Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Mrs. Sanchez accompanied the couple upon disembarking, a limousine on standby to take them to the hotel. New York in early autumn was crisp and bright, the sky a sharp blue above the Manhattan skyline.
Heads turned as the couple entered the hotel lobby, and Mrs. Sanchez didn’t miss the way all the women’s gazes snagged on Leonidas—the golden hair, the powerful shoulders, that face like something carved by old gods with a sense of drama. But what made their expressions turn envious wasn’t just his looks. It was the way his attention remained solely focused on his wife. The way his hand rested at the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd. The way he angled his body between her and anyone who came too close.
A lion and his keeper, Mrs. Sanchez thought. Though she was never quite sure which one was which.
Once in their suite, it was also her boss who personally checked that his wife had her passport and wallet with her. He plugged in her phone to charge, knowing she would forget. He ordered room service—a full meal, not just coffee—because everyone knew Lexy had the tendency to forget to eat if she was left alone with her work.
“Remember, if you need anything—”
“I’m going to be fine, I promise.” Lexy’s voice was patient but firm. “It will just be three days.”
“The last time I left you for thirty minutes, you managed to—”
Lexy opened the door. “I’ll see you in three days, Mr. Gazis.”
Her boss was still frowning when the door closed in his face.
“Mrs. Sanchez—”
“We already have extra security assigned to Mrs. Gazis.” This was a conversation they had countless times, and contingencies were already in place.
“Make sure—”
“Twelve-hour shifts for each pair,” she added with a smile, “to ensure round-the-clock surveillance. They have strict instructions to remain unobtrusive but to intervene immediately if anyone approaches her with suspicious intent.”
She had also arranged for the hotel staff to be briefed, for Mrs. Gazis’s calls to be screened, and for any unexpected visitors to be turned away at the desk. But she kept those details to herself. Her boss didn’t need to know just how extensive the protocols had become over the years.
Leonidas turned to her with a grimace. “It seems I’ve become predictable where my wife is concerned.”
She was about to assure him with a smile that his predictability was the kind to be admired when her phone rang, and the name that flashed on the screen had her face turning carefully blank.
“We have a call from Milan, sir.”
Leonidas’s features went expressionless as well. Whatever warmth had softened him these past hours vanished, replaced by the cool, unreadable mask he wore in boardrooms and negotiations.
“I’ll take it.”
****
Two days later...
It might be time for a divorce.
The thought settled over Leonidas Gazis like a familiar weight as he stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Cannizzaro Racing headquarters, his gaze fixed on the test track below. From the executive level, the training drivers looked like toys. Sleek machines carving through curves, engines screaming in the afternoon heat.
One of them braked too late entering the chicane. Typical rookie mistake, the kind that separated champions from casualties.
Eight years ago, that could have been him down there.
Should have been him.
And it would have been him, if not for a torn posterior cruciate ligament that had ended his racing career before it truly began.
The PCL injury had been a cruel joke of fate. Not dramatic enough for sympathy, not visible enough for anyone to understand why a twenty-nine-year-old with reflexes like lightning couldn’t simply push through it. But the ligament controlled the knee’s backward movement. Essential for the split-second braking adjustments that meant the difference between podium and wall.
His body had betrayed him. And Leonidas, ever the practical man, had taken it as a sign to switch gears in life. He retired the same day he was discharged from the hospital, and the day after that, he had accepted his father’s offer to take over the family business.
Along with a bride.
Eight years had passed since then. Eight years of marriage, and it was the kind of marriage that he still had trouble describing.
His mind drifted to Lexy. To her serious dark eyes and her love of machines and her complete indifference to his fortune. Twenty-six years old now. No longer the barely-legal teenager her mother had warned him about with such theatrical despair.
If he went through with the divorce, he would still look after her. She would never know, of course. He’d make sure of that. But the security details would remain. The financial protections. The quiet network of people whose job it was to ensure that Lexina Aryanis Gazis—or whatever name she chose to take afterward—never fell prey to another con artist, never went hungry because she forgot to eat, never found herself stranded in an unfamiliar city without someone watching from the shadows.