At 18, She Was Forced to Marry a Ruthless Mafia Boss — Unaware He Had Loved Her Forever

Chapter 1

The rain had not stopped for three days. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the bakery window, watching the gray sheets of water transform the street into a river of forgotten dreams. My reflection stared back at me with hollow eyes, a flour-dusted apron, and hair escaping from a fraying braid. I was eighteen years old, yet I looked like I had lived thirty.

The smell of burnt sugar hung in the air, mixing with the yeast and desperation that seemed to permeate every corner of Moretti’s bakery. My hands ached from kneading dough since four in the morning, the cuts on my fingers stinging with each movement. Mrs. Moretti had been in a foul mood today, throwing pans and cursing in Italian when the ciabatta came out too dense.

Sophia! Her shrill voice cut through my thoughts. Table seven needs service. Move! I grabbed the coffee pot with trembling hands, my stomach growling. I had not eaten since yesterday afternoon because I could not afford to, not when every penny went toward the shoebox apartment I shared with my aunt.

The apartment was a place where she spent most days drowning in bottles, leaving me to cover the rent, utilities, and her debts. Table seven sat in the corner, partially hidden by the ancient espresso machine that wheezed like a dying animal. I approached with my eyes down, the way I had learned to move through the world as someone invisible, unthreatening, and forgettable.

The cup shattered before I even saw him. My hands had been shaking worse than I thought, and the porcelain exploded against the marble floor while coffee spread like blood across the white tiles. I dropped to my knees immediately, my heart hammering, already calculating how much Mrs. Moretti would dock from my pay.

I am so sorry, I whispered, gathering the shards with my bare hands. A sharp piece sliced my palm, and I watched blood well up to mix with the spilled coffee. Stop. The voice froze me mid-motion, being deep and commanding with an edge that made every nerve in my body stand at attention.

I had heard that tone before from men who expected obedience and did not ask twice. Slowly, I looked up and saw him sitting with a stillness that seemed impossible for someone so young. He was in his mid-twenties at most, but his dark eyes held centuries of shadows.

The suit he wore probably cost more than I made in a year, being black, perfectly tailored, and possessing a subtle sheen that caught the dim bakery light. His hair was dark and pushed back from a face that could have been carved from marble, remaining beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. But it was his eyes that trapped me.

They were not looking at my face, but were instead fixed on my bleeding hand with an intensity that made my breath catch. Two men stood behind him, massive and silent with their hands clasped in front of them in a way that suggested they were hiding weapons. The other customers had gone quiet, and even Mrs. Moretti had stopped her constant muttering.

You are hurt. He said it like an accusation. It is nothing, sir. I will clean this up and bring you Look at me. I did because I could not help it, as his gaze pulled at something deep inside me that I did not understand. His jaw was clenched, and a muscle ticked in his cheek.

He was angry, but not at the mess, because the emotion rolling off him felt too big and too complex for a simple accident. Dante, he said, not breaking eye contact with me. First aid kit. Now. One of the men behind him moved immediately, disappearing through the bakery’s front door into the rain.

The other remained like a wall of muscle and threat. Sir, really, I am fine. What is your name? My throat felt tight because something about him demanded truth and made lying impossible. Sophia. Sophia Chen. He repeated it slowly, like he was tasting each syllable.

Sophia. Then his eyes finally released mine, traveling over my flour-covered apron, my worn sneakers, and the bruise on my wrist from where I had bumped the industrial mixer. His expression darkened with each detail. How old are you? Eighteen. The word came out as barely a whisper.

Something flickered across his face, being satisfaction mixed with something that looked almost like pain. He leaned back, and I noticed his hands were gripping the armrests of his chair hard enough that his knuckles had gone white. The man named Dante returned with a leather case that looked far too expensive to be a simple first aid kit.

Chapter 2

It was not Dante who opened it. The man stood, unfolding to his full height, and suddenly the bakery felt too small. He was at least six feet and two inches tall with broad shoulders, radiating a presence that made me want to simultaneously run toward him and away from him.

He stepped over the broken cup like it did not exist and reached for my hand. I cannot You can let me help you. It was not a request. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, being gentle but absolutely firm, and the touch sent electricity racing up my arm.

His hands were warm, slightly rough, and completely steady as he turned my palm up to examine the cut. I had never been this close to someone like him, and he smelled like expensive cologne, sandalwood, and something darker and more mysterious like smoke and secrets.

His breathing was controlled and measured, but I could feel tension radiating from him in waves. This needs stitches. His voice had gone cold. I can not afford Luca. He snapped his fingers, and the second man stepped forward. Call Dr. Rossini. Tell him to come to the estate immediately.

The estate? My voice cracked. No, sir. I have to work. Mrs. Moretti will Mrs. Moretti. He finally looked away from me, his gaze landing on my employer who had emerged from the kitchen, and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. This girl is injured on your premises.

Explain to me why she was working with equipment while clearly exhausted. Mrs. Moretti’s face went pale. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then tried again. Mr. Caruso, I did not realize Caruso. The name hit me like a physical blow. Everyone in this city knew that name.

The Caruso family did not just run businesses, they ran everything, including politics, police, and entire neighborhoods. They were the kind of power that made governments nervous, and I had just bled on one of them. How much does she owe you? He asked Mrs. Moretti, still holding my hand like it was something precious.

Nothing. She owes nothing. In fact, her pay I am not asking about her pay. I am asking about her debt, her aunt’s debt. The world tilted. How did he know about Aunt Marie’s gambling debts, or about the loan sharks who showed up monthly taking whatever we had?

Mrs. Moretti’s eyes darted to me, then back to him. I do not know what you Dante. He did not raise his voice, but the man behind him pulled out a phone and began typing with disturbing efficiency. Find out exactly what the Chen family owes and to whom. I want names and amounts within the hour.

No. The word burst from me before I could stop it. Please, you don’t understand. Those men, if you interfere He finally looked back at me, and the intensity in his gaze nearly knocked me backward. Those men work for me, Sophia. Everything in this city works for me.

The first aid kit lay forgotten on the table while he was still holding my hand, his thumb now brushing across my knuckles in a gesture that felt almost unconscious and possessive. I do not understand, I managed to say. You will. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around my bleeding palm with surprising gentleness.

You are coming with me. I cannot. My shift is over. He turned to Mrs. Moretti. She no longer works here. You will prepare her final check with two months severance and have it ready within the hour, or I will have the health department here by lunch. Am I clear?

Mrs. Moretti nodded frantically while panic clawed at my chest, because I needed this job, the money, the routine, and the invisibility it provided. Please, Mr. Caruso. I need to work. If you’re trying to help, I appreciate it, but I am not trying to help.

His hand slid from my wrist to my elbow, steadying me as I tried to stand. I am telling you what is going to happen. You are going to come with me to get that hand properly treated. Then we are going to discuss the terms of your employment with me. Employment?

Did you think I would let you go back to this? He gestured around the dingy bakery with something close to disgust. Working yourself to exhaustion for pennies, bleeding, and apologizing for existing? The other customers were staring now, whispering behind their hands, and one of them had a phone out, probably already spreading the news that a Caruso had walked into Moretti’s and left with the bakery girl.

I do not even know you, I whispered. Something like pain flashed across his face again, being so quick I almost missed it. No, he said softly. You don’t. But I know you, Sophia. I have always known you. Before I could process that bizarre statement, he was guiding me toward the door with his hand still on my elbow, and the two men fell into formation around us, one ahead and one behind.

Chapter 3

Protection or prison? I could not tell which. The rain hit my face as we stepped outside, but I barely felt it. A black SUV idled at the curb, being sleek and menacing with windows tinted so dark they looked like pools of oil, and the door was already open so I could see the leather seats and the interior that smelled like luxury.

Please, I tried one more time. I do not understand what is happening. He helped me into the vehicle with a hand on my lower back, the touch burning through my thin uniform, and then he slid in beside me close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. The door closed with a heavy thunk that sounded like finality.

You do not need to understand yet. The SUV began to move, and I watched the bakery disappear behind sheets of rain. All you need to know is that you are safe now. You will never have to worry about money again, never have to apologize for taking up space, and never have to bleed alone in some filthy bakery.

But why? My voice broke. Why would you do this for a stranger? He turned to face me fully, and in the dim interior of the vehicle, his features looked almost inhuman, being too perfect, too intense, and carved from shadows and obsession. His hand came up with his fingers brushing my cheek so gently it felt like a prayer.

Because, he said, with each word heavy with meaning I could not decipher, you were never a stranger to me, Sophia. You were always mine. You just did not know it yet. The city blurred past the windows while rain made everything look like a watercolor painting washing away.

As his thumb traced the line of my jaw with devastating gentleness, I realized that whatever had just begun in that bakery, and whatever agreement I had walked into without agreeing to anything, there would be no walking away from it, or from him. The SUV turned onto a private road I had never seen before, heading toward a part of the city where people like me did not belong.

Alessandro Caruso watched me with eyes that held secrets, obsession, and something that looked dangerously close to devotion. I was terrified, but even more terrifying was the small, desperate part of me that felt, for the first time in years, like maybe I was going home. The estate emerged from the rain like something out of a dark fairy tale.

Wrought-iron gates swung open automatically as we approached, revealing a driveway lined with ancient oak trees that seemed to whisper warnings. The mansion itself was a sprawling testament to old money and older power, featuring three stories of stone and glass with columns that reached toward the weeping sky like prayers or threats. Lights glowed in tall windows, being warm and inviting, which somehow made everything feel more ominous.

My breathing had gone shallow while the handkerchief around my hand was soaked through with blood now, forming a crimson bloom against the white fabric. Alessandro. I could not think of him as Mr. Caruso anymore, not after the way he had touched my face. He had not said another word during the drive, but his presence beside me felt like a living thing, being aware and watchful.

The SUV stopped beneath a covered portico, and before I could reach for the door handle, Dante had it open and was offering his hand. I took it carefully, my legs shaking as I stepped out into air that smelled like rain and roses. This way, Miss Chen. Dante’s voice was surprisingly gentle for someone built like a tank.

Alessandro appeared at my other side, his hand finding the small of my back again, with that proprietary touch making my skin burn even through my uniform. The doctor is already here, he said, guiding me up marble steps that probably cost more than my entire apartment building. The entrance hall stole what little breath I had left.

Crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling painted with Renaissance-style frescoes, and a grand staircase curved upward, being carpeted in deep burgundy while everything gleamed. The floors, the mirrors, and the small fortune in artwork lining the walls showed this was not just wealth, but dynasty.

Chapter 4

Alessandro. A woman’s voice echoed from above, being sharp with concern, and I looked up to see an elegant figure descending the stairs. Her silver hair was swept into a perfect chignon, and she wore a silk dress that probably required a staff to maintain, moving with a grace that spoke of ballet training and breeding despite her early sixties age.

Mama. Alessandro’s tone shifted, becoming almost careful. This is not a good time. So I have heard. Her dark eyes, being so like her son’s, landed on me, and I watched her expression cycle through surprise, calculation, and something that looked almost like recognition. You brought a girl home, the girl, if the rumors from town are to be believed.

Dr. Rossini is waiting in the study, Alessandro said, his hand pressing more firmly against my back, not moving me forward, but holding me close and shielding me. His mother descended the last few steps, her gaze never leaving my face as she remained beautiful in a severe way, with the kind of beauty that came with expectations and disappointments.

She is bleeding on my marble. I looked down in horror, and sure enough, drops of blood had fallen from my wrapped hand to create a trail of crimson dots across the pristine white floor. I am so sorry. I did not mean Stop apologizing. Alessandro’s voice cut through my panic. Mama, this is Sophia Chen.

Sophia, my mother, Isabella Caruso. You will become acquainted later, but right now she needs medical attention. Chen. Isabella repeated the name like she was placing it in a file cabinet in her mind. The daughter of Later. Something dangerous edged Alessandro’s tone, and his mother heard it too because she stepped aside, though her eyes continued tracking me as we passed.

The study was all dark wood and leather with books lining the walls from floor to ceiling, while a fire crackled in a massive fireplace to warm the space against the chill of the rain outside. An elderly man with wire-rimmed glasses and a doctor’s bag stood waiting, keeping a neutral but professional expression.

Dr. Rossini, thank you for coming. Alessandro finally released me, but only to guide me toward a leather chair positioned near the fire, where the heat felt incredible after the cold rain, causing me to sink into the cushions without meaning to. Of course, Mr. Caruso.

The doctor approached with the easy confidence of someone who had made house calls to this family for decades. Now, let’s see what we have here. Alessandro remained standing beside my chair, being so close that I could feel the fabric of his trousers brush against my shoulder.

As Dr. Rossini unwrapped the blood-soaked handkerchief, I saw Alessandro’s jaw clench and that muscle ticking again. It is not as bad as it looks, the doctor said after a moment, gently probing the wound, and I winced while Alessandro’s hand immediately came to rest on my shoulder as a heavy, warm, and grounding presence.

A few stitches should do it, because the cut is clean, though I will need to numb the area. Dr. Rossini continued pulling supplies from his bag, adding that I might feel a pinch. I nodded, trying to focus on anything but the man standing over me like a dark angel, the fire, the rain against the windows, and the smell of old books and expensive whiskey.

But my awareness kept returning to Alessandro’s hand on my shoulder, with his thumb now moving in small circles against my collarbone. The injection stung, and I bit my lip while refusing to make a sound, feeling Alessandro’s grip tighten as I glanced up at him to find his eyes fixed on my face with that same unsettling intensity, like he was memorizing every micro-expression.

How long has she been working at that bakery? He asked Dr. Rossini, though he was still looking at me. I could not say, Mr. Caruso, but she has old burn scars on her forearms and defensive wounds on her hands, and she is underweight, probably not having eaten properly in weeks.

He cataloged my failures like evidence in a trial. When was the last time you had a full meal, Sophia? The question caught me off guard. I yesterday. Lunch yesterday. He repeated it flatly. It is nearly six in the evening, and you have worked since four in the morning on an empty stomach.

Chapter 5

Dr. Rossini had begun stitching, with the needle pulling through my numbed flesh, and I watched rather than felt, being fascinated and disturbed by the black thread weaving through my skin like embroidery. Dante. Alessandro said without turning, as I had not even realized the man had followed us into the study.

Have the kitchen prepare a full meal, something warm and nutritious, and bring it to the East Wing guest suite. The East Wing? Dr. Rossini’s hands paused for just a moment. That is quite close to the family quarters. I am aware. Alessandro’s tone suggested the conversation was over.

Mr. Caruso. I tried again, my voice sounding small in this massive room full of power and secrets. I appreciate the medical attention, truly, but I should go home, because my aunt will be worried and I have to find another job. Your aunt is currently passed out on her couch amid empty vodka bottles.

He said it without cruelty, just stating it as fact. And you will not need another job, because you will be working here. Here? I looked around the study, trying to imagine what role someone like me could possibly fill in a place like this, and asked what I would be doing.

Whatever I need you to do. He finally moved, circling around the chair to crouch in front of me and bring his face level with mine, so that up close I could see tiny flecks of gold in his dark eyes and a small scar above his left eyebrow. You will live here in the East Wing.

You will have your own suite and your own staff, your aunt’s debts will be cleared, and you will want for nothing. My heart was hammering so hard I was certain he could hear it. That sounds like a prison. His lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. Or salvation.

All done, Dr. Rossini announced, stepping back to admire his work as five neat stitches crossed my palm with the thread dark against my pale skin. He wrapped my hand in proper gauze with practiced and efficient movements. Keep it clean and dry, and I will return in a week to remove the stitches.

Thank you, doctor. Alessandro stood in one fluid motion, and I immediately felt the loss of his proximity like a physical thing as he walked the doctor to the door while their voices dropped to a murmur I could not quite catch. Left alone for the first time since the bakery, I tried to process everything, including the mansion, the staff, the wealth permeating every surface, and Alessandro Caruso.

He looked at me like I was something rare and precious, something he had been searching for and finally found, whispering that I was always his and just did not know it yet. What did that mean? How could I belong to someone I had never met? The door closed behind Dr. Rossini, and Alessandro returned, moving with that predatory grace that made him seem more dangerous than the armed men who followed him.

He stopped at a side table, pouring amber liquid from a crystal decanter into two glasses. I do not drink, I said as he approached with both glasses. It is brandy, and it will help with the shock. He pressed one into my good hand, then sat in the chair across from me, being close enough that our knees almost touched.

Drink, Sophia. I took a small sip, and the liquid burned down my throat, warming everything it touched. He watched me over the rim of his own glass, and I realized he had not drunk any yet, as he was waiting and making sure I was comfortable first. Why are you doing this?

The question came out steadier than I felt. Which part? All of it, taking me from the bakery, bringing me here, the doctor, the job offer, if that is what this is. I gestured around with my bandaged hand. You do not know me. But I do.

He set his glass down with deliberate care, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, while the firelight cast shadows across his face to make him look even more otherworldly. I have known you since you were fourteen years old, Sophia, since the day you moved into that apartment with your aunt after your parents died.

Ice flooded my veins. How do you I was twenty-one, already running parts of my father’s empire and learning how to be the man everyone expected me to become. His eyes never left mine. I saw you at the grocery store on Third Street.

You were buying the cheapest brands of everything, counting coins, and trying to figure out how to make ten dollars feed two people for a week. You wore a jacket three sizes too big and you kept apologizing to everyone, even when they bumped into you.

Chapter 6

The memory hit me like a wave, and I remembered that day, the shame of counting pennies at the register while people behind me sighed impatiently, and the cold walk home with bags that felt heavier than they should have. You watched me buy groceries? My voice came out strangled.

I watched you survive. He reached across the space between us, his fingers finding my uninjured hand. I watched you for four years, Sophia. I watched you work yourself sick at that bakery, watched you give everything to an aunt who gave nothing back, and watched you fade a little more each day, becoming invisible because you thought that was safer than being seen.

This was not romantic, this was terrifying. That is obsession. He supplied the word I could not say. Yes, it is. I am not going to lie to you and pretend this is anything other than what it is. I have been obsessed with you since the moment I saw you trying to be brave in that grocery store, counting out pennies with shaking hands.

You are insane. But I did not pull my hand away from his. Probably. His thumb traced across my knuckles in the same gesture from the bakery. But you are here now, at eighteen, finally legal, and finally mine to protect the way I have wanted to for four years.

The implications crashed over me. You waited for me to turn eighteen. I waited for you to be old enough that no one could question my claim. He said it without shame and without apology. I have eliminated every man who looked at you wrong, paid off debts you didn’t know existed, and made sure you had work at that bakery when others were being laid off.

I have been taking care of you from the shadows, Sophia, and now I am bringing you into the light. My mouth had gone dry, realizing this man, this beautiful and terrifying man, had been orchestrating my life for years. The loan sharks who stopped coming last year belonged to him, as they reported to him now and were never going to touch me.

The landlord who did not raise our rent owned the building, and my aunt’s tab at the liquor store was paid by him every week. I should have been screaming, running for the door, demanding to leave, and calling for help, but the desperate and exhausted part of me that had been drowning for four years wanted to sink into the life he was offering, wanting to let someone else carry the weight for once.

This is crazy, I whispered. Yes. He brought my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that felt like a brand. But you are not going to leave, because you are just as tired of surviving as I am of watching you suffer. The fire crackled while the rain continued its assault on the windows, and Alessandro Caruso held my hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

What happens now? I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. Now? He stood, pulling me up with him. Now, I show you to your room. You eat. You rest. Tomorrow, we will discuss the details of your new position here. And what position is that?

He smiled then, truly smiled, and it transformed his face from merely beautiful to absolutely devastating. My wife. The world tilted. What? You will marry me, Sophia. Willingly or not, you will marry me. He began leading me toward the door, his hand once again on my back. But I am hoping for willingly, as I have waited four years and can wait a few more weeks for you to understand that this is where you belong.

My legs moved automatically, following him out of the study and up that grand staircase while my mind was screaming, but my body felt numb and disconnected. Marriage to a man I had met hours before, a man who had been watching me for years and looked at me like I was oxygen.

We reached the second floor, then continued up to the third, where this level was quieter and more intimate with fewer servants rushing about, and the carpet here was plush beneath my feet to muffle our footsteps. Alessandro stopped at a door, opening it to reveal a suite that made my entire apartment look like a closet, featuring a four-poster bed with silk sheets, a sitting area with velvet furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens currently shrouded in rain, and a door leading to a bathroom bigger than my bedroom.

This is yours, he said, watching my reaction. Everything in this room is yours, including the clothes in the closet that I had prepared in your size, and the fully stocked bathroom. If you need anything at all, there is a phone on the nightstand that connects directly to the staff.

Chapter 7

I walked in slowly, running my good hand along the footboard of the bed, feeling the smooth, expensive, and real wood to prove this was not a dream, but was actually happening. The door locks from the inside, he continued. I will not enter without your permission, not until you are ready.

I turned to face him, this man who had turned my life inside out in a matter of hours. And if I am never ready? Something dark flickered across his expression. Then I will wait. I am a patient man, Sophia, but make no mistake, you are mine.

You have been mine since you were fourteen years old and counting pennies, and you just need time to accept it. He started to leave, then paused in the doorway. Your dinner will arrive in twenty minutes. After you eat, there is a bath waiting, so get some rest because we have much to discuss tomorrow.

Alessandro, I said, testing his name on my tongue, and he went still while every line of his body tensed. This is kidnapping. No. He turned back to me, and the look in his eyes was pure possession. This is rescue. You just don’t know it yet.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and I was alone in a room that cost more than everything I had ever owned combined. I walked to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass and watching the rain, knowing that somewhere in the city my aunt was passed out drunk, my old life was dissolving like sugar in water, and in this mansion, in these silk sheets, in the dark eyes of Alessandro Caruso, a new life waited.

It was a life I had not chosen, but maybe, whispered that desperate part of me, maybe it was the life I had been drowning my way toward all along. I did not sleep, for how could I in a bed that felt like sleeping on clouds, in a room where every shadow might hide watching eyes?

The dinner had arrived as promised, featuring roasted chicken with herbs I could not name, vegetables that actually tasted like something, and bread that melted on my tongue, and I had eaten mechanically while my mind replayed every word Alessandro had spoken about being obsessed with me since the moment he saw me.

The bath had been torture in its luxury, with water staying hot, soap smelling like jasmine, and towels feeling so soft they felt like sin, while I had found pajamas in the closet made of silk in a deep emerald that made my pale skin look almost luminous, with everything fitting perfectly because he had been watching me long enough to know my exact measurements, a thought that should have terrified me more than it did.

Now I sat by the window as dawn broke over the estate, painting everything in shades of rose and gold, while the rain had finally stopped, leaving the world washed clean and glittering, with gardens stretching as far as I could see featuring manicured hedges, marble fountains, and paths winding between trees older than the country itself, proving this was a prison in paradise.

A knock at the door made me jump. Miss Chen? A woman’s voice was accented and gentle. May I enter? I pulled a robe around myself, being another perfectly fitted item from the closet, and opened the door to reveal a woman in her fifties with dark hair streaked with gray, wearing a simple black dress with a white apron and a face that was kind and weathered by years of smiling.

I am Maria, she said, the head housekeeper. Mr. Caruso asked me to help you prepare for breakfast. May I come in? I stepped aside, and she entered with the easy familiarity of someone who had worked in this house for decades, carrying a garment bag and a small case.

You did not sleep, she observed, setting her items on the bed, not as a question. No, I wouldn’t either in your position. She unzipped the garment bag, revealing a dress that made my breath catch, being a deep blue, simple yet elegant with a cut suggesting sophistication without being overtly expensive.

Chapter 8

If I may offer some advice, Miss Chen, Sophia, please. Sophia. She smiled warmly. Mr. Alessandro is many things, being dangerous certainly and possessive absolutely, but cruel never, at least not to those he cares about. He does not know me well enough to care about me.

Maria’s laugh was soft and knowing. Oh, child, he has known you longer than you think. I have worked for this family for thirty years, seeing him grow from a boy into the man he is now, and in all that time I have never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.

She gestured for me to sit at the vanity, and I obeyed without thinking while her hands were gentle as she began brushing my hair, working through the tangles with practiced ease. Four years ago, Maria continued, he came home one night and told his father he had found the woman he was going to marry, and when his father laughed and said Alessandro was too young to know what he wanted, Alessandro just smiled and said she didn’t know he existed yet, but she would when the time was right.

My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, pale and wide-eyed. That is not romantic. That is the way men like Alessandro love, Maria finished completely, absolutely, and without compromise. She began pinning my hair up in a style that was elegant but not fussy.

His father was the same way with his mother, seeing her at a charity gala, deciding she was his, and moving heaven and earth to make it happen. Did she have a choice? Maria’s hands paused. We always have choices, Sophia. The question is which choice we can live with.

She met my eyes in the mirror. You could run, and he wouldn’t stop you, but where would you run to? Back to that apartment? Back to working yourself to death in that bakery? Back to invisibility? The words hit harder than I expected because they were true, as I was not running back to a life of exhaustion and fear, or an aunt who barely remembered I existed, or a city that had never noticed when I was drowning.

He is offering you everything, Maria said softly, including protection, security, and a place in a family, and while yes, it comes with conditions, and yes, he is possessive and overwhelming, you must ask yourself if anyone else has ever cared enough to even see you suffering.

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to cry now, while Maria finished with my hair and helped me into the dress that fit like it had been made for me, which it probably had been. When I looked in the full-length mirror, I barely recognized myself, looking like someone who belonged in a place like this.

Breakfast is served in the morning room at eight, Maria said, gathering her things. Mr. Alessandro is waiting for you. The morning room was on the second floor overlooking the gardens, where sunlight streamed through tall windows to make everything glow, and the table was set with China so delicate it looked like it might shatter if I breathed too hard, while fresh flowers like roses and lilies perfumed the air.

Alessandro stood by the windows dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, and the casual look somehow made him more dangerous and more real, so that when he heard me enter, he turned and I watched his expression shift from neutral to something I could not name.

Sophia. He breathed my name like a prayer. You look beautiful. Maria helped. I hovered near the doorway, being uncertain. Come. Sit. He pulled out a chair for me, and I approached carefully, aware of how close he stood and how his hand barely brushed my shoulder as I sat.

Did you sleep at all? No. Lying to him felt impossible. He took the seat across from me, close enough that I could see the shadows under his own eyes. Neither did I, as I kept thinking about you up there in that room, probably planning escape routes and questioning my sanity.

Chapter 9

Are you sane? The question escaped before I could stop it. His laugh was dark and genuine. Probably not, not where you’re concerned. He poured coffee for both of us, added cream to mine without asking because of course he knew how I took it.

Insanity aside, we need to discuss the practical aspects of this arrangement. Arrangement. I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, needing something to hold on to. You mean my forced marriage to a stranger? I prefer to think of it as an arranged marriage, like they do in other cultures.

He picked up his own cup, watching me over the rim with the added benefit that I am deeply and irrevocably in love with you. The coffee burned my tongue. You do not love me, you are obsessed with me, and there is a difference. Is there?

He set his cup down, leaning forward. I know you take your coffee with two creams and one sugar. I know you hate the smell of cigarette smoke because it reminds you of your father. I know you cry silently without sound because you learned early that no one comes when you make noise.

I know you have a scar on your left knee from when you fell off a bike at age seven. I know your favorite color is green, like the forest you used to visit with your parents before they died. I know you read romance novels from the library because they let you escape into worlds where people are safe.

Tell me, Sophia, is that obsession or love? Every word was a knife cutting through my defenses because he was right, as he knew me and actually knew me in ways no one else ever had. It is both, I whispered, and that is what makes it terrifying.

Good. He leaned back, seeming satisfied. Fear means you’re taking this seriously. A woman entered with covered dishes, setting them on the table with practiced efficiency without looking at either of us before serving and disappearing. The food was incredible, featuring eggs, pastries, fresh fruit, and bacon cooked to perfection, so that my stomach growled despite everything.

Eat, Alessandro said, filling both our plates. You need your strength for today. What is happening today? Several things. He began eating with movements that were elegant even in something as simple as cutting eggs. First, we are going to your apartment to collect anything you want to keep, then we are visiting your aunt to explain the situation, and after that, we have an appointment with my lawyer to discuss the marriage contract.

Marriage contract? I pushed eggs around my plate like a business arrangement. Every marriage is a business arrangement, Sophia, and I am just honest about it. He took a sip of coffee. You will have your own accounts and your own money, wanting for nothing, while in exchange you will live here as my wife, attend events with me, and be faithful, which is all I ask.

That is all? Hysteria bubbled in my chest. Faithfulness to a man I do not love. Yet. His eyes locked onto mine. You do not love me yet, but you will, because I am patient, remember? And if I refuse, if I say no to all of this?

He went very still, and suddenly I could see the dangerous man beneath the civilized exterior. Then I will be very disappointed, but I won’t force you into anything, Sophia, as the choice is yours and you can walk out that door right now while I have Dante drive you anywhere you want to go.

Your aunt’s debts will still be cleared, and you will receive a substantial sum of money to start fresh somewhere else. Hope sparked. Really? Really. But his smile was sharp. Of course, you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, wondering if I am watching, because I will be.

I will know every job you take, every person you meet, and every breath you draw, meaning you will never be free of me, Sophia, and the only question is whether you want me in the shadows or by your side. The hope guttered and died, because this was not a choice, but an inevitability.

You are a monster, I said softly. Yes. He did not deny it. But I am a monster who will burn the world down before I let anyone hurt you, so can you say the same about anyone else in your life? I could not, which was the terrible truth, because no one had ever cared enough to protect me, to see me, or to want me with this kind of intensity.

Chapter 10

It was twisted, wrong, and completely insane, but it was also the first time in four years that I did not feel alone. I need time, I finally said to think and to process all of this. Of course. He stood, coming around the table to offer his hand.

Take all the time you need, but while you are thinking, let me show you what your life could be like. I took his hand, knowing what choice I had, and let him pull me to our feet. We were standing too close, with his chest almost brushing mine and his dark eyes searching my face like he was trying to read my soul.

I am going to court you properly, he said softly, the way I should have done if circumstances were different, because I am going to make you fall in love with me, Sophia, and when you finally say yes to marrying me, it will be because you cannot imagine saying anything else.

You are very confident. I am very determined, and there is a difference. His hand came up with fingers tracing my jawline with devastating gentleness. A knock at the door interrupted us, and Dante entered with a carefully neutral expression despite surely seeing how close we stood.

Sir, the car is ready, and your mother requests a word before you leave. Alessandro’s jaw tightened. Tell her I’m busy. She was quite insistent, sir. A sigh escaped him. Fine. Sophia, wait here. I will just be a moment.

He left, and I sagged against the table with my legs suddenly weak, realizing this was my life now, featuring breakfast in morning rooms, staff materializing and disappearing like ghosts, and a man watching me with eyes holding obsession and devotion in equal measure.

Through the windows, I could see the gardens in full daylight with a maze made of hedges, fountains with stone angels, and benches positioned in perfect spots for reading or contemplation, proving it was beautiful, but a gilded cage was still a cage, though at least this one came with roses.

He really does care for you, you know. I spun around to find Isabella Caruso standing in the doorway, being elegant in a cream pantsuit with her hair perfect despite the early hour, as she moved into the room like a queen surveying her domain. Mrs. Caruso, I did not hear you.

I wanted to speak with you privately. She poured herself coffee with steady hands. Before this goes any further, you should understand what you are getting into. I do not think I will ever understand what I am getting into. Her laugh was bitter.

No, probably not, because Caruso men don’t come with instruction manuals. She studied me over her cup. But they do come with certain expectations, including loyalty above all else, public perfection, and the private understanding that what happens within these walls stays within these walls.

I do not understand. You will. She set her cup down with a soft clink. My husband, Alessandro’s father, was very much like his son, being obsessive, possessive, and utterly devoted to the things he claimed as his, and I was nineteen when he decided I was going to be his wife, giving me no choice in the matter either.

Did you ever love him? Something flickered across her face. I learned to, or perhaps I simply learned that love and possession sometimes look very similar. She moved closer, with her expensive floral perfume washing over me. Alessandro is softer than his father ever was, because he actually cares if you are happy, whereas his father only cared if I was obedient.

That is a low bar. Welcome to the Caruso family. She reached out, straightening the collar of my dress with maternal efficiency. A word of advice, Sophia. Don’t fight what’s inevitable. Alessandro has decided you’re his, and nothing and no one will change his mind.

You can make this hard on yourself, or you can accept it and find what happiness you can within the parameters he set. That is not happiness, that is survival. Sometimes they’re the same thing. She stepped back, examining me like I was a painting she was considering purchasing.

You are stronger than you look, and you’ll need to be, because there are people who won’t be happy about Alessandro choosing an outsider, including people with daughters they hoped he’d marry, and people who see you as a weakness they can exploit.

Chapter 11

Are you threatening me? No, child, I’m warning you. Her expression softened slightly. Despite everything, I think you might actually be good for him, because he’s been half alive for four years, going through the motions and waiting for you, and now that he has you, he’s dangerous again and focused, which is good for the family.

Just try not to break his heart, because men like Alessandro don’t recover from that kind of wound. Before I could respond, Alessandro returned, his expression darkening when he saw his mother. I thought I told Dante You did, but I ignored him.

Isabella moved toward the door with grace. I was just getting to know your future wife, as she’s lovely, Alessandro, so treat her better than your father treated me. That is not a high bar, Mama. No. She paused in the doorway. But you’re capable of clearing it, so don’t disappoint me.

She left, and silence filled the room while Alessandro ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking exhausted. I apologize for my mother, as she means well, but she has a tendency to Tell the truth? I finished. Warn me that I’m entering a world I don’t understand?

Both. He offered his hand again. Are you ready to face your old life? To say goodbye to it? I looked at his hand, being strong, steady, and offering both salvation and prison, and then looked at my own hand, still bandaged from yesterday’s accident that had started all of this, the cut bleeding on marble floors to lead me here, to this moment and this choice that wasn’t really a choice at all.

I took his hand. Let’s go, I said. His fingers closed around mine, being warm, possessive, and terrifyingly gentle. As we walked out of that morning room, down those grand stairs, toward a car taking us to my old apartment, I realized something making my heart race with fear and something else I couldn’t name, which was that I didn’t want to let go.

The apartment building looked even worse in daylight, with peeling paint, cracked windows, and graffiti splashed across the entrance like angry prayers to gods who’d stopped listening, so that the contrast between this and the Caruso estate felt like we’d traveled to a different country. I pressed my forehead against the SUV’s window, suddenly nauseated.

You lived here for four years. Alessandro’s voice held barely controlled fury as he sat beside me with his body rigid and his hands clenched into fists on his thighs. Four years in this? It was all we could afford, I cut him off, being defensive despite everything. Not everyone is born into mansions.

No. His hand found mine, gripping tight. But no one should have to live like this either, especially not you. Dante and Luca flanked the vehicle as we exited, with their eyes constantly scanning and hands positioned near concealed weapons, while the neighbors normally congregating on the stoop scattered like roaches when seeing the SUV, the suits, and the aura of danger surrounding Alessandro like cologne.

The elevator was broken and had been for months, so we climbed five flights of stairs smelling like urine and desperation, and my legs remembered every step, every crack in the concrete, and every stain I’d learned to avoid, while Alessandro’s fury seemed to grow with each floor, his breathing becoming more controlled and more dangerous.

This is it, I said, stopping at apartment five C, with the door being scratched and dented and the number barely visible, while I could hear television blaring inside, being some morning talk show my aunt watched religiously while nursing hangovers. I knocked, received no answer, and knocked harder.

What do you want? My aunt’s slurred voice came through the door. If you’re here about money, I ain’t got none. Aunt Marie, it’s me, Sophia. Silence, then shuffling footsteps and the sound of multiple locks being undone, until the door cracked open to reveal my aunt’s bloodshot eyes and unkempt hair.

She was still in yesterday’s clothes with smeared makeup, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. Sophia. She blinked, confused. Why ain’t you at work? And who the hell are Her eyes landed on Alessandro, and I watched recognition flicker across her face, followed immediately by fear.

Mr. Caruso, I didn’t I wasn’t expecting Mrs. Chen. Alessandro’s voice was pure ice. We need to talk. May we come in? My aunt stumbled backward, and we entered the apartment that had been my prison for four years, featuring one main room serving as living room, kitchen, and dining area, a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in, and two bedrooms where mine was little more than a closet.

Chapter 12

The place was a disaster of empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays, dishes piled in the sink, and the stench of decay and neglect, and I watched Alessandro take it all in, seeing his jaw clench harder with each detail, while Dante and Luca positioned themselves by the door to block any escape.

Sophia, baby, what’s going on? My aunt’s voice took on the wheedling tone she used when she wanted something. Did something happen at the bakery? You could say that. Alessandro moved deeper into the apartment, his presence making the cramped space feel even smaller, as he picked up an empty vodka bottle, examined it, and set it down with deliberate care.

Tell me, Mrs. Chen, when was the last time you provided for your niece? I don’t know what you When was the last time you bought groceries, paid a bill, cooked a meal? His voice remained calm, which somehow made it more terrifying. When was the last time you were sober long enough to notice that Sophia was working herself to death to keep you fed and housed?

My aunt’s face crumpled. Now, wait just a minute. I’m not interested in excuses. Alessandro turned to face her fully, and I saw my aunt shrink back. I’m here to inform you that Sophia will no longer be living here or supporting you, because your debts have been cleared and this apartment has been paid for six months in advance, so what you do after that is your concern.

She’s my niece, and you can’t just take her. I’m not taking her, as she’s choosing to leave, and there’s a difference. His eyes found mine across the room. Tell her, Sophia. My throat felt tight, because despite everything, including the drinking, neglect, and emotional abandonment, she was still family, being the only family I had left.

Aunt Marie, I’m leaving to work for Mr. Caruso. Work for him? Her laugh was ugly and knowing. That what we’re calling it now? I’ve heard the stories about the Caruso men, and they don’t hire girls your age to work, sweetheart, they Finish that sentence.

Alessandro’s voice dropped to something lethal. Please, I’d love to hear what you think I intend to do with your niece while you’ve been drinking yourself unconscious every night. My aunt’s mouth snapped shut. That’s what I thought. Alessandro gestured to me. Get what you need, we’re leaving.

I moved to my tiny bedroom on autopilot, pulling out the battered suitcase I’d brought from my parents’ house four years ago, and there wasn’t much to pack, just a few changes of clothes all worn and faded, some photos of my parents, a jewelry box with my mother’s necklace, and books from the library I’d never returned because I couldn’t bear to part with them.

Is this everything? Alessandro appeared in the doorway, filling the small space with eyes sweeping over my meager belongings as something like pain crossed his face. Four years and this is all you have? I didn’t need much. No.

He stepped closer, taking the suitcase from my hands. You just survived with as little as possible because you gave everything else to someone who didn’t deserve it. She’s all I had. Was all you had. His hand cupped my face, with his thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

Now you have me, and I’m not going anywhere. We returned to the main room, where my aunt sat hunched on the couch crying with her makeup running in black streams down her face in manipulative tears designed to make me feel guilty, which worked at least a little.

Sophia, please. She sobbed. Don’t leave me alone, because you’re all I have left of your mother. Funny. Alessandro’s voice was cold. She never seemed to remember that while you were drinking away Sophia’s paychecks. I have a problem, I’m sick.

You’re selfish. He handed my suitcase to Dante. There’s a difference, because Sophia gave you four years of her life and you gave her nothing but more work and more worry, and that ends now. I moved toward the door with my legs feeling like lead, knowing this was the final severing of my old life, while my aunt’s sobs followed me, growing louder and more desperate.

Chapter 13

Sophia, Sophia, please, don’t do this, don’t leave me. I stopped with my hand on the doorknob, and Alessandro was beside me immediately with his presence being solid and grounding. You don’t owe her anything, he said quietly, neither guilt, nor explanations, nor anything.

She’s family. Family doesn’t destroy you to save themselves. His hand covered mine on the doorknob. Come on, let’s go home. The word should have felt wrong, but as we descended those five flights of stairs, left that building that had never been anything but a cage, and stepped into the SUV smelling like leather and safety, I realized Alessandro was right, as I was going home and just hadn’t known where home was until now.

The drive back was silent, with Alessandro holding my hand the entire time, his grip being firm but not painful while his thumb traced patterns on my skin that felt like promises, as Dante drove with practiced efficiency and Luca made quiet phone calls arranging things in the background.

When we pulled up to the estate, Isabella was waiting on the steps, and she took one look at my face and dismissed Alessandro with a wave. I’ll take her from here, because you have that meeting with the Rosetti family. I can reschedule.

You will not. Isabella’s tone brooked no argument. Business doesn’t stop because you’ve acquired a wife, so go, as I’ll look after her. Alessandro looked torn, with reluctance written all over his face. I’ll be back by dinner, and if you need anything She’ll be fine.

Isabella was already guiding me up the steps. Go intimidate your business partners and leave the girl to me. I watched him leave with reluctance written all over his face, before Isabella led me inside, not to my room, but to a sunny sitting room I hadn’t seen before, where tea was already waiting along with delicate pastries I couldn’t imagine eating.

Sit, she commanded, and I obeyed, watching her pour tea with practiced grace and add sugar without asking, marking another thing they just knew about me, before she pushed the cup into my hands. That was harder than you expected, she observed.

I didn’t think it would be easy. But you didn’t think it would hurt. She sipped her own tea. Leaving broken things behind always hurts, even when we know they were poison. We sat in silence for a moment in the beautiful room featuring cream walls and artwork costing more than my aunt’s apartment, while windows overlooked the gardens where I could see gardeners working among the roses.

My son is obsessed with you, Isabella said finally, in case that wasn’t obvious. It was obvious. Good, then you also know that obsession can be dangerous for both of you. She set her cup down. The Caruso men love fiercely, but they also destroy completely, so you need to understand which side of that you’re on.

Which side was his father on, with you? Her smile was sad. Both, because he loved me and destroyed me in equal measure, but I survived and eventually found my own power within this family. She leaned forward. That’s what you need to do, Sophia, to find your power and not just be Alessandro’s wife, but his equal and his partner, because the only way to survive a Caruso is to match their intensity.

I don’t know how. You will. She stood, smoothing her skirt. Now, we have work to do, because you’re meeting with the lawyer this afternoon and you need to understand exactly what you’re signing. The next few hours were a blur of legal terminology and contract clauses, and the lawyer, Mr. Benedetti, was an elderly man with sharp eyes and a sharper mind who explained the prenuptial agreement with clinical precision.

You’ll have access to an account with fifty thousand dollars per month for personal expenses, he said, sliding papers across his desk, while the estate and all properties remain in the Caruso family trust, and in the event of divorce There won’t be a divorce.

Alessandro said from the doorway, as I hadn’t heard him return, moving into the room like he owned it, which he probably did, and standing behind my chair with his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. Continue.

Mr. Benedetti cleared his throat. In the unlikely event of divorce, Mrs. Caruso would receive a settlement of five million dollars plus the penthouse in the city, while all other assets remain with the family. Five million dollars was more money than I could comprehend for marrying a man I’d known for two days.

Chapter 14

However, Mr. Benedetti continued, should Mrs. Caruso commit adultery, all financial agreements are void. I would never, I started. I know. Alessandro’s hands tightened on my shoulders. But it’s in the contract nonetheless, being standard for Caruso marriages, and for you.

I twisted to look up at him. What happens if you commit adultery? His expression darkened. I wouldn’t, because the thought of another woman makes me physically ill, as you’re it for me, Sophia, and there is no one else, nor will there ever be anyone else.

The intensity in his voice made my breath catch, while Mr. Benedetti coughed uncomfortably and shuffled papers. There’s also the matter of the wedding itself, he said. Mr. Caruso has requested a ceremony in three weeks, so is that agreeable to you, Miss Chen?

Three weeks, meaning twenty-one days until I became Sophia Caruso and this bizarre, overwhelming situation became permanent. I My voice failed. Alessandro came around the chair, crouching in front of me so we were eye level.

I know it’s fast, and I know this is all happening too quickly, but I’ve waited four years, Sophia, and I can’t wait much longer. His hands found mine, cradling them gently. Say yes, let me give you everything, let me protect you, and let me love you the way you deserve to be loved.

You don’t love me, you don’t even know me. I know you bite your lip when you’re nervous, I know you cry in the shower so no one can hear, I know you read the endings of books first because you can’t handle suspense, I know you’re terrified of thunderstorms because your parents died in a car accident during one, and I know you, Sophia, better than anyone ever has.

Tears streamed down my face because everything he said was true, including every intimate detail and every secret I thought I kept hidden, since he’d been watching, learning, and cataloging every piece of me. This is insane, I whispered.

Yes. He kissed my knuckles with his lips warm against my skin. But it’s also inevitable, so say yes and stop fighting what we both know is going to happen anyway. I looked at Mr. Benedetti, at his carefully neutral expression, and at the contract spread before me with pages of legal jargon basically stating I was agreeing to belong to Alessandro Caruso for the rest of my life.

Then I looked back at Alessandro, at his dark eyes full of obsession, devotion, and something that might actually be love, twisted though it was. Yes, I heard myself say, I’ll marry you. The smile spreading across his face was pure triumph.

He stood, pulling me up with him, and before I could process what was happening, his mouth was on mine in a kiss that was everything and nothing like I expected, being gentle yet demanding, asking and taking simultaneously. His hands framed my face like I was something precious, while his lips moved against mine with a practiced skill speaking of experience I didn’t have, since my previous fumbling teenage attempts at kissing meant nothing, whereas this was a claiming.

When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard. Mine, he whispered against my lips. Finally, completely mine. Mr. Benedetti cleared his throat again, louder this time. Shall we proceed with the signatures? The pen felt heavy in my hand.

I stared at the dotted line, at the space where my signature would make all of this real, legal, and binding, while Alessandro’s hand covered mine, steadying it. Together, he said softly. I signed as Sophia Chen for the last time, knowing that in three weeks that name would be gone, replaced by one carrying weight, danger, and power.

Congratulations, Mr. Benedetti said, gathering the papers. I’ll file these immediately. Alessandro was already pulling me toward the door, his excitement palpable. I want to show you something, he said, leading me through halls I hadn’t explored yet, up another flight of stairs to the fourth floor, and opening a door to reveal a room taking my breath away.

It featured wall-to-wall windows overlooking the entire estate, bookshelves lining every available space and filled with leather-bound volumes and new paperbacks alike, a reading nook with cushions and blankets, and a desk with fresh flowers. This is your library, he said, watching my reaction.

I had it prepared for you, and every book you ever checked out of the public library is here, plus hundreds more I thought you’d like. I walked in slowly, running my fingers along the spines of Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, the entire Brontë collection, and modern romances with bent covers, featuring everything I’d ever loved plus treasures I’d never dared to dream of owning.

Chapter 15

How did you I told you I’ve been paying attention. He came up behind me, with his chest against my back and his arms wrapping around my waist. Everything you’ve ever wanted, Sophia, I’ll give to you, including books, clothes, jewelry, travel, and anything else, so you just have to ask.

And all it costs is my freedom. No. He turned me to face him with his expression being serious. All it costs is your trust, meaning trust that I’ll take care of you, trust that I’ll never hurt you the way your aunt did, and trust that when I say I love you, I mean it with every fiber of my being.

You’re asking for a lot. I know. His forehead rested against mine. But I’m offering everything in return. The sun was setting, painting the library in shades of gold and amber, knowing that in three weeks I’d be his wife and this would be my life of libraries and luxuries, obsession and devotion, with a man who’d destroy the world for me, but wouldn’t let me leave.

It was a gilded cage, but standing there in Alessandro’s arms, surrounded by books and beauty, I realized something terrifying, which was that I was starting to like my cage. The wedding was in two days, and I stood in front of the full-length mirror in what would soon be our bedroom, having insisted Alessandro I move into the master suite after the engagement, while watching seamstresses make final adjustments to a dress costing more than a car.

It was made of ivory silk, hand-embroidered with pearls, and fitted to my body like it had grown there, making me look like a princess from one of those books in my library, or rather, like someone else entirely. Bellissima, Maria whispered with tears in her eyes.

Mr. Alessandro will lose his mind when he sees you. The past three weeks had been a whirlwind of days filled with dress fittings, menu tastings, and meetings with wedding planners who treated every detail like a military operation, alongside nights filled with dinners where Alessandro watched me like I might disappear.

Conversations had involved him learning my present while I slowly uncovered fragments of his past, interspersed with moments of carefully controlled physical affection leaving me wanting more and terrified of what more meant, as he’d kept his word by not pushing, demanding, or entering my room without permission, though the tension between us had grown with each passing day, winding tighter until I felt like I might shatter from the anticipation alone.

All finished, Ms. Chen, the head seamstress announced, stepping back to admire her work. You’re perfect. Perfect, when I’d never been perfect at anything, and yet here I stood, about to marry into one of the most powerful families in the country, wearing a dress worth a fortune and looking like I belonged.

Thank you, I managed. It’s beautiful. They helped me out of the dress with reverent care, packaging it away like the treasure it was, and I changed back into jeans and a cashmere sweater, since my wardrobe had exploded in three weeks to be filled with clothes I’d never dreamed of owning, before heading downstairs.

Alessandro was in his study as usual, with the door being ajar and letting me hear him speaking in rapid Italian with his tone being clipped and dangerous, which I’d learned meant business, meaning someone had displeased him, meaning violence simmered just beneath his civilized surface.

I knocked softly, and the conversation stopped immediately. Entra, he said, before switching to English. Come in, Sofia. He sat behind an enormous desk with papers spread before him and a glass of whiskey at his elbow, having loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, and the sight of his forearms, being strong and dusted with dark hair, did something to my insides that I didn’t want to examine too closely.

Everything all right with the dress? He asked, setting down the phone. Perfect. They’re finished. Good. He stood, moving around the desk with that predatory grace I’d come to recognize. I have something for you.

Chapter 16

From a drawer, he pulled out a black velvet box, not being a ring box since we’d already done that ceremony with me wearing an engagement ring featuring a diamond so large it felt obscene, but this was larger and rectangular. You didn’t have to.

Open it. He placed it in my hands, then stepped back, watching my face intently, and inside lay a necklace making my breath stop, featuring diamonds and sapphires arranged in an intricate pattern with each stone catching the light and throwing rainbows across the study, being museum quality, the kind of jewelry appearing in magazines with armed guards beside it.

Alessandro, I can’t It was my grandmother’s. He took the necklace out carefully, moving behind me. She wore it on her wedding day, because my grandfather gave it to her the night before, telling her it was a promise that he would give her the world, but she had to trust him to do it.

His fingers brushed my neck as he fastened the clasp, and I shivered as the necklace settled against my skin, being heavy, warm, and priceless. Did she trust him? Eventually. His hands rested on my shoulders, and I could see our reflection in the window, with him being tall and dark behind me, and me being dwarfed by his presence while wearing jewels worth a fortune.

It took time, but she learned that when a Caruso man loves, he loves completely, without reservation, and without end. I turned to face him with the necklace being cold against my throat. And did he make her happy?

He tried, as every day he tried. Alessandro’s hand came up, with fingers tracing the line of jewels across my collarbone. Some days he succeeded, some days he failed, but he never stopped trying, which is all I can promise you, Sophia, since I’ll try every day to make you happy, and if I fail, I’ll try harder the next day.

What if it’s not enough? Then I’ll keep trying until I die. His voice was fierce and absolute. There is no scenario where I give up on you, on us, and you need to understand that. Before I could respond, his phone rang, and he glanced at it with his expression darkening.

I need to take this, as it’s business that can’t wait. Of course. I started to leave, but his hand caught my wrist. Keep the necklace on, because I want to see you wearing it at dinner. The call lasted hours, and I spent the time in my library trying to read, but unable to focus, feeling the necklace like a collar, being beautiful yet binding, and serving as a reminder of what and who I was becoming, namely Mrs. Alessandro Caruso.

Dinner was tense, with Alessandro being distracted and his mind clearly elsewhere, while Isabella picked at her food with aristocratic disinterest, and the silence stretched, broken only by the clink of silverware against China. There’s been a complication, Alessandro said finally, setting down his fork.

Nothing that affects the wedding, but I need to handle something tonight, so I’ll be gone until morning. What kind of complication? Isabella’s eyes were sharp. The Morettis are making noise about territory disputes, which is nothing I can’t handle.

He looked at me. I’m sorry, because I wanted our last night before the wedding to be It’s fine. I forced a smile. I understand, business comes first. His jaw tightened. You come first, always, but this can’t wait. He left shortly after, taking Dante, Luca, and an SUV full of armed men, and I watched from the window as the convoy disappeared down the drive, with red tail lights being swallowed by darkness.

You’ll learn to hate those departures, Isabella said from behind me. Never knowing if he’ll come back, if this will be the night someone finally gets to him. You’re very encouraging. I’m honest. She moved to stand beside me. My husband died in a business meeting gone wrong, where one minute he was alive negotiating a deal, and the next he was on the floor with a bullet in his chest, so Alessandro was twenty-three and had to step into his father’s position immediately with no time to grieve and no time to adjust, becoming the man he is now because he had no other choice.

Chapter 17

I looked at her, seeing past the elegant exterior to the woman who’d survived losing her husband to violence. Do you regret marrying into this family? Every day. Her smile was sad and not at all. That’s the paradox of loving a Caruso, because they give you everything and take everything in equal measure, and you just have to decide if what they give is worth what they take.

She left me alone with that thought, and I went to bed early with the necklace still around my throat, being too afraid to take it off, while sleep came fitfully, filled with dreams of blood on marble floors and Alessandro’s eyes going cold and empty. A crash woke me.

I sat up with my heart pounding and being disoriented, as the clock read three forty-seven in the morning, followed by another crash closer this time, shouting, and the sound of something breaking, causing me to grab a robe and run into the hallway where staff members rushed past with pale faces, until Maria grabbed my arm as I started toward the stairs.

Ms. Chen, you should stay. Where’s Alessandro? In the entrance hall, but you shouldn’t I was already running, and the scene in the entrance hall stopped me cold, with Alessandro standing in the center having his white shirt soaked with blood and his knuckles split and bleeding, while Dante and Luca flanked him, being also bloodied but standing.

On the marble floor, that pristine white marble, a man lay unconscious with his face being a mess of blood and broken teeth. Alessandro! I didn’t think, just ran to him with my hands frantically searching for wounds. Are you hurt? Where’s all this blood from?

Not mine. His voice was dead and flat. His. I looked down at the unconscious man, then back at Alessandro, whose eyes were empty and cold, being the eyes of the monster he’d promised he could be, representing the man running a criminal empire and the danger everyone had warned me about, meaning I should have been terrified.

Instead, I pressed closer with my hands finding his face. Are you sure you’re not hurt? Something shifted in his expression, with warmth flooding back in. I’m fine, Bella, I just had to send a message. In our home?

Isabella appeared on the stairs, being surprisingly calm given the bleeding man on her floor. Alessandro, we have people for this. He needed to see my face when I made it clear. Alessandro’s arm came around me, pulling me against his bloody shirt.

The Morettis sent him to spy, to find weaknesses, as he was taking photos of the house, of Sophia’s window. Ice flooded my veins. My window? He won’t be taking any more photos. Alessandro’s voice was soft and deadly. Neither will anyone else who thinks they can threaten what’s mine.

Luca and Dante were already dragging the unconscious man toward the door, and I didn’t ask where they were taking him, nor did I want to know. You’re shaking, Alessandro said, finally looking down at me. I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have seen this.

I’m not afraid of you. You should be. But his arms tightened around me. I’m a monster, Sophia, and I do terrible things to protect what’s mine, so this? He gestured to the blood and the violence. This is who I really am.

I looked up at him, at this man who’d been watching over me for four years, who’d given me everything, and who’d just beaten someone unconscious for taking photos of my room. I know who you are, I’ve always known, since you told me from the beginning, and yet I’m still here.

I’m still here. And I realized it was true, because I’d had three weeks to run, change my mind, or refuse this life, but I hadn’t, because somewhere between the bakery and now, between obsession and devotion, I’d stopped seeing the cage and started seeing the man.

Go upstairs, he said softly, get cleaned up, and I’ll come to you when I’m done here. Your room or mine? His eyes flashed. It’s time you got used to it, because in two days we’ll be sharing it anyway. I should have argued, should have maintained the boundaries we’d carefully constructed, but instead I nodded and headed upstairs with my heart racing for entirely different reasons now.

Chapter 18

Forty-five minutes later, he appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, which was our bedroom, having showered and changed into pajama pants and nothing else with his hair still damp and the cuts on his knuckles bandaged. Come here, he said quietly.

I went to him, and he pulled me against his bare chest, his arms wrapping around me completely, as we stood like that for a long moment just breathing together with his heart beating steady against my ear. I would kill for you, he whispered into my hair.

I would burn this entire city down before I let anyone hurt you, so does that terrify you? Yes, I pressed closer. But it also makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my life. He pulled back to look at me with his hands framing my face.

I love you, and I know you don’t love me yet, but I love you enough for both of us, having done so since the moment I saw you counting pennies in that grocery store, loving you through every hard day, every tear, and every moment you thought you were alone.

You were never alone, Sophia, as I was always there, watching, protecting, and waiting. That should be creepy, but it’s not, not anymore. His thumb brushed my lower lip. Is it? No. The admission felt like surrender.

It’s not. Then say it, say you’ll marry me, not because you signed a contract, not because you have nowhere else to go, but because you want this, because you want me. I looked at him, really looked, seeing past the danger and the obsession to the man beneath.

He was the man who’d given me a library because he knew I loved books, who’d cleared my aunt’s debts without being asked, who’d watched me eat at every meal to make sure I was taking care of myself, and who’d looked at me like I was the answer to a question he’d been asking his whole life.

I’ll marry you, I said clearly, not because I have to, but because I want to, and because somewhere in these three weeks I started falling in love with you too. The kiss was different this time, being desperate, claiming, and full of three weeks of restrained passion finally unleashed, so that he lifted me easily and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to our bed.

We fell together into silk sheets, and his weight on top of me felt like coming home. After the wedding, he said against my lips with his control clearly fraying, we do this right, with wedding night, tradition, all of it. Two days.

Two days. He rolled onto his back, pulling me onto his chest with my head over his heart. And then you’re mine in every way, legally, spiritually, physically, mine. Yours, I agreed, and felt his arms tighten around me as we fell asleep like that, tangled together two days away from forever.

The wedding was perfect, with the gardens having been transformed into something from a fairy tale featuring white roses everywhere, an arch dripping with flowers, chairs draped in silk, and three hundred guests all dressed in their finest and there to watch Alessandro Caruso claim his bride.

I walked down the aisle alone by my choice, not his, having no father to give me away and no family except an aunt who wasn’t invited, but I didn’t need anyone because I was giving myself freely to the man waiting at the altar. Alessandro looked devastating in his tuxedo with his eyes locked on me from the moment I appeared, and I watched his throat work as I approached, seeing his hands clench at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from running to me when I reached him.

He whispered that I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and the ceremony blurred with words spoken, vows exchanged, and rings slipped onto fingers, until the priest said you may kiss your bride, and Alessandro pulled me close with one hand in my hair and the other on my lower back, kissing me like he was drowning and I was air.

The crowd cheered, but I barely heard them, as there was only him, only us, and only this moment where everything changed. Mine, he breathed against my lips. Finally, completely mine. Yours, I agreed, always yours.

The reception was elaborate with dancing, dinner, and toasts making me blush and making Alessandro’s eyes darken with promise, while his hand never left mine and his body was always positioned between me and the rest of the world, being possessive, protective, and perfect.

Chapter 19

As the sun set and fairy lights twinkled to life across the gardens, he pulled me close for a slow dance, and his lips brushed my ear asking if I was ready to leave, to which I asked where we were going, prompting his wicked smile as he replied nowhere, just upstairs, because he was done sharing me with these people.

We slipped away during a champagne toast, running through the mansion like teenagers and laughing as he chased me up the stairs, catching me at the door to our bedroom and pressing me against it with his mouth finding mine in a kiss promising everything.

I love you, he said between kisses, having loved you so long, so let me show you, let me spend the rest of my life showing you. Yes, I gasped as he lifted me, carrying me over the threshold. Yes, to everything.

The door closed behind us, shutting out the world, and in the darkness broken only by moonlight, Alessandro Caruso made me his in every way that mattered, gently, thoroughly, and worshipping every inch of skin like I was sacred, while I loved him with the intensity of someone who’d been drowning and finally learned to breathe.

Later, wrapped in his arms with my head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat being steady and sure, I realized something, which was that the cage was gone, because I wasn’t trapped, I was home. What are you thinking?

He murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare back. That I was wrong, this isn’t a prison. No? No. I pressed a kiss over his heart. It’s salvation, because you saved me, Alessandro, from my old life, from drowning, from disappearing, seeing me when I was invisible, loving me when I was nothing, and making me real.

His arms tightened. You were never nothing, you were everything, you just needed someone to show you. We fell asleep like that, being two people who’d found each other against impossible odds, where obsession turned to devotion, and possession turned to love, knowing that in the morning we’d wake up to a life neither of us had chosen, but both of us wanted.

The rain had stopped weeks ago, but finally, standing in Alessandro’s arms, wearing his ring, his name, and his love, I understood what it meant to be dry, warm, and home. Six months later, I sat in my library with the winter sun streaming through the windows and a book open on my lap, while downstairs I could hear Alessandro conducting business, with his voice carrying up through the halls.

We’d settled into a rhythm of mornings apart focused on our separate worlds, afternoons together, and evenings wrapped in each other, while the nightmares had stopped, my aunt had checked herself into rehab using money Alessandro provided without my asking, and I’d discovered I liked being Mrs. Caruso more than I’d ever imagined.

The door opened, and Alessandro appeared, immediately crossing to me in our ritual where he couldn’t go more than a few hours without touching me, as if reassuring himself I was real. Hello, husband. I smiled as he bent to kiss me.

Hello, wife. He settled beside me, pulling my feet into his lap. What are you reading? Jane Eyre. Again? The one where the crazy wife is locked in the attic? His smile was teasing. Any similarities to your own life? Only that I married a brooding, obsessive man who’d burn down his house before losing me.

Fair point. His hands massaged my feet absently. I have a question. Yes? Are you happy? I set the book aside, giving him my full attention. You ask me that every week. And I’ll keep asking until I’m confident in your answer.

I’m happy, Alessandro. I cupped his face, making sure he saw the truth in my eyes. I’m more than happy, I’m loved, I’m protected, I’m home, and you gave me everything I didn’t know I needed. Good. But his eyes still held shadows. Because if you ever wanted to leave, I know.

You’d let me go. I’d learned this about him in six months of marriage, realizing that for all his possessiveness and obsessive devotion, he loved me enough to destroy himself if it meant my happiness. But I’m not leaving, because this is where I belong, with you, in this life we built together, even though you’re a monster, and especially because you’re my monster.

Chapter 20

I moved to straddle his lap, and his hands immediately went to my waist. You’re terrible, obsessive, and would probably kill anyone who looked at me wrong. I would, he confirmed. But you’re also gentle with me, patient, kind, having never raised your voice to me, never made me feel small, and never made me regret saying yes to this insane arrangement.

It was pretty insane, he admitted. It was perfect. I kissed him softly. We were perfect, we are perfect, so stop asking if I’m happy and just trust that I am. His forehead rested against mine. I don’t deserve you.

Good thing I don’t care about deserve, because I care about want, and I want you today, tomorrow, forever. Forever, he repeated like a vow. I can work with forever. Outside, snow began to fall, transforming the gardens into a winter wonderland, while inside, in my library with my husband, I felt a warmth having nothing to do with the fireplace and everything to do with the man holding me.

I’d been drowning in that bakery, being bleeding, invisible, and dying by inches, but Alessandro Caruso had pulled me from those depths, given me air, given me life, given me a love so consuming it bordered on madness, and I’d learned something important.

Sometimes obsession and devotion were the same thing, sometimes possession was just another word for home, and sometimes the cage was really salvation wearing a different face. I was Sofia Caruso now, wife to a mafia boss, queen of a criminal empire, and owner of more books than I could read in a lifetime, and I’d never been happier.

The rain had stopped falling, the sun was shining, and I was finally, completely, impossibly home.