eyes widened. Her lungs stopped working. "That is insane! I can't even get her home by eleven!"

Giovanny ignored her. He turned his back to her and started walking toward the VIP exit.

Clarissa took two steps after him. Her mind raced. She thought he was going to take them to his car.

Giovanny stopped. He turned his head slightly, looking at her over his shoulder.

"My car does not carry drunks," he said. His voice was completely hollow.

He turned fully to face her. "You will figure out how to handle your friend's mess. And you will be back at the penthouse before eleven o'clock."

He didn't wait for a reply. He pushed through the heavy exit doors, his guards flanking him. He disappeared into the cold New York night.

Clarissa stood frozen.

She looked down at her own watch. Fifteen minutes.

A heavy, suffocating wave of despair crashed over her. Her stomach twisted into knots.

She turned and bent down. She grabbed Maya's arm and hauled her heavy, limp body up.

Clarissa dragged her friend toward the front doors of the club, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was entering a race she already knew she was going to lose.

Clarissa dragged Maya out of the club doors.

A blast of freezing night air hit her face. She shivered violently, her thin dress offering no protection against the Manhattan wind.

She dragged Maya to the curb. She raised her free arm, waving frantically at the street.

"Taxi! Please!" she yelled.

A yellow cab slowed down. The driver looked at Maya, who was currently bent over, gagging dryly toward the gutter. The driver immediately hit the gas and sped away.

Two more empty cabs did the exact same thing.

Clarissa's chest tightened. She felt like she couldn't breathe. Hot tears of frustration pricked her eyes.

Finally, a beat-up Ford taxi screeched to a halt in front of them.

Clarissa practically shoved Maya into the backseat. She dove in after her, slamming the door shut.

"Brooklyn. Please, hurry," Clarissa gasped out the address.

The taxi jerked forward, merging into the heavy traffic.

Clarissa looked down at her wrist. The second hand swept past the twelve.

It was exactly eleven o'clock.

Her stomach dropped. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck.

The taxi hit the Brooklyn Bridge and stopped dead. A sea of red taillights stretched out for miles in front of them.

Clarissa leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. She watched the minutes tick by. Eleven-ten. Eleven-twenty. Eleven-thirty.

With every minute that passed, the knot of terror in her stomach pulled tighter.

At eleven forty-five, the taxi finally pulled up to Maya's apartment building.

Clarissa threw a hundred-dollar bill at the driver. She hauled Maya out of the car, dragged her into the dingy elevator, and practically carried her into her bedroom.

She dropped Maya onto the bed. She didn't even stop to take a breath or grab a glass of water.

Clarissa spun around and sprinted out of the apartment. She ran down the street until she flagged down another cab heading back to Manhattan.

The traffic on the way back was lighter, but it didn't matter. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like a bird trapped in her ribcage.

At twelve fifteen, the cab pulled up to the curb on the Upper East Side.

Clarissa stared up at the massive, ultra-luxury skyscraper. It looked like a fortress.

She pushed the car door open and walked toward the heavy brass and bulletproof glass doors.

The night doorman opened the door for her. He gave a polite bow, but Clarissa saw the look in his eyes. It was pity. Pure, unadulterated pity.

She swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

She walked across the massive, empty marble lobby. She reached the private elevator reserved only for the penthouse.

She pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner. The scanner beeped green. The doors slid open silently.

She stepped inside and pressed the button for the top floor.

The elevator shot upward at a sickening speed. The sudden loss of gravity made her stomach churn. The terror peaked, freezing the blood in her veins.

With a soft ding, the elevator stopped. The doors slowly opened directly into the penthouse foyer.

The apartment was pitch black.

The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting cold, silver shadows of the Manhattan skyline across the cashmere rugs.

Clarissa held her breath. She slipped her high heels off her feet.

She stepped onto the soft rug in her bare feet. She prayed to God that Giovanny was already asleep.

She took three silent steps into the living room.

Suddenly, a dim, yellow reading lamp clicked on in the far corner of the room.

Clarissa gasped, sucking in a sharp breath. Her entire body locked up.

At the edge of the light, Giovanny sat in a custom Italian leather armchair.

He had taken off his suit jacket. His tie was pulled loose, hanging around his neck. The top three buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, exposing his collarbone. He looked relaxed. Deadly.

He held a glass of bourbon. He swirled the liquid. The ice cubes clinked against the crystal. The sound was deafening in the quiet room.

He didn't look at her. He just stared at the amber liquid.

His voice cut through the silence. Low. Cruel.

"Twelve seventeen," Giovanny said. "You are seventy-seven minutes late."

Clarissa swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. She opened her mouth, desperately searching for the right words to save herself.

Giovanny slowly lifted his head.

His eyes locked onto hers. In the dim light, his gaze was colder than the ice in his glass. He looked at her exactly the way a wolf looks at a lamb.

Clarissa stood frozen in the foyer. Her hands gripped the leather strap of her purse so tightly her fingers cramped.

She forced herself to take a breath. The air in the penthouse felt too thin.

"The traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge was completely stopped," she said. Her voice cracked, echoing weakly in the massive, empty living room.

Giovanny continued to swirl his drink. He didn't even blink.

"Do you think my time is cheap, Clarissa?" he asked softly.

"You gave me fifteen minutes!" she snapped, her fear briefly turning into defensive anger. "Your curfew was impossible, and you know it."

Giovanny's eyes darkened. The temperature in the room plummeted.

He slammed the crystal glass down on the side table. The loud crack made Clarissa jump.

He stood up. His massive frame seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room. He walked toward her, his steps slow and heavy.

Clarissa instinctively took a step back. Her bare heel hit the metal track of the elevator doors. She was trapped.

Giovanny stopped right in front of her. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his chest. The sharp scent of cedar and bourbon invaded her lungs.

He reached out. His long, strong fingers clamped around her chin.

He tilted her head up, forcing her to look directly into his eyes.

Her vision focused. Being this close, she noticed something she hadn't seen in the dark club.

Right below Giovanny's right eye, there was a tiny, thin red scratch.

It was a fresh cut. A piece of flying glass from Dwayne's shattered lowball glass must have grazed him downstairs during the violent scuffle.

Clarissa's breath hitched. Without thinking, she raised her hand. Her fingers reached up to touch the mark on his skin.

Before she could make contact, Giovanny's hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist mid-air.

His grip was like a steel vise. Clarissa let out a sharp gasp of pain.

A dangerous light flickered in his eyes.

"This," Giovanny whispered, his voice dripping with malice as he referenced the scratch, "is the direct cost of your stupidity tonight."

Clarissa's stomach twisted. The anger drained out of her, replaced instantly by a heavy, suffocating wave of guilt. She had caused this.

Giovanny released her chin. He looked down at her, his expression turning into a mask of pure authority.

"Since you caused this injury, you will take responsibility for my care tonight," he stated.

Clarissa's eyes widened. She pressed her back harder against the elevator doors. "That is sick!" she snapped, her voice shaking with humiliation and disbelief. "You cannot ask me to do that! I am your wife, not your servant!"

Giovanny leaned in. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear.

"Go to the master bathroom and run the water," he commanded, his voice a dark, husky rumble. "As punishment for being late, and for this scratch, you are going to wash my back tonight."

Clarissa's face burned. The blood rushed to her cheeks.

"No," she said, her voice shaking with humiliation. "I won't do that."

Giovanny straightened up. The dark amusement vanished from his face, leaving behind a terrifying emptiness.

"Santos Enterprises needs my signature tomorrow morning to extend their bank loans," he said smoothly.

Clarissa's heart stopped. Her father's company.

Her knees suddenly felt weak. Her body gave a violent tremble. He knew exactly where to strike.

She glared up at him. Tears of pure, hot fury welled in her eyes, but she clamped her jaw shut. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

Giovanny didn't care about her anger. He turned around and started walking down the long hallway toward the master bedroom.

He stopped at the end of the hall. He turned his head slightly.

"Move," he ordered. "My patience is gone."

Clarissa closed her eyes. She took a ragged breath, forcing the tears back down.

She dropped her purse on the floor. She peeled off her coat and tossed it onto the sofa.

Her bare feet felt like lead as she forced herself to walk down the hallway, following him into the lion's den.

She pushed open the heavy double doors of the master bedroom. The scent of his cologne was overpowering here.

She walked past the massive king-sized bed and headed straight for the frosted glass doors of the master bathroom.

She pushed the door open. The bright, sterile lights of the bathroom hit her eyes, blinding her for a second.

She stepped inside, her stomach churning with dread.