Page 11 of The Enforcer's Possession
Dante De Luca lifted his bourbon to his lips.Took a slow, deliberate sip.Set it down again with precision.
Then he smiled.
It wasn’t a nice smile.
“Go on,” he said.“You have my attention.”
I spread my hands on the table, fingers splayed against cool marble.A gesture meant to convey openness, honesty.All the things I definitely wasn’t feeling.But this was negotiation, and negotiation was performance.Papa had taught me that much, even if he’d never intended for me to use those lessons against him.
“My father informed me that I’m to marry Marco Vitale in three months.”I kept my voice level, professional.Like I was discussing a business transaction rather than my life.Which, I supposed, was exactly what this was.“Marco is ambitious, violent, and has a documented history of abusing women.Papa knows this.Doesn’t care.The alliance with the Vitale family is worth more to him than my safety.”
Dante’s expression remained unreadable.He could have been listening to a weather report for all the reaction he showed.
“I have no intention of marrying Marco,” I continued.“But refusing outright didn’t accomplish anything except making Papa more determined.He sees my resistance as a character flaw that needs to be corrected.Possibly violently.”
That got a flicker of something in Dante’s eyes.Interest, maybe.Or calculation.
“So, I need an alternative,” I said.“Someone with enough power that Papa can’t simply dismiss him.Someone whose claim on me would be stronger than Marco’s.Someone who makes the political alliance Papa wants look insignificant by comparison.”
“Someone like me.”His voice was flat, giving nothing away.
“Exactly like you.”I met his gaze, refusing to look away even though it felt like staring into a dark abyss.“The De Lucas have more territory, more influence, more fear attached to your name than the Vitales could ever hope for.Papa might be furious, but he’s not stupid.He won’t throw away a potential alliance with your family just to maintain one with Marco’s.”
After all, having the most lethal family on our side would be a good thing.Even my papa couldn’t deny it.
Dante picked up his bourbon again but didn’t drink.Just held it, the amber liquid catching the low light.“What exactly are you proposing?”
Here it was.The terms I’d spent what felt like hours crafting, revising, trying to make airtight enough that I wouldn’t end up in a worse situation than the one I was trying to escape.
“A contract marriage,” I said.“Legally binding, with prenuptial agreements that protect both our interests.We present a united front publicly -- attend events together, maintain the appearance of a legitimate relationship.Privately, we keep separate residences.Separate lives.You get access to Lombardi social circles and the legitimacy that comes with marrying into an old family.I get protection from Papa’s plans and the freedom to live my life on my own terms.”
“Separate residences.”He repeated the phrase like he was testing the weight of it.
“Yes.We’d need to be seen together regularly enough to preserve the illusion, but there would be clear boundaries.This would be a business arrangement, not a real marriage.”
“No conjugal expectations.”Still that flat tone, but something had shifted in his posture.A tension that hadn’t been there before.
“No conjugal expectations,” I confirmed, ignoring the heat that spread through my chest at the word.“We’d both be free to pursue other relationships discreetly.The contract would include terms for dissolution after a set period -- five years, perhaps.Long enough to establish the alliance, short enough that we’re not trapped indefinitely.”
I was proud of how steady my voice remained.How businesslike.Like I was negotiating a merger instead of offering myself up as a solution to a problem that made my stomach churn.
Dante was quiet for a long moment.His fingers rested against the bourbon glass, not gripping it, just touching.Long fingers.Scarred knuckles.The hands of someone who did violence personally rather than delegating it.
“And what do I gain from this?”he asked finally.“Be specific.”
“Access to the Lombardi network.Every connection my father has spent forty years building.Social legitimacy with families who still care about bloodlines and tradition.A wife from an established house, which matters to the old guard more than any of us want to admit.”I leaned forward slightly, warming to my pitch now.“The De Lucas are feared, but fear only gets you so far.You’re still viewed as outsiders by the families that have been here for generations.Marrying me changes that.It makes you acceptable.Respectable, even.”
“I’ve never particularly cared about being respectable.”
“No, but you care about power.And power in our world comes from more than just the ability to hurt people.It comes from access.From being invited to the right tables, included in the right conversations.My name opens doors that would stay closed to you otherwise.”
Something flickered in his eyes again.Not anger.Something closer to amusement, but darker.“You’ve thought about this.”
“I’ve thought about nothing else since that disastrous dinner.”The honesty slipped out before I could stop it.Not part of the professional pitch.Just truth.
His gaze intensified, and I felt it like a physical weight.This was what Papa must feel like when he was evaluating a deal, measuring all the angles, looking for the trap.
I swallowed.Tried to maintain eye contact.Failed and glanced down at my nearly untouched scotch instead.
