His Inheritance

Hidden Gems

SR: Dinner tonight at my place. 9 PM. Dyson will bring you to me.

Your heart slammed in your chest on seeing that text message. Your time was up. Your mind scrambled to think of what you could do to get out of this. How could you escape him?

SR: Don't make me come looking for you.

The warning was clear, and you knew you weren't brave enough to run.

Your mother had tried to escape "the families" when your brother was little, and you were a baby. In an effort to retrieve all of you, your father's men caused an accident. Your mother had been driving too fast to get away on an icy road.

You were the only one to survive the crash that day at six months old.

Your father never remarried and never had more children. He saw to it that you wanted for nothing as you spent your life at one of his homes just outside of the city, away from his men and his illegal activities. Away from what your governess had called a mafia lifestyle.

Your father was the head of an old and powerful crime family in Boston.

He visited you sometimes. Not often. Too many hours and too much alcohol diminished his looks over the years. Even so, he was still an impressive man and commanded the complete respect of his men.

You had tutors for school, the arts. You could play piano and you'd studied ballet. At least once a month, you got to travel to New York City to see Broadway shows, the ballet, visit museums. You always had to travel late at night. Always with your father's scary men lingering in the background. Terrifying men with hard eyes filled with millions of secrets. Your father's secrets.

Secrets you never wanted to know.

But none of them, not your father or his men, scared you as much as Steve Rogers.

You first met the most powerful man in Boston on your eighteenth birthday.

Steve Rogers ripped a hole in the safety of your life when he stormed into your home that day with no warning. You were there having cake with the few friends you were allowed to have, mostly the kids of your tutors, and then only the girls were allowed to attend.

Stormy blue eyes scanned the group of you. Steve Rogers was tall with shoulders as wide as church doors. His hair was dark gold, the color of old coins, swept back from a face that belonged on a matinee idol, not a mobster. His beard, a shade darker than his hair worked with the dark suit he wore to give him a polished look.

But like your father, he was a mobster. Also like your father, he was obviously someone very important.

In another place, another time, you would have found him devastatingly handsome. What you saw that day? A handsome savage in a suit, barely restrained.

His scowl had you cowering among your friends. The man's energy, frustration, and rage, rolled off him in waves. Instinct had you trying not to draw attention to yourself, hoping he'd leave as quickly as he arrived.

Steve's gaze roamed over the group of you, always coming back to you. Rich color darkened his face, made you wonder what he was so upset about. Why was he there?

An older man with dark eyes and a heavily-lined face came up to stand by his side. He looked your group over too before his gaze settled on you. Then he pointed a single, thick finger in your direction.

"That's her," the man muttered. "Spitting image of her mother at that age."

What was this?

Ms. Healey's heels clicked up the hall as she took in the scene frantically, her eyes wide in alarm.

"Excuse me, sir," your governess said with no small amount of hesitation. "Why have you barged into our home?"