Gena supported Claudio's heavy frame as they stumbled out from beneath the fire escape and onto the edge of a commercial street.

The police sirens wailed two blocks away, the red and blue lights reflecting off the wet asphalt. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

Claudio's breathing grew ragged. Blood loss was making his legs give out. He leaned heavily against Gena, his weight pressing down on her thin shoulders.

Gena gritted her teeth, scanning the empty street for a cab or a place to hide.

Suddenly, a black Range Rover sped around the corner and slammed on its brakes, the tires shrieking against the wet pavement. It stopped ten feet in front of them.

The doors flew open. Mitch, with a bloody bandage wrapped around his forehead, jumped out. Two massive, muscle-bound enforcers stepped out behind him, gripping wooden baseball bats.

Mitch pointed a thick finger at Gena. "There's the little bitch! Break her legs and throw her in the trunk!"

Gena's stomach plummeted. She cursed under her breath. Her muscles instinctively tensed, preparing to run, but she knew she couldn't outrun two thugs while dragging a bleeding man.

Claudio felt her panic. He forced himself to stand straight, pulling his weight off her. His dark eyes locked onto Mitch and his men, his expression turning to pure ice.

The enforcers stepped forward, backing Gena and Claudio against the glass window of a closed coffee shop.

Gena's brain spun. She had a split second to act. She spun around and threw her arms around Claudio's waist, burying her face into his chest.

"Baby!" Gena cried out, forcing her voice to tremble with fake terror. "These are the men who tried to kidnap me!"

Claudio's body went completely rigid. He looked down at the girl clinging to him, a flash of pure shock crossing his face before he instantly understood the play.

Mitch stopped in his tracks at the word "baby." He narrowed his eyes, taking in the sight of the tall man. Despite the blood and mud, the bespoke suit and the arrogant posture screamed money.

Claudio didn't miss a beat. He lifted his right arm and wrapped it securely around Gena's shoulders, pulling her tight against his side.

His eyes turned dead and hollow. He looked at Mitch with the absolute disdain of a king looking at a cockroach. "You want to touch my woman?" he asked, his voice low and lethal.

Mitch shifted his weight uncomfortably, intimidated by the stare. But he puffed out his chest. "She owes me money. She's my property."

Claudio let out a dark, mocking laugh. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a solid metal Black Centurion Card bearing the Pierce family crest. He held it loosely between his index and middle finger.

Claudio's sharp eyes caught the edge of a crude falcon tattoo peeking out from beneath Mitch's bloody shirt collar. "You work for the Falcone family out of Brooklyn," Claudio said, casually dropping the name of Mitch's mob boss. "Tell Jimmy Falcone that Claudio Pierce said to back the fuck off."

Mitch's face drained of all color. The moment he heard his boss's name and the name 'Pierce,' his tough-guy act crumbled into dust. He knew exactly who the Pierce family was.

Claudio leaned forward slightly, the physical threat radiating off him. "I'm giving you ten seconds to get out of my sight, or your entire operation burns to the ground by morning."

Cold sweat broke out on Mitch's upper lip. He stared at the Black Card, then at Claudio's cold eyes. He swallowed hard, took a step back, and bowed his head.

"My apologies, Mr. Pierce. We didn't know," Mitch stammered. He waved frantically at his men. The three of them scrambled back into the Range Rover and sped off into the night.

Gena watched the taillights disappear. The adrenaline left her body in a rush. She let out a long, shaky breath and stepped back from Claudio's chest.

The moment the threat was gone, Claudio's arrogant posture collapsed. He let out a sharp groan of pain and slid down the glass window, hitting the pavement hard.

Gena dropped to her knees and grabbed his shoulders to keep him from falling flat.

Claudio looked up at her, a weak smirk on his pale lips. "Nice acting. We're even now."

Gena knew he was going to bleed out if she didn't get him off the street. She pulled out the car keys she took from Mitch and pressed the unlock button. An old, beat-up Honda Civic parked at the corner flashed its lights.

Gena dragged Claudio up and shoved him into the passenger seat of the Honda. She got behind the wheel, slammed her foot on the gas, and drove toward Flushing. She let out a cold, calculating breath. The most dangerous place was the safest place. Neither Mitch's thugs nor whoever shot Claudio would ever expect them to hide out in the filthy apartment of the two parasites who had just sold her. Her adoptive parents' apartment was the only place she could think of to hide a billionaire.

Gena used her shoulder to shove open the peeling metal door of the Flushing apartment building. She dragged Claudio, whose face was now the color of ash, into the cramped living room.

The air inside was thick with the smell of cheap beer and greasy fried chicken. Leland, her adoptive father, was sprawled on the stained sofa watching a baseball game. Bulah, her adoptive mother, was sitting at the table counting a small stack of one-dollar bills.

Bulah's head snapped up at the sound of the door. When she saw Gena-the girl she had sold just hours ago-standing there, her face twisted in rage. She opened her mouth to scream.

The scream died in her throat the second her eyes locked onto the man leaning against Gena. Specifically, her eyes locked onto the blood-stained Patek Philippe watch on his wrist.

Leland jumped off the sofa. He wasn't a smart man, but he knew expensive fabric when he saw it. The ruined suit Claudio wore cost more than their apartment.

Gena stared at the two greedy parasites with dead eyes. "This is my boyfriend," she lied smoothly. "We got mugged. He's hurt."

Bulah's expression flipped instantly. A sickeningly sweet, fawning smile stretched across her face. She rubbed her hands together and rushed forward. "Oh, my poor dear! Is your boyfriend okay? Let me help!"

Claudio fought through the agonizing pain in his gut. He maintained his aristocratic posture, giving Bulah a look of absolute disgust. He let out a cold, dismissive "Hmph" through his nose.

Leland reached out to grab Claudio's arm, but Claudio shot him a glare so sharp that Leland yanked his hands back and stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

Gena didn't waste time. She hauled Claudio past them, kicked open the door to her tiny ten-square-foot bedroom, and slammed the door shut, locking it.

Through the thin walls, Gena could hear Bulah and Leland whispering excitedly, already calculating how much money they could extort from their new "son-in-law."

Gena dragged Claudio to the narrow twin bed and pushed him down. She dropped to her knees, pulled a dusty first-aid kit from under the bed, and took out rubbing alcohol, gauze, and scissors.

Claudio leaned against the headboard, his chest rising and falling heavily. He watched this girl-who lived in a slum but moved with the cold precision of an assassin-with growing suspicion.

Gena didn't ask for permission. She took the scissors and, realizing cutting the shirt off overhead would cause him too much pain, cut the ruined, bloody fabric up the side from the hem to the collar, exposing his hard, muscular abdomen and a few faded scars.

Claudio grunted. His abdominal muscles flexed violently as the cold air hit the wound. His hand shot out and gripped Gena's wrist tight.

Their eyes met in the dim light of the desk lamp. Their faces were inches apart. Gena could feel the hot, ragged breath escaping his lips.

Gena yanked her wrist out of his grip. "If you don't want to die of sepsis, hold still, rich boy," she said coldly.

Claudio let his hand drop. He watched in silence as she cleaned the wound, poured the burning alcohol over the torn flesh, and stitched it closed. Her movements weren't those of a trained surgeon, but of a master haute couture designer. She treated his torn flesh like delicate, frayed silk, her fingers executing the precise, tight stitches she had spent years perfecting in her atelier.

When she finished, Gena walked to the tiny bathroom to wash the blood off her hands. She stared at her face in the mirror, digging her nails into her palms to remind herself this wasn't a dream.

She walked back into the bedroom. Claudio had taken over the entire twin bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady.

Gena sighed. She grabbed a thin blanket from the closet and prepared to sleep on the hard wooden floor.

Just as she laid the blanket down, a soft knock came from the door. "Gena, sweetie? I brought you two some hot milk," Leland's voice called out. The doorknob rattled.

Gena cursed. To keep the lie intact, she unlocked the door, took the mugs from Leland, and sat on the edge of the bed, pretending to be close to Claudio. Leland's eyes darted around the room greedily before he finally shut the door.

The second the door clicked shut, Claudio's eyes snapped open. His long arm shot out, grabbed Gena by the waist, and yanked her backward.

Gena gasped as she crashed onto the mattress, her back hitting Claudio's broad, solid chest. The cheap bed springs whined loudly under their combined weight.

Claudio pressed a finger to her lips. He pointed to the bottom of the door. Two dark shadows were visible in the crack of light. Bulah and Leland were standing right outside, eavesdropping.

Gena's body went completely stiff. She was forced to lie perfectly still, pressed flush against a man she barely knew, feeling the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart against her spine.

To sell the performance, Claudio shifted his weight, rolling slightly so he was pressing her into the mattress. He let out a low, deep groan that sounded incredibly suggestive.

The shadows under the door finally shuffled away. But the temperature in the tiny room had skyrocketed. Gena lay trapped in Claudio's arms, her skin burning, as they both waited in tense silence for the sun to rise.

The harsh morning light sliced through the broken plastic blinds, hitting Gena right in the eyes. She woke up with a start, realizing she had slept the entire night curled tightly against Claudio's chest. She scrambled off the bed as if she had been burned.

Claudio woke at her sudden movement. He sat up slowly, wincing slightly, but his eyes were clear and sharp. The vulnerability of the night before was completely gone, replaced by the calculating gaze of a predator.

His custom phone, sitting on the nightstand, began to vibrate violently. He picked it up. His assistant, Dexter, was on the other end, his voice loud enough for Gena to hear.

"Mr. Pierce, the tabloids got wind of the shootout last night. They're saying you were involved in a gang war. The company stock is taking a hit, and your father is threatening to strip your board seat."

Claudio's face turned to stone. His brain processed the crisis in seconds. His dark eyes slowly shifted from the wall and locked onto Gena, who was folding the blanket on the floor.

He hung up the phone. He stood up, buttoned his ruined shirt over his bandaged torso, the torn fabric giving him a rakish, dangerous look. The aura of a billionaire CEO filled the tiny room.

"I need a cover story," Claudio said, his voice all business. "You are going to be my girlfriend. We were out together last night, and we got caught in the crossfire of a random mugging. You corroborate my story, and I pay you."

Gena stopped folding the blanket. She stood up, her face completely unreadable. "What do I get out of this?"

Claudio smirked, assuming she was just like every other woman he dealt with. He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, signed his name, and held out the blank check. "Write whatever number makes you happy."

Gena walked over, took the check from his fingers, crumpled it into a tight ball, and threw it into the trash can. She looked him dead in the eye, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass.

"I don't want your money," Gena said, her voice dropping to a low, intense register. "I want you to take me into the Pierce family's inner circle. I want to attend every dinner, every gala. And I want your absolute protection."

Claudio's smirk vanished. He studied the girl standing in front of him. "Why does a girl from Flushing want to walk into a shark tank like my family?"

"Because the people who sold me to that loan shark belong to your world," Gena lied smoothly, her nails digging into her palms. "I want to watch them burn, and I need a ladder to reach them."

Claudio stared at her for a long moment. He didn't fully believe her, but the raw, violent ambition in her eyes was undeniable. She was the perfect shield.

Claudio held out his right hand. Gena gripped it firmly. In that cramped, filthy bedroom, a contract was forged.

Thirty minutes later, a heavy knock rattled the apartment door. Dexter stood in the hallway, flanked by two massive bodyguards carrying several large garment bags.

Bulah and Leland cowered in the kitchen, terrified by the men in black suits.

Dexter handed Claudio a fresh, tailored suit. He then handed Gena three bags stamped with luxury logos.

Gena took the bags into the tiny bathroom. She stripped off her cheap clothes and pulled on a custom-tailored, black velvet Tom Ford gown. The fabric clung to her curves like a second skin. She applied the high-end makeup quickly, her hands moving with practiced ease.

When Gena opened the bathroom door and stepped out, the air in the room seemed to stop.

Claudio, who had been adjusting his cufflinks in front of a cheap full-length mirror hanging on the bedroom wall, turned and looked at her. His eyes widened slightly, a flash of genuine shock breaking through his cold exterior. The girl from the slums was gone. The woman standing before him radiated a dark, aristocratic elegance that put actual heiresses to shame.

Claudio walked up to her, his gaze intense. He pulled a heavy diamond necklace from a velvet box. He stepped behind her and fastened the clasp at the nape of her neck. His warm fingertips brushed against her cold collarbone, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Once we walk through the doors of my family's house, there is no turning back," Claudio whispered into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. He gestured with his chin toward the cheap full-length mirror. "Look at us."

Gena looked at their reflection. The image was jarring—two predators in flawless attire, set against the backdrop of a peeling, mildew-stained wall. A cold, terrifying smile touched her lips. Let them try, she thought. I've already been torn apart.

They walked out of the apartment, completely ignoring the slack-jawed stares of her adoptive parents.

A massive, black Rolls-Royce Phantom sat idling on the dirty street. A bodyguard opened the heavy door.

Gena lifted the hem of her velvet gown and slid into the plush leather seat with perfect grace. Claudio sat beside her.

Dexter handed Gena an iPad with the guest list for the family dinner they were attending tonight.

Gena scrolled down. The very first name on the list was Hubert Pierce.

Her fingers clamped onto the edges of the iPad so hard her knuckles turned white. Her stomach twisted into a violent knot.

The Rolls-Royce pulled away from the curb, gliding smoothly toward the destination. The game had begun.