The private jet hummed smoothly through the clouds. Sarah sat across from Diego, a small table between them covered with legal pads and coffee cups. They'd been drafting their arrangement for three hours.
"Six months," Diego said, tapping the paper. "We maintain the appearance of marriage for six months while I handle Vincent and search for a discreet way to annul this." "Three months," Sarah countered. "And I need guaranteed protection." Diego's jaw tightened. "Four months, and you have my personal protection plus two security details—one from my people, one of your choosing." Sarah considered this. "Fine. Four months. And we need a cover story for how we met." "We keep it simple—we met months ago through mutual acquaintances, kept it quiet because of your case against Vincent." Sarah snorted. "No one will believe that." "They'll believe what I tell them to believe," Diego said with quiet confidence that reminded her exactly who she was dealing with. "What about my job? I can't just waltz into the DA's office as Mrs. Castillo." Diego leaned back, studying her. "Take a leave of absence. Personal reasons." "I just won the biggest case of my career! They're expecting me back on Monday!" "Would you rather be employed or alive?" Diego asked bluntly. Sarah rubbed her temples. A headache had been building since Vegas. "This is crazy. All of it." "Welcome to my world," Diego said dryly. He pushed a contract toward her. "Sign this. It's our agreement—four months, mutual protection, and a clean separation afterward." Sarah scanned the document. It was surprisingly thorough for something drafted on a plane. "You carry legal contracts with you often?" A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Harvard Law has its uses." She'd forgotten that part of his file. Diego Castillo wasn't just a crime boss's brother; he was a lawyer himself, though he'd never practiced. "One more thing," Sarah said, pen poised over the paper. "I won't be involved in anything illegal. Period." "Noted. I've been working to legitimize our businesses anyway." Sarah quirked an eyebrow. "Right. The Castillo empire built on actual olive oil imports." "Coffee, actually," Diego replied without humor. "And real estate, shipping, and technology investments. My brother handles the... traditional aspects." "While you clean the money." Diego's eyes flashed. "Do you want my help or not, Counselor?" Sarah signed the contract with a sharp flourish. Diego added his signature below hers, then folded the paper and tucked it into his jacket. "We land in twenty minutes. My grandmother's house first." "Your grandmother?" Sarah hadn't expected that. "Nonna Elena is the matriarch. Vincent and I may run things, but nothing happens without her blessing." His expression softened slightly. "Even Vincent fears her." "Great," Sarah muttered. "A family meet-and-greet with the mob matriarch." "Be respectful," Diego warned. "She'll decide if you live or die more surely than any contract we sign." The Castillo family compound sprawled across five acres in the wealthiest part of Westchester County. Old money disguising older sins. The car passed through wrought iron gates manned by guards who nodded deferentially to Diego. "Remember," Diego said as they approached the main house, "you're my wife now. Act like it." Sarah glared at him but placed her hand in his as they climbed the steps to the front door. A woman in her seventies waited on the porch, spine straight as a steel rod despite her age, silver hair swept into an elegant chignon. Her dark eyes—so like Diego's—missed nothing. "Nonna," Diego said, kissing both her cheeks. "This is Sarah." Sarah extended her hand, but Nonna Elena ignored it, instead taking Sarah's face between papery hands, studying her intently. "So," she finally said, her accent thick but her English perfect, "you are the woman who put my Vincent in prison." Sarah's mouth went dry. "And now you are married to my Diego." The old woman's eyes were unreadable. "Life has strange paths, no?" "Very strange," Sarah agreed, finding her voice. "This isn't what I expected either." Nonna Elena laughed suddenly, the sound unexpectedly warm. "Honesty! Good." She patted Sarah's cheek. "We need more of that in this family." She turned, gesturing for them to follow her inside. The house was a study in old-world luxury—hand-carved furniture, oil paintings in gilded frames, plush carpets that had probably cost more than Sarah's yearly salary. In a sun-filled sitting room, tea was waiting. Nonna Elena poured without asking if they wanted any, adding honey to Diego's cup in a gesture so maternal it made Sarah's chest tighten. "The family is in chaos," Nonna Elena said without preamble. "Vincent's arrest was expected, but this marriage—" She waved a hand between them. "This no one expected." "It was... sudden," Diego admitted. "Love is always sudden," Nonna replied, watching Sarah over the rim of her teacup. "Or was it strategy, nipote?" Sarah tensed, but Diego placed a calming hand on her knee. "Would I marry for strategy, Nonna?" "You? No. Vincent would. But you—" The old woman smiled slightly. "You always follow your heart, even when your head should lead." Sarah was surprised by the accuracy of this assessment. From what little she'd observed of Diego, his emotions did seem to drive him more than cold calculation. "The family council meets tonight," Nonna Elena continued. "They expect explanations." "They'll get what I choose to tell them," Diego said, an edge creeping into his voice. "They fear you are abandoning Vincent's ways," his grandmother replied evenly. "Marrying his prosecutor feels like confirmation." "I have my own vision for our family," Diego said. "Vincent knew that when he put me in charge during his... absence." Nonna Elena turned to Sarah. "And what is your vision, new granddaughter? Do you plan to put the rest of us in prison too?" Sarah met the old woman's gaze steadily. "I plan to survive the next four months. Beyond that, I have no designs on your family." "Four months?" Nonna Elena raised an eyebrow. Diego cleared his throat. "Sarah and I have an understanding." "Marriage is not an 'understanding,'" Nonna Elena said sharply. "It is a covenant." She set down her teacup with a decisive click. "But we will discuss this later. Now, you must rest before the council meeting. I've prepared the east wing for you both." "Both of us?" Sarah asked before she could stop herself. Nonna Elena looked scandalized. "You are husband and wife! Of course you share rooms." She stood, effectively ending the conversation. "Dinner at seven. Council at nine." When she had left, Sarah rounded on Diego. "Share rooms? I thought this was just for show!" "It is," he assured her, "but appearances matter. Especially here." "There are limits to what I'll do for this charade." Diego ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she was beginning to recognize as frustration. "Look, the east wing has a separate sitting room with a sofa. I'll sleep there." Sarah wanted to argue further, but exhaustion was catching up with her. "Fine. But this isn't a real marriage. Don't forget that." "Trust me," Diego said dryly, "I'm painfully aware of that fact." A maid showed them to their quarters—a luxurious suite decorated in creams and blues. A massive four-poster bed dominated the bedroom, while a connecting sitting room offered some privacy. "I need to check in with my business," Diego said once they were alone. "Make yourself comfortable." When he left, Sarah sank onto a chaise lounge, finally allowing the full weight of the situation to hit her. Twenty-four hours ago, she'd been celebrating the biggest win of her career. Now she was married to a mob boss, hiding out in his family compound, with a price on her head. Her phone buzzed—Megan, for the tenth time that day. She couldn't avoid her assistant forever. She sent a quick text: TAKING EMERGENCY PERSONAL LEAVE. WILL EXPLAIN LATER. DON'T WORRY. Megan's response was immediate: ???!!! Sarah switched off her phone. She'd deal with the fallout later. She wandered the suite, opening doors to a marble bathroom bigger than her entire apartment, closets already stocked with designer clothes in her size, a small library filled with first editions. In the sitting room, she found a door that opened to a private garden terrace. She stepped outside, breathing in the scent of roses climbing a stone wall. For a prison, it was certainly luxurious. A movement caught her eye—through another door, partially ajar, she could see into what appeared to be a study. Curiosity pulled her forward. The room was clearly Diego's personal workspace—a desk covered with papers, shelves lined with business books and family photographs. What caught her attention, however, was a wall map with pins and strings connecting various locations. She moved closer, recognizing shipping routes, property holdings, business connections—all legitimate on the surface. This was the empire Diego was building alongside his brother's criminal organization. A drawer hung partially open beneath the map. Sarah glanced over her shoulder, then eased it open further. Inside was a folder labeled simply "Walsh." Her breath caught. She pulled it out, flipping it open to find surveillance photographs of herself. Dozens of them, dating back three years. Outside her apartment, at the courthouse, having dinner with colleagues. Three years—long before Vincent's case had even been assigned to her. "Finding anything interesting?" Sarah whirled around. Diego stood in the doorway, his expression cold, eyes fixed on the folder in her hands.
