A Marriage with the Mafia Prince

Y

isper, my thro

ing back, eyes never leaving mine. "This is no

rop

cameras hidden in the walls, and someone's goin

anage to say, because n

culated to be a smile. "Because you nee

spine is like ice water. "Bu

math, not madness. "Your mother is sick. The bills are overwhelming. You've e

ir, digging in hard just to keep myself steady

r, barely hearing myself ov

't waver. "We'll pay off all your mother's medical ex

pha

I didn't even think to look i

expecting any of this. My head f

want me to ma

en though my voice shakes.

second. "The contract lasts two years. You

h

ot a partner.

. I should walk out. Laugh in thei

I do

g, and every other

ly manage, "I... I need time

ou don't decide now." Mrs Valentino says, her word

e hours to decide if I'll sel

s it across to me. The folder sits on the table between us like

ike she already knows how this ends, while Mr Valentino leans back in his chai

rse, conditions,"

e are. There's

f for whatever comes next, remainin

Valentino, by the end of this week. The

ied? I blink at her, trying to

to waste. He will agree to the terms. You don

m supposed to marry doesn't even get a say. I can't

s smooth, businesslike. "Your sole purpose for the duration of the two-year contract is to produce an heir

om somewhere dry and s

rs. His voice is softer this time, but it doesn't make the words any less heavy. "We'll als

an't... have a child? Or if I due, and it's not a ma

on is that the issue would not lie with him. As long as you produce a child for him, the deal will still stand. The

stings, sharp

t if two years pass and no child is conceived, the contract ends. N

to process that. "So

rs, and the words sit

't open it. My thoughts are racing, overlappin

atly. "You're being offered a clean escape from drowning, Miss Hart.

I mutter before

d we're not as controlling as our reputation suggests. So long as

ver feel at home i

a car will be sent to pick you up at six. Someone

e necessary,"

y words seem to echo a

aises an eyebro

... this man I'm apparently marrying, I'd rather he meet me, not some polished version

me carefully. "He wil

say, surprisi

inos excha

ntino gives the smallest of nods. "Very well

s like," I mutter, my curio

o says, matter-of-fact. "He doesn't want th

s that mean?"

ut you are not his partner either. This arrangement is not r

This time, my finge

this fee

I'm going to wake up

nd slowly pick it up from the desk. It's a small envelope, rectangular, and feels

ne

no informs me, and I look back at