If I thought sleeping in this mansion would grant me clarity, I was dead wrong. Morning arrived not with gentle sunlight but with the sound of sharp knuckles pounding against the heavy wooden door.
"Miss Valencia. The Don will see you now."
I sat bolt upright, my heartbeat quickening. Even my dreams hadn’t spared me. I had spent half the night reliving yesterday on repeat—the hospital, the debt, the folder with my name plastered next to the word Marriage Contract.
Part of me wanted to believe it was some twisted nightmare. But as my bare feet hit the cold marble floor, reality greeted me like an uninvited guest.
I found myself once again escorted down the long hallway, past the intimidating gold-framed portraits of dead men who had probably killed more people than I could count. The scent of polished wood, leather, and something darker—like power itself—seeped into my senses.
This time, when the double doors opened, the man himself was waiting. Sitting, legs crossed, hands steepled under his chin as though he were judging a chessboard—and I was his most problematic piece.
He motioned lazily for me to sit without looking up from the document in his hands. "Close the door," he told one of his men. "And leave us."
The heavy door clicked shut, leaving me alone with him.
"You had a restful night?" he asked, finally meeting my gaze. His voice was smooth—velvet over steel—but laced with a mockery that made my skin prickle.
I swallowed, folding my arms. "Define restful." Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn novel※fire.net
A faint curve touched his lips. "I’ll take that as a no."
He stood, walking around his desk with the kind of grace that made predators beautiful but terrifying. His gaze swept over me in a slow, measured assessment—not sexual, not yet—but as if weighing the sum of me. My value. My cost.
"I’ll skip the pleasantries," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Your father owed me... considerably."
I clenched my fists. "Yeah, you made that abundantly clear."
"And unlike the government, I don’t offer bankruptcy options."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "What exactly do you want from me? I don’t have money. I don’t have assets. Hell, I barely have a functioning car."
Luca moved closer, his presence suffocating. He leaned a hip against the desk, crossing his arms, eyes sharp enough to draw blood. "No, Aria. But you have something far more valuable."
I flinched at the sound of my name on his lips—deep, deliberate. Like it belonged to him now.
"And what’s that?" I shot back, chin high even though my knees felt like jelly.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he opened a drawer, pulled out a sleek black folder, and flipped it open. Inside was the same contract from yesterday. The same neat paragraphs. The same signature line beneath the words Binding Marital Agreement.
His silver gaze pierced mine as he slid the folder across the table.
Silence stretched. Thick. Suffocating.
I blinked. "You’re joking."
"Do I look like a man prone to jokes?"
I gritted my teeth. "Marry you?"
I shot to my feet, sending the chair screeching backward. "Are you insane?"
He remained seated, perfectly calm. "You misunderstand. This isn’t a request, Aria. It’s an offer. A solution."
"To what?" My voice trembled with disbelief, but I refused to let it break. "To fix my father’s mistakes by shackling me to a mafia boss?"
"To save yourself," he said, deadpan. "And, coincidentally, me."
That last part threw me. "Save... you?"
He rose then, towering over me, his energy crackling like a live wire. "Let me explain in terms you’ll understand."
He walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the courtyard. Hands in his pockets. Calm. Calculated.
"Your father wasn’t just a gambler. He was a traitor."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"He wasn’t merely in debt. He leaked information to a rival family. Tried to double-cross me. Failed, obviously. But the fallout from that betrayal... it’s messy."
I staggered back a step. "That’s impossible. My father would never—"
His head whipped toward me, steel-gray eyes cold. "Wouldn’t he? Are you sure you knew him at all?"
The words sliced deeper than they should. Because no... I wasn’t sure. Not anymore.
"You see," Luca continued, strolling back toward me, "in the eyes of the council, his bloodline is stained. Normally, I’d wipe it clean the old-fashioned way. Bullet. Grave. Done."
"But," he said, his tone softening just enough to feel dangerous, "there’s a way to solve this without bloodshed."
He tapped the contract again. "A union. You become mine. Publicly. Permanently—for one year. Your last name merges with mine. Your father’s betrayal... gets buried."
My lips parted. "Why would that matter?"
"Optics." His gaze darkened. "A Don doesn’t just kill the daughter of a traitor. But marrying her? That sends a message. It says the past is buried. It says loyalty was restored."
I shook my head, disbelief warring with panic. "And what do you get out of it besides... PR?"
His jaw ticked. A muscle pulsed in his temple. "I get stability. The council’s been circling like vultures. They see weakness, they pounce. A marriage—especially to someone tied to both families—shuts that down."
I crossed my arms, trying to hide the tremor in my fingers. "And what happens after a year?"
"Annulment. Clean. Quiet. You walk away with enough money to start a new life anywhere in the world. Debt-free. Safe."
My breath caught. "And if I say no?"
His expression hardened. "Then you take the alternative route."
The meaning hung heavy. I didn’t need it spelled out.
"But," he added with a shrug, "you strike me as someone with more common sense than pride."
I backed toward the door. "This is insane."
"Is it?" He followed, slow and steady. "Think about it. One year. No chains. No bruises. You play the part of my wife—publicly—and I erase every debt. Every threat. Your father’s sins, forgotten."
A lump rose in my throat. "What’s the catch?"
His eyes gleamed. "You live here. With me. You attend council meetings. Charity events. You smile when I say. You pretend to be madly in love with me."
"And behind closed doors?" My voice came out as a whisper.
He tilted his head, like a predator amused by a mouse thinking it could escape. "That depends entirely on you, dolcezza."
My lungs struggled to fill.
"This is blackmail," I whispered.
"No." His voice dropped lower, darker. "This is mercy."
I paced the room, running trembling fingers through my hair. "Why me? Of all the women in the world... why me?"
"Because your blood is valuable. Your face... innocently convincing. And," his gaze dropped to my mouth before flicking back to my eyes, "because you’re the one thing no one in this city would expect me to want."
I squeezed my eyes shut. "I need time."
"You have twenty-four hours." He picked up a pen, twirling it between his fingers. "After that... I decide for you."
I stormed toward the door but paused, hand on the handle. "And if I run?"
He didn’t even blink. "You won’t get far. But you’re welcome to try."
Back in my room—no, my cage—I paced like a wild animal. Every rational part of me screamed to say no. To fight. To run.
But the brutal reality was this: I had no money. No family. No allies.
Luciano DeLuca owned my father’s debt.
I stared at my reflection in the gilded mirror.
Daughter of a traitor.
Pawn on a chessboard too dangerous to understand.
I pressed my hands to my chest, whispering to myself like a prayer.
One year... And then I’m free.
Except deep down... I already feared the truth.
No one walks away from the devil without scars.
And certainly... not from marrying him.