Thirty Days To Marry The Mafia King

"Marry me for thirty days."

Isabella De Luca slammed the contract onto Alessandro Moretti's desk hard enough to rattle the crystal glass beside his hand.

Two men in black suits stopped talking. One reached inside his jacket.

Alessandro lifted a finger. Both men froze.

Then the Mafia King leaned back in his chair and looked at Isabella as if she were an unexpected bill he intended to send back unpaid.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Not yet." She pushed a pen toward him. "But give me another week, and I might."

His gaze moved from the contract to her face. Three months ago, she had promised herself she would never stand in front of him again. She had planned a dozen speeches for this moment. Every one vanished beneath the weight of his cold, familiar stare.

"Security will show you out."

"No." Isabella planted both hands on his desk. "You'll hear me first."

One of the guards stepped forward.

Alessandro's gaze cut toward him. "Wait outside."

"But, boss-"

"Now."

The door closed behind the men. Silence filled the enormous office, broken only by the rain striking the windows.

Isabella swallowed. She had come here to negotiate, not to remember the last time Alessandro had kissed her forehead and called her the only person he trusted.

That man had disappeared long before she discovered what he had done.

"Thirty days," she repeated. "You marry me. I play the devoted wife in public, and you help me get what I need. After thirty days, we divorce. No questions about my private affairs. No claims on my money or my freedom."

His mouth curved without humor. "You think you can write rules for me?"

"I think you need this marriage as much as I do."

"Explain."

"Your board is threatening to remove you from the charitable foundation your father left behind. They want a respectable wife beside you before the annual vote. Your enemies are telling everyone you're unstable, that you can't maintain a single relationship without destroying it." She leaned closer. "A temporary marriage gives you the picture-perfect billionaire image you need."

"And what do you get?"

"Protection."

"From whom?"

"That isn't part of the deal."

Alessandro's face hardened. "Then there is no deal."

He pushed the contract back across the desk.

"You haven't even read the terms."

"I don't need to read a contract written by a woman who walks into my office and expects me to rescue her."

"I'm not asking you to rescue me."

"No? You arrive in the middle of a storm, offer me a marriage with an expiration date, and refuse to tell me why you need my name. What would you call it?"

"Business."

"Then take your business elsewhere."

She stared at him. "Fine."

The word seemed to surprise him.

Isabella picked up the contract, folded it once, and slipped it into her bag. She had spent weeks gathering the courage to make this offer. But she would not beg him to accept it.

She turned toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Alessandro asked.

"To find a man who knows the value of a good offer."

His fingers stilled on the desk. "You have no idea what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying. Victor Salvatore has already offered to marry me."

The room changed.

Alessandro rose so quickly his chair rolled backward and struck the wall. The calm billionaire vanished; the man who remained made the air feel dangerous.

"Say his name again."

"Victor Salvatore." She held his stare. "Your rival. He has money, influence, and apparently better manners than you."

"Did he touch you?"

The question came out low and sharp.

Isabella's heart stumbled, but she lifted her chin. "That's none of your concern."

"Did he?"

"You rejected my proposal. You don't get to interrogate me."

"Salvatore doesn't marry women," Alessandro said. "He acquires leverage. If he offered you a ring, he wants something from you."

"Maybe I want something from him, too."

"What could you possibly give him?"

"Your downfall."

For one second, neither of them moved.

Then Alessandro laughed once, without warmth. "There she is."

"Who?"

"The woman who used to look at me like I was worth saving." His eyes narrowed. "I wondered when she'd come back."

"She never left. She just learned to stop being stupid."

The words struck closer than she intended. His expression closed, but not before she saw the pain beneath the anger.

Good, she told herself. Let him feel something.

"You should leave," he said.

"I will. My meeting with Salvatore is at noon tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear I'm available."

"You're not marrying him."

"You don't decide that."

"I do if he plans to use you to start a war."

"Then perhaps you should have thought about that before you rejected me."

She walked past him. He didn't grab her or block the door. That almost made it worse. Isabella reached for the handle, refusing to turn around.

"Isabella."

Her name in his voice nearly undid her.

She opened the door.

"If you walk out," he said, "don't expect me to come after you."

She looked back at last. "I stopped expecting anything from you the night you chose your empire over me."

The color drained from his face.

Instead, he said, "You don't know what happened that night."

"Then you should have told me."

She left before he could answer.

The elevator doors closed, and Isabella's hands began to shake. She pressed her palms together until the tremor eased. She had made her offer. He had refused. Now she would do what she had promised and meet Victor Salvatore.

Her phone vibrated.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Don't go to Salvatore's house tomorrow.

A second message appeared.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: He knows what happened to your brother.

Isabella stopped breathing for a beat.

Her younger brother, Matteo, had vanished six weeks ago after telling her he had found proof that someone inside the Moretti organization was selling information to their enemies. The police had called it a runaway case. Isabella knew Matteo would never leave without telling her.

She typed back with numb fingers.

ISABELLA: Who is this?

The reply came immediately.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Someone who wants you alive. Ask Alessandro why he ordered the docks sealed the night Matteo disappeared.

The elevator doors opened into the lobby.

Isabella barely noticed the guards watching her. She hurried through the revolving doors and into the rain, her thoughts colliding. Alessandro had been the last person to admit seeing Matteo. He had claimed he knew nothing. Had he lied to protect his organization-or to protect her?

A black car rolled to the curb.

The rear window lowered. Victor Salvatore sat inside, dressed in a pale suit, his smile smooth enough to be mistaken for kindness.

"Isabella," he called. "I heard your proposal didn't go as planned."

She stepped back from the car. "Were you following me?"

"I prefer to call it keeping an eye on a valuable opportunity." His smile widened. "Get in. We should discuss our wedding."

"I haven't agreed to marry you."

"Not yet." His gaze dropped to the bag holding her contract. "But I can give you what Moretti won't."

"What's that?"

"The truth about your brother."

The words struck harder than the rain.

Victor opened the car door. "Come alone, and I'll tell you where Matteo is. Bring Moretti, and your brother disappears for good."

Isabella's phone buzzed again. This time, the message came from Alessandro.

ALESSANDRO: Get away from Salvatore. I'm coming down.

Victor extended his hand.

"Choose, Isabella. The man who rejected you-or the man who can bring your brother home."

Alessandro reached the curb just as Victor's driver started the engine.

"Isabella, don't you dare get in that car!"

She stood between the two men, clutching the contract that had been meant to save her.

If she chose Victor, she might find Matteo-but hand herself to a dangerous enemy. If she chose Alessandro, she would be trusting the very man who might know why her brother had vanished.

And as both men waited for her answer, Isabella realized the question was no longer whether Alessandro would marry her.

It was which of them had her brother-and which one was lying?