I’m 99% sure this man is going to get me killed. The other 1%? That’s just hoping he does it quickly.
I, Isabella Marquez, signed a contract to marry him.
Why?Because when your options are tomarry the billionaire mob bossorget crushed under a lawsuit you can’t afford,you pick the lesser evil. And let’s just say, thanks to my boss running Elite Properties into the ground—delaying payroll, drowning in debt, and ultimately selling the company for ten bucks and a lifeline—I now have exactly zero leverage against Aunt Peggy and Uncle Mike, who are this close to selling my family home out from under me.
And Konstantin? His offer wasn’t just a lifeline—it was theonlyline. He promised me the money to fight back, keep the house, and protect my siblings. I didn’t even hesitate. I couldn’t. You don’t when it’s family on the line.
But now? Now I’m stuck staring at this man who’s all sharp edges, quiet menace, and way too much self-control, wondering if I just made the worst decision of my life.
In case it wasn’t obvious, I probably did.
“For better or worse, in sickness and in health…”
Worse.Definitely worse. The priest has no idea how bad “worse” is about to get.
But I can’t tear my eyes away from my soon-to-be husband, the embodiment of sex, danger, and way too much power. He’sstanding there all calm and brooding, watching me like he’s deciding whether to devour me or let me rot.
Honestly, it’s probably both. The man is absurdly gorgeous—absurd enough to make you forget he’s also absurdly deadly.
“If anyone here has just cause why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the priest announces, pausing dramatically.
I hold my breath. Surely,someonein this room can help me. Maybe his mafia underlings? His impossibly beautiful ex-wife? A rogue FBI agent hiding in the shadows?Anyone?
Silence.
Not even a cough.
God.
Help.
Me.
Great. Guess everyone’s on Team “Bella Dies First.”
Konstantin steps closer… nine inches and my stomach flips. His hand brushes mine, steady and commanding, and I’m not sure if he’s offering support or making sure I don’t bolt. Probably both. The silk of his tie matches the steel of his eyes—cold, sharp, and entirely out of my league. This is exactly the type of man every true crime documentary warned me about. Too bad they didn’t mention he’d also be devastatingly good-looking in Armani.
“Say yes,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. “Or this will end… badly.”
Oh, sure. Becausethisis going great.
“I…” My voice cracks. I glance down at the bouquet in my hands, so tightly gripped that one of the roses is missing half its petals. It’s symbolic, probably. I’m dying here. Just… slowly.
“… do,” I finally choke out.
His lips curl into a smile—not a happy smile, but the kind that says he’s won. He’s probably imagining my headstone.Here liesIsabella Marquez,dead because she couldn’t keep her vibrator in her purse.
The priest beams. “You may kiss the bride.”
My heart jumps, slamming into my ribs like it’s trying to make an escape. I tell myself it’s nerves. It’s not nerves. It’s the fact that, for all my snark and survival instincts, I actuallywanthim to kiss me. Oh God, what is wrong with me?
Konstantin doesn’t move right away. Instead, he stares down at me, his eyes a frosted mix of blue and gray, pinning me in place. The heat in his gaze is slow and deliberate, full of promises I’m absolutely not prepared to unpack. My breath catches, my lips part, and my brain unhelpfully whispers: Please just do it already.
