Page 27 of Dark Mafia Bride

As if on cue, a middle-aged woman in a thick fur coat walks past me. She gives me a quick once-over, her eyes flicking over my frame. She’s probably wondering if I’ve lost my way. Her gaze narrows slightly, and I snort inwardly. Yup. She definitely thinks I don’t belong here.

Too bad I have bigger problems to worry about. Like, I don’t know, the marriage contract I’ll be signing before I leave this place.

Straightening my shoulders, I take a deep breath and head toward the elevator across the lobby. I received a brief text from the number I called telling me to meet him in a restaurant on the fifth floor of the hotel.

The elevator ride feels like it stretches on forever. As I stare at my reflection in the mirrored walls, I try to ignore the gnawing feeling in my gut. I literally have no idea what I’m about to walk into. I don’t even know the names of the men I’m dealing with. This is definitely creepy, but what choice do I have? By tonight, the twenty-four hours Abruzzi gave me will be up. I have to take whatever chances I can, no matter how dangerous or sketchy it may seem.

The soft chime of the elevator pulls me out of my thoughts. The doors slide open to reveal a sleek, dimly lit hallway. A gentle melody drifts through the air, mixed with the rich aroma wafting from the restaurant nearby. My heart races in my chest as I step out of the elevator and head toward the door. I’m about to sign away a part of my life. Heck, my whole life. But I can’t back down now.

I push the door open and enter the small, lavish restaurant. I don’t have to scan the space for long before I spot him—the guy from the club—at the far end. He’s not wearing dark shades today, and somehow that makes him even scarier. His eyes lock onto mine, and I swallow hard before making my way toward him.

“You’re on time,” he says in his usual calm and measured tone. “That’s a good start.”

“A good start would be you telling me your name,” I blurt out.

Shit. That sounded sharper than I intended. I’m on edge. I hate feeling this way.

I bite back the apology that’s on the tip of my tongue. He’s asking me to sign something that could change my entire life. Demanding his name is the least I can ask for.

“Luca,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine, unreadable. There’s no flicker of annoyance at my sharpness, nothing to show he cares.

That’s even worse.

“Sit,” he commands, his voice cold as steel.

I shoot him a glare but sit, my movements stiff, betraying my discomfort.

He slides a black folder and a sleek ballpoint pen across the table toward me.

“Open it.”

I snort under my breath. “You really love telling people what to do, don’t you?”

But even as the words leave my mouth, I’m reaching for the folder, flipping it open. My eyes scan the first page, where dense legal jargon sprawls across the page.

“This is...a lot,” I mutter, my voice shaky. The numbers, the clauses—it’s overwhelming.

“There’s a nondisclosure agreement on the first page. Nothing about this arrangement leaves this room. You don’t tell anyone. Your silence is legally binding.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I mutter, rolling my eyes, trying to brush it off. I flip to the next page, my heart pounding louder with every word.

His voice, smooth and detached, drifts over me as he continues outlining the terms. “You and your family will relocateto his estate. You’ll be under constant surveillance at all times.” He lets the weight of that statement sink in before adding, “You’ll make required appearances. No media. No questions.”

My heart is hammering in my chest. I don’t even know who these people are, but the threat is as tangible as the air between us.

“And the money,” he continues, eyes cold and assessing. “One million dollars will be wired into your bank account the day after the wedding. Another $100,000 every month for the duration of the contract.”

I can feel my stomach twist. This is real.

“And your mother,” he goes on, his tone clinical, “will be admitted to the city’s best hospital immediately after the wedding. She’ll have a private room with full-time nurses.” He lists the details as if he’s reading a grocery list, each word landing harder than the last.

It’s too much, too fast. My head spins.

“Who exactly is your boss?” I interrupt, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. “This feels like...I don’t know. It’s too much. Everything is happening too fast.”

Luca’s eyes narrow slightly, the only sign that he’s actually listening. His gaze doesn’t soften. It’s sharp, predatory.

“You’ll find out in due time,” he says, his voice laced with finality.

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