Unmasked Heart Read online

  Unmasked Heart

  A Dark Arranged Marriage Bully Romance Novella

  Veronica Eden

  UNMASKED HEART

  Copyright © 2019 Mara Townsend writing as Veronica Eden

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at this website:

  www.maratownsendauthor.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, companies, organizations, locales, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Editing: Gwen Martin

  Contents

  About the Novella

  Playlist

  1. Annabeth

  2. Cohen

  3. Annabeth

  4. Cohen

  5. Cohen

  6. Annabeth

  7. Annabeth

  8. Annabeth

  9. Annabeth

  10. Cohen

  11. Annabeth

  12. Cohen

  Epilogue

  Newsletter

  Acknowledgments

  Join Veronica’s ARC Team

  Preview the Sinners and Saints Series

  About the Author

  Also by Veronica Eden

  About the Novella

  Annabeth

  They call me a princess.

  But I’m nothing like the royalty found in fairy tales. The Noble family aren’t the kind that live in castles.

  The “prince” I’m promised to? He’s no Prince Charming.

  Cohen took my first kiss and now he expects me to kiss the ground he walks on…as his wife.

  Cohen

  I always get what I want. Annabeth Noble broke my heart when we were kids and I can’t get her out of my head.

  Now her prissy attitude pisses me off and turns me on in the same breath.

  The family wants me to marry her? Fine.

  But it’s time for her to learn her place.

  I have a plan to prove she’s mine once and for all.

  Before I’m through breaking her spirit, she’ll be begging to bow down to me.

  Warning: Unmasked Heart is a stand-alone dark mafia arranged marriage bully romance novella intended for readers 18+. This dark new adult romance contains dubious situations and intense sexual/violent content that some readers might find offensive. Please proceed with caution.

  Playlist

  (Listen to the full Spotify playlist)

  Sit Still, Look Pretty—Daya

  Lovely—Billie Eilish, Khalid

  Can’t Stop Us—Chaz French

  Good as Hell (feat. Ariana Grande) Remix—Lizzo, Ariana Grande

  Secrets and Lies—Ruelle

  Royalty—Connor Maynard

  Tempt My Trouble—Bishop Briggs

  Hundred Grand Baby—Northern League, FS

  Liar—Camila Cabello

  Walk On Water—Thirty Seconds to Mars

  My Strange Addiction—Billie Eilish

  Cringe—Matt Maeson

  Location—Khalid

  Sorry Not Sorry—Demi Lovato

  Trampoline—SHAED

  Ultraviolence—Lana Del Ray

  Trigger—Major Lazer, Khalid

  Gravity—EDEN

  Take What You Want—Post Malone, Ozzy Osbourne, Travis Scott

  Running Up That Hill—Placebo

  Mercy - Loote Remix—Shawn Mendes, Loote

  One

  Annabeth

  They call me a princess.

  But I’m nothing like the royalty found in fairy tales. The Noble family aren’t the kind that live in castles.

  Instead of a stone tower protected by a moat and knights, a New York high rise penthouse with a view of Central Park is my home. Well, one of them; we have a palace dripping in luxury in almost every major city around the world. My father owns half of New York as one of the richest real estate tycoons in the country.

  Sounds like a charmed life, right?

  Seated cross-legged on a plush pink velvet chair at my vanity, I finish lining my heart-shaped lips in a suitably dainty shade of rose, and pucker them at my reflection, bobbing my head to the playlist streaming from my phone.

  I certainly look the part. I might as well be a porcelain doll with my hazel eyes and blonde hair tied half up with an oversized velvet bow. It’s all part of my preppy princess illusion.

  Black tights, Burberry plaid skirt, and a tan mohair sweater over a button down with a crisp collar—no small detail is overlooked.

  Every morning I become the Annabeth Noble the world expects to see.

  Well-mannered. Outfitted in designer labels and a starlet smile. Perfect daughter with a perfect life.

  What a load of shit.

  The heavy beat of Halsey’s Castle ends and a Lizzo hit starts up.

  With a sigh I stop fussing with a powder brush and toss it back onto the vanity. I’ll be late for my Social Psychology class at Columbia at this rate. I collect my textbook and notebooks, scooping them into my leather saddle bag. I wish I could take more courses like it, but the agreement I made with my dad is that I can study anything I want as long as I register as a business major and fill my core studies with beneficial classes.

  Spotting the item I hid beneath the stack of books last night, I’m halted in my tracks like a metal chain around my ankle.

  Damn. I dig my manicured nails into the meat of my palms and school the surge of anger.

  I’ve had years of practice at ignoring everything my father does, and who am I to rock the boat? As long as I get my small wins in—like persuading him to allow me to study for a degree he thinks is pointless when I have the world at my fingertips, all thanks to him—I can bide my time until I make my escape from this glitzy hellhole.

  But every day this week that crisp, shimmering pearlescent invitation—my decree, collar, cage—sits on my vanity as the big party draws closer.

  Join us on New Year’s Eve to ring in the new year and celebrate two families becoming one…

  Pushing out a razor-edged breath, I snatch it up. The sides are creased from where I gripped it too tightly when I couldn’t control the boiling in my veins. The New Year’s Eve gala is one of the most discussed events of the season amongst the socialites that claw at my family’s heels for a scrap of attention.

  If only they knew better; no one should wish for my family to notice them, not when the connections that built us are soaked in blood.

  So, don’t go—that’s the obvious choice, right?

  Wrong. I thought of that.

  Problem is, I’m the star of my father’s little show. They’ll notice if I’m not there to trot around and show off.

  Even if I get away with refusing plenty of my father’s edicts in his effort to control my life by grooming me as his prize pony to sell off to the highest bidder, this is one party he won’t allow me to skip. We’ve had two blow out fights about it and I’m gearing up for a third now that I’ve licked my wounds from the last sparring round.

  If he thinks I’ll gladly sit still and look pretty as a trophy—

  I don’t have time for this right now. Glancing at the time on my phone, my brows pinch together.

  Moving my gaze quickly over the slightly worn invitation promising a
special announcement at the themed masquerade ball, I stuff it into a side pocket of my saddle bag. What to do with the invite is a problem for future Annie to deal with.

  I dash out of the room to make up for lost time, vowing to myself that I will figure out a plan. It’s the only chance I’ll have to slip away with everyone wearing masks and focused on Dad’s big news.

  Big news. I scoff under my breath and plaster on my well-practiced Barbie smile when I catch Dad’s deep baritone rumbling in the hall as I head for the private elevator.

  He comes into sight when I round the corner, his back to me with his phone pressed to his ear as he surveys what piece of property he plans to add to his empire next. Everything about him is commanding—it’s why he has fit in well with the business partners that back him.

  Victor Noble cuts an imposing figure in a custom tailored three-piece Tom Ford suit. Sandy hair sits perfectly coiffed on his head, threaded through with silvery grays. Don’t be fooled, that look is crafted with strategic hair dye and implants, just like everything else about his image.

  “No, I know, Decker. Yeah.” Dad slips a hand in his pocket and tips his head to the side in consideration. “It has to go hard enough to break the market, or we won’t come out on top of it all. Big moves only. Just make sure your contractor guys source the supplies from who your cousin tells you to and make sure it goes through Albert’s pier.”

  One foot in front of the other, I coast along the wall in the hallway to retrieve my coat, not stepping into the open floor plan of the all-white lounge. If I’m quick, I can slip out before Dad notices. Preferably before I overhear anymore about what Mr. Decker and his lackeys are up to.

  Noble Enterprise Inc. deals in luxury hotels, high end condos, private islands…and a little corporate property sales on the side to shell companies with mob ties to keep things flush.

  They scratched my great-grandfather’s back once, to get the business started. If the family does a favor for you, be prepared to owe them for life. You’re as good as welcomed to sit at their dinner table as long as you remain loyal and useful.

  The mob doesn’t have to operate in the shadows when they hold the leashes of billionaire businessmen who grew their companies with strategies like investment fraud, embezzlement, and inflating the market. Real noble of him, isn’t it?

  That’s how my father’s empire works. As his only daughter, his sweet princess, it’s an empire he intends for me to inherit. Except I’m not sweet. And if I have any say, I’ll have nothing to do with the “family business”.

  If everything goes according to my plans, I’ll be long gone from Dad and Charity’s—fourth wife, only three years older than me and the youngest model he’s installed into our life yet—radar, far out of reach.

  “Princess,” Dad calls.

  Close, but no cigar Anniebear. I bite the inside of my cheek and shove Dad’s long-forgotten nickname for me aside. Puppet smile back in place? Okay, good.

  “Morning, Daddy,” I simper as I spin to face him, pretending I didn’t see him there.

  He tucks his phone away and holds his hands out wide. I dutifully pad over to give him a kiss on both cheeks. It’s an old ritual, but if he catches me before I leave, it’s the one thing he still keeps up with. I close my eyes and breathe in his cologne. I used to find so comforting, but the overpowering scent turns bitter inside my nostrils and I force back a gag. I used to think this little ritual of ours meant he still loved me no matter what.

  I was wrong. The only baby my father has ever loved is his business.

  How could a man truly love a daughter he plans to auction off as a footnote to a business deal? Yeah, got me there.

  I’m treated more like an asset than a person by the agreement my father has with his despicable business associates, the lot of them as heartless as he is.

  “Off to your studies, princess?”

  Dad strokes a big hand over my hair like I’m still four and tugging at his pant leg in his corporate office. I ignore the patronizing hint beneath his words.

  I nod. “And then I have lunch plans with a friend before my afternoon class. Will you be here for dinner?”

  “No, sweetie.” Dad shrugs apologetically, but I know he doesn’t mean it. Still, I go through these exhausting motions with him. “I have a late meeting with Albert Mastriano to go over some important business.”

  Albert Mastriano. The current head of the Mastriano family, the one holding Dad’s long leash.

  “Ah.”

  I’m heartbroken, really. Boo hoo. I hide a smirk by tucking a strand of hair behind my ear that was already in place.

  “There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” I bite the edge of my lip. “It’s the gala coming up.”

  “Can’t you go to Charity with your girly things, pumpkin? I have business to worry about.” Dad squeezes my shoulders. “I’ve been hoping you might use this opportunity to get to know her better before your big day. I’d love to see my girls bonding.”

  My gaze hardens as I bat his attempt at being a comforting father aside. “Dad. Come on, she’s twenty-two.”

  He shrugs. Of course he doesn’t get what my problem with that would be. He’s the one that always marries women way younger than Mom. The latest trophy wife is close enough to my age to be my sister.

  Charity’s an issue for another time, though. I draw in a breath like I’m going into battle to refocus myself.

  “Anyway, that’s not what I mean.” One more breath for luck. I steel myself and square off in front of my dad. His little hints about carrying myself for success come in handy when we go toe-to-toe. “I don’t think I can make it to the gala. I’m planning to take a philosophy class over winter break, and with the condensed syllabus on such a tough course, I’ll need every free minute.”

  “Free minute?” Dad’s jaw works and clenches.

  Then my father grabs my shoulders, his fingers dig in hard. I try to keep myself from reacting, but I can’t help the way my eyes widen slightly. He smiles, but there’s no warmth or fatherly love in it.

  We have the same golden-hazel colored eyes. His are hard around the edges as his anger takes over.

  The only thing I see is the ruthless businessman backed by dangerous men.

  “When you said you weren’t ready, I listened. Decker and I have been patient, princess.” His grip tightens and I bite back a tiny grunt of pain. I won’t give him the satisfaction. “I let you go to college when the original plan was that you’d marry his boy as soon as you were eighteen.”

  Marry his boy. A boy that’s already taken more than enough from me. I’ve hated him since. I can’t marry him.

  I swallow past the jagged lump in my throat. I will not cry in front of my father. I’m not strong enough to meet his gaze for long, though.

  My attention slides away from him to the buildings reaching for the clouds beyond the window. A bird soars and dives towards Central Park. It’s carefree in its daring plunges through the air, swooping back up with grace.

  I’ll never know that same freedom.

  “Why do I have to marry him?” I whisper, hating the broken catch in my voice. No! I refuse to cry. My mouth purses to control the wobble of my lip. “This is insane, Dad. No one has arranged marriages anymore.”

  “Yes they do. And so will you.”

  He releases me with a disgruntled sound and I trip over my feet as I stumble back. Blonde waves of hair hang over my shoulder and I ball my hands into fists. My gaze snaps back to Dad.

  “No. I. Won’t.” I suck in a breath, trying to control my panting. If I let my frustration and fury spiral, I’ll lose my footing in this argument. “You need my consent, don’t you?”

  Dad snorts. He jabs a finger in my direction. “Hardly, pumpkin. You’ll do as you’re fucking told, or you’ll face the consequences.”

  “What could possibly be worse than you forcing me to marry your crooked business partner’s son?” I yell, flinging an arm out to drive my point. “You’re a smart busine
ssman! Why do I have to be the factor that makes or breaks a deal that, according to you, has been in the making for years? Isn’t Decker’s wife Mr. Mastriano’s niece? You’re already connected enough!”

  There’s not a moment in the last nineteen years that I don’t remember Dad massaging Morris Decker into a partnership. And while Decker and Dad had their meetings, his son Cohen and I would play hide and seek through corporate offices. I contain a snort. That was back when I thought we were friends. Before Cohen became an unbearable asshole and started doing what his Uncle Albert told him to do.

  Dad wanted Decker’s construction company—a business with the same dark beginnings as Noble Enterprise Inc. and even closer family ties to the Mastriano family—to work together to control the market.

  But that’s only the Decker family’s public business that the tax man knows about. Morris Decker quite literally got into bed with the Mastrianos—Gloria Mastriano, to be specific. Being in construction comes in handy when the organization needs people to disappear. Cohen told me about it once to scare me when we were kids. It worked.

  Dad doesn’t answer me. A muscle jumps in his jaw and he shoves his hands in his pockets with measured movements. Great, now I’m not even worth his full effort. I press a shaking hand to my temple, rubbing at a throb setting in above my eyebrow. I’m beyond late for class by now, but I can’t let him have the last word.

  “Annabeth.”

  I gulp at the icy chill in his voice.

  With no remorse, my father lays out my sentence.