Enzo laughed at that. “No man in the Cosa Nostra will marry Francesca. They’re terrified to death of her. They think she’s a psychopath.”
I shrugged. “I would argue she’s just as good of a leader as you or myself.”
That made Enzo look at me differently. Knowing I didn’t hate Francesca or feel threatened by her. Especially after our not-so-smooth deal we worked on last year.
“Marriage… Love… It will all make her look more… Human.”
“Italian mob uniting with a Cartel…” He murmured “Two empires. One front. That would send a message, wouldn’t it?”
“I mean, sure,” I faked innocence. “But like you said. It’s not realistic–”
“Would you do it?” Enzo asked, serious. “If it was… Realistic.”
I chuckled. “Enzo…”
“I know what I’m asking. For a good percentage.”
I pretended to think about it. “I mean… Settling down is the last thing on my mind, but… Our families have helped each other out for decades.”
I took a deep breath, then delivered the final blow with a warmer tone.
“I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to a friend of my father’s.”
Enzo studied me for a long moment. I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
I wanted Francesca – not as a trophy or pawn, but because even then, before fate pushed us into each other’s orbit, she was the only woman who ever left me wantingmore. A marriage of convenience? Maybe. But I knew, deep down, it could be something else.
Something dangerous.
Something worth the risk.
Finally, Enzo sat back, exhaling through his nose. “A marriage of convenience for both. Divorce after a year, when Francesca is Underboss.”
“It seems like the strongest way,” I murmured.
His fingers drummed once on the desk – final, decisive.
“Very well.” His voice lowered. “Then it’s decided.”
A quiet thrill slid through me.
Before I left, he stood and extended his hand. His grip was strong – respect sealed in bone.
Outside, the snow hit harder, slicking the stone steps as I walked into the evening air. New York shimmered with wet light – headlights smearing into gold streaks on the pavement. I tucked my hands into my coat pockets, smirk tugging uninvited at my mouth.
She will think her father had chosen this arrangement, that fate had shoved her into my world like a hand of cards dealt by chance.
But it had been my careful orchestration that placed her beside me at the altar. Asacred deception– not born of malice, but devotion.
I’d offered her family a lifeline, and in return, she would be mine.
As I walked away, shoes crunching in the snow, I thought about how soon she’d learn that convenience was merely the façade… Love, obsession, and inevitability lay beneath it like fire under ice.
One day she would look at me and realize the truth. That I had always chosen her first.
I’d come into that room for business.
I walked out with a path to Francesca.
