Nora remained standing, her chin lifting in a desperate bid for dignity. “I don’t have your money. But I can work it off. I’ll clean, I’ll cook, I’ll—”
“I have no interest in your cleaning services,” Dante interrupted, sliding a thick manila folder across the polished wood. “I have an interest in your compliance. The national syndicate commission requires me to present a stable, traditional family image to secure my father’s seat. I need a wife. You need your brother’s debt erased. We will enter a one-year contractual marriage. You will attend public events, smile for the cameras, and live in my home. In exchange, the debt vanishes, and you receive two million dollars at the end of the term.”
Nora stared at the document, her mind reeling. It was insanity. It was a trap. But as she looked at Dante’s impassive face, she realized he wasn’t offering her a choice; he was offering her a lifeline. Her hands trembled as she reached for the pen, but she stopped, her voice shaking yet resolute. “I want my own independent lawyer to review this. I want my own bank accounts, my own phone, and a written guarantee that you will never touch me, threaten me, or use my brother as leverage. I will play the part of your wife, Mr. Rossi, but I will not be your prisoner.”
The silence in the room stretched, thick and suffocating. Dante’s eyes narrowed, studying her as if seeing her for the very first time. A flicker of something akin to respect crossed his stoic features. “Done,” he murmured.
Forty-eight hours later, Nora signed her name in a sterile courthouse, the heavy diamond ring on her finger feeling more like a shackle than a promise. She was now Mrs. Rossi, a pawn in a deadly game of mafia politics. But as she stood by the penthouse window that night, staring out at the city that now belonged to her husband, a tiny, blinking red laser dot suddenly appeared, resting dead center on her collarbone.
The penthouse was a gilded cage, and Nora felt entirely out of place until the stylist arrived. Vivienne, a woman whose disdain was as sharp as her designer heels, spent three hours pinning and prodding Nora, constantly sighing about her “challenging proportions.” When Vivienne finally draped a heavy, concealing fabric over Nora’s hips, muttering about “minimizing her silhouette,” a quiet, deadly voice echoed from the doorway.
“You are fired,” Dante said, stepping into the room. His gaze was fixed on Nora, ignoring the stunned stylist completely. “Leave the dress. Leave the shoes. Then leave my home.”
At the gala that night, Nora wore the emerald silk gown, her curves celebrated rather than hidden. When a rival boss named Silas Thorne sneered at her “abundant surprise,” Dante stepped between them, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper as he defended her honor. Later, on the dance floor, his hand rested warmly at her back, and for a fleeting moment, the fake marriage felt dangerously real.
But the illusion shattered the moment they returned to the penthouse. A deafening crack echoed through the room as the reinforced window exploded inward. Dante tackled Nora to the marble floor, his heavy body shielding hers as glass rained down around them. As security alarms blared and his men rushed in, Dante pulled her tightly against his chest. His cold, mafia boss mask was entirely gone, replaced by raw, unadulterated terror. He brushed a shard of glass from her cheek, his voice breaking as he whispered a secret that would change everything: “I can’t lose you. I never should have brought you into this world.”
The drive to the safe house in Lake Geneva was a blur of flashing lights and suffocating silence. Nora sat wrapped in a thermal blanket in the back of the armored SUV, her heart still hammering against her ribs. The cut on her collarbone stung, a sharp reminder of how close the bullet had come to ending her life. Dante sat beside her, his posture rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly she thought his teeth might shatter. He hadn’t touched her since they left the penthouse, his restraint a stark contrast to the violent explosion of glass and gunfire.
PART 2