Istared at the diamond sitting on Dante's mahogany desk like it might detonate.
"That's not negotiable," I said flatly.
Dante leaned back in his chair, searing blue eyes tracking my movements as I circled the ring without touching it. We'd been in his office for twenty minutes. The marriage proposal had shifted something between us—the air felt thinner, charged with possibility and danger.
"The ring or the conditions?" His voice was measured, but I caught the edge underneath.
"Both. Neither. All of it." I turned to face him. "If I'm doing this—if I'm actually going through with this tomorrow—then we establish parameters. Real ones."
"You're negotiating your own wedding."
"Our fake wedding," I corrected. "Which means I get to set terms."
Dante stood slowly, moving around the desk with the fluid grace of a predator. He picked up the ring—a vintage white gold band with a cushion-cut diamond that caught the light like trapped starlight. He turned it over in his fingers, studying it.
"What are your terms, Mrs. Taviani?"
The way he said it made my pulse spike.
"First, equal authority. You've shown me your operations, let me work with your strategists. But when decisions get made—about security, about territory, about threats—I'm not consulted after the fact. I'm in the room when the call is made. Real partnership, not performance."
"That could get you killed."
"I'm already a target. At least if I know the landscape, I can navigate it." I took a step closer. "Second, I have a voice in operations. Real authority, not ceremonial. I've already proven I can improve your efficiency. That doesn't change because I'm wearing a ring."
Dante's expression didn't shift, but something flickered in his eyes—approval, maybe. Recognition.
"Third," I continued, "you don't make decisions about my life without consulting me first. Not where I go, who I see, what I do. I'm not a possession. I'm a partner."
"A partner in a fake marriage."
"Which makes it even more important that it feels real." I reached out and took the ring from his hand, holding it up to the light streaming through his office windows. The diamond threw tiny rainbows across my palm. "If people are going to believe this, we have to believe it first. That means treating me like I matter. Like my input matters."
Dante was quiet for a long moment. Then he took my hand and slid the ring onto my left ring finger. It fit perfectly. Of course it did.
"You have all three," he said quietly. "No secrets. A voice in operations. Autonomy over your own life. But understand what you're asking for—knowledge is a burden, Julietta. Once you know how deep this goes, you can't unknow it."
I looked at the ring catching light on my hand, feeling the weight of it settle against my skin.
"I already know how deep it goes," I said. "I just want you to stop pretending I'm too fragile to handle it."
He brought my hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against the ring, and I felt it everywhere.
The next twelve hours became a blur of logistics and performance preparation.
Dante's office transformed into a war room. Marcos spread out maps of the courthouse district, marking exits and secure routes. Vince coordinated with the judge—a thin, nervous man named Castellano who clearly owed Dante enough favors to risk his career. Security teams repositioned throughout the city.
I sat at the conference table, watching it all unfold with strange detachment.
"The announcement goes out at seven a.m.," Marcos said, pointing at his timeline. "Wedding at six p.m. at the courthouse. Close circle only—fifty guests, all vetted, all loyal to Dante. Enough witnesses to make it legitimate, not enough to cause logistics problems."
"Where's the leak happening?" I asked.
Marcos glanced at Dante, who nodded.
"We've already handled one leak," Marcos said. "The Corsica team your father hired. They got too close to the compound last week."
"Handled?" I kept my voice neutral.
