Page 27 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

Felicity doesn’t respond, but her shoulders stiffen. Without another word, we leave the room. As we step outside, I guideFelicity to the waiting car. She’s silent, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. I open the door for her, and she slides in without a word. Once I’m seated beside her, I signal Viktor to go.

We drive in silence for several minutes before Felicity speaks. “Did you really not know about all of this?”

I turn to face her. “I knew about the arrangement for our marriage, but I didn’t know the full history of your family’s situation. Santino kept many details private from me.”

She nods slowly, processing this information. “And if you had known? Would it have changed anything?”

I consider her question carefully. “It wouldn’t have changed my decision to marry you, but I might have approached things differently. Given you more time to adjust, perhaps.”

Felicity laughs bitterly. “More time? As if a lifetime would be enough to prepare for this.”

I hesitate before placing my hand over hers. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away. “I know this is overwhelming. Your entire world has been turned upside down, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

She looks at me as though gauging my sincerity. “Why? Why do you care? This is just a business arrangement, isn’t it?”

Her words make my chest constrict. “It started that way, yes, but you’re not just a business transaction to me. You’re my wife now, and I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“‘Responsibilities,’” she repeats, her voice flat. “Is that all I am to you? A responsibility?”

I shake my head, struggling to find the right words. “No, that’s not what I mean. I care about you more than I expected to. I want to help you navigate this new world, even if it’s not what you wanted.”

She’s quiet as she watches the city passing by outside the window. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

I squeeze her hand gently. “You are stronger than you know. I’ve seen it in you already, and you’re not alone in this.”

Felicity turns back to me with unshed tears. “What if I can’t forgive him? What if I can’t forgive any of this?”

“Then we’ll deal with that,” I say firmly. “You don’t have to forgive anyone right now, or ever if you don’t want to. Your feelings are valid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She nods. “Thank you for being honest with me, at least.”

Warmth spreads through my chest. “I promise I will always be honest with you. Even when the truth is difficult.”

As we continue our drive back to the penthouse, I hope that this moment of vulnerability between us is the start of something deeper, beyond the arranged marriage and political alliances. Something real.

11

Felicity

Istep out of the treatment room, my skin glowing from the luxurious massage I’ve just received. The spa’s soothing scent of lavender and eucalyptus lingers in the air as I adjust my plush robe.

After everything I’ve been through the past week, I needed this, and Kiril knows it. He made sure that I had every luxury available to me so that I could shake some of the stress off my shoulders. I feel a bit better already.

I’m about to head to the relaxation lounge when I notice a maintenance worker at the end of the hallway. Something about him seems off. His uniform doesn’t quite fit right, and his gaze darts around nervously.

Before I can process this, he lunges toward me, a thin wire glinting in his hands.

I try to scream, but the wire wraps around my throat, cutting off my air. Panic floods my system as I claw at the wire, desperatefor breath. My vision starts to blur, and I’m certain this is the end.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion behind me. The pressure on my throat vanishes, and I stumble forward, gasping for air. I whirl around to see Kiril standing there, blazing with fury. A ceramic knife is embedded in the attacker’s hand, and blood drips onto the pristine floor.

“Felicity, get back,” Kiril shouts as he charges at the hitman.

I press myself against the wall, watching in horror and awe as Kiril engages in a brutal fight with my would-be killer. The narrow spa corridor becomes a battlefield as the two men trade blows.

He moves with lethal grace, dodging punches and delivering devastating strikes of his own. The hitman is skilled, but Kiril’s fury gives him an edge. They grapple, slamming into walls and knocking over decorative vases.

The fight seems to last an eternity, though it’s probably only seconds. Finally, Kiril gains the upper hand. He grabs the hitman by the hair and smashes his head against the marble countertop with a sickening crack. The attacker crumples to the floor, unconscious or worse.

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