Page 15 of Forced Arrangement

“Deal,” I agree, feeling the knot of tension in my chest loosen just a bit.

***

Angelo is already seated across from me, his expression calm and unreadable. He has this unnerving ability to look completely at ease, even when the world is falling apart around him. Maybe it’s the ridiculous glasses.

There’s something completely disarming about the fact that he wears them. They should make him seem weak, but instead, it makes him seem even more powerful. And they act like a shield, somehow containing his emotions behind them, magnifying the green of his eyes but never revealing his innermost thoughts.

It’s like he’s always in control, always ten steps ahead of everyone else. I hate how much that rattles me.

“You made the right choice,” Angelo says, breaking the silence.

I look up at him, trying to gauge his intentions. “Did I?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me with those intensely green eyes of his. They remind me of the kind of eyes that are always given to the heroes in fantasy books. I nearly snort at my whimsical train of thought. I’m seated across from a mafia don and I’m comparing his pretty eyes to the heroes in the fairy smut I like to read.

“You’re doing this to protect the people you care about. That’s the right choice,” he was saying. I tug my attention back to the present.

I nod, though I don’t feel any less conflicted. “So, what’s the plan when we get there?”

Angelo leans back in his seat, his gaze still fixed on me. “For your safety, we’ll need to keep up appearances. It’ll be easier to navigate this world if people believe we’re engaged.”

The statement hangs in the air between us, and I can’t help but frown. “Engaged? Why would they believe that?”

He shrugs, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Because it makes sense. We were betrothed when you were a child. And in this world, old promises still carry weight. If people think we’re together, they’ll be less likely to try anything.”

I narrow my eyes, skepticism creeping in. “And what if I say no? What if I don’t want to play this game?”

His lips curve into a small, almost teasing smile. “It’s just another game of pretend, Sophia. You’re good at those, aren’t you?”

The way he says the words makes my skin prickle, like he knows more about me than he should, like he can see right through the facade I have worked so hard to build. And maybe he can. Angelo Castiglia isn’t the kind of man you can easily deceive.

But he’s right. Pretending was something I had grown up doing. Pretending to be someone else, pretending to be fine, pretending that the life I had left behind didn’t haunt me. This would be no different. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.

I sigh, looking out the window as the plane lifts off the ground, leaving London—and my old life—behind. “Fine. I’ll play along. But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Angelo replies smoothly, his tone full of amusement.

I don’t look at him. I don’t want to see the satisfaction in his eyes. I can already feel the walls closing in, the weight of the decision I have made pressing down on me. But it’s too late to turn back now. I’m committed to this path, whether I like it or not.

As the plane soars higher into the sky, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m stepping into a trap, one that was carefully laid out long before I ever knew it existed.

And the worst part is, I had no idea who was really pulling the strings.

Chapter Five

Angelo

Earlier That Day

The streets of London blur into a gray haze as the car weaves through the city, making its way to Sophia’s flat. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, barely more than a mist, but it still clings to the air, making everything feel cold and damp. I lean back in my seat, staring out the window, my mind already on Sophia and what lies ahead.

I shouldn’t be this restless. Picking her up, escorting her to the car—it was all standard procedure. And yet, there was an undercurrent of anticipation in me that I hadn’t felt in years, a low hum just beneath my skin that made my fingers twitch and my thoughts stray.

She had gotten under my skin. From the moment I saw her at the funeral, she had gotten under my skin. That fire in her eyes, the defiance she wore like designer perfume—it was a challenge, one I hadn’t been able to ignore. And now, as I prepared to bring her back to New York, that challenge was front and center in my mind.

It wasn’t just about her safety. It wasn’t just about fulfilling a duty or protecting an heir.

It was about her—Sophia, her beauty, which was almost ridiculous, her voice which offered that raspy, sultry goodness I’ve always liked. I've had dreams of that voice, but in those dreams, she's not arguing with me. In those dreams, she's screaming my name, begging me to fuck her harder.

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