CHAPTER 6 — THE DANGEROUS INVITATION

(VINCENZO'S POV) 

I checked my watch. Seven minutes late. My jaw tightened.

The door opened. Marianna entered with a large man behind her.

"You're late," I said coldly.

Her chin lifted. "Traffic happened. This is Alec."

"Bodyguards weren't in our agreement."

"But you brought yours." Her eyes challenged mine.

The clerk slid the certificate forward. As she reached, I snatched it first.

"Your terms," I demanded.

She handed me typed pages. Separate bedrooms. No intimacy. A year dissolution option, as if that's for her to decide. 

"Acceptable," I nodded, surprising myself. "Draft these formally."

After signing, she clutched her certificate. "Are we finished?"

"We are." I watched her turn to leave. "Where to?"

"Home, obviously."

My security team emerged at my signal. "Not your home. Our home."

Blood drained from her face. "What?"

"Your family's agreement states you reside with me once married. Legally binding."

"That wasn't in the prenup!"

"That covers personal terms. The corporate merger agreement contains the residency clause." I opened my car door. "Shall we?"

She froze. Her bodyguard stepped closer.

"This violates our agreement," she said, voice steady despite her panic.

"Clause seventeen. Remember the penalty for breach."

Recognition flickered across her face. She approached my car, eyes downcast.

As she entered, I faced her watchdog. "Keep professional distance from my wife, Mr. Reeves. No second warnings."

Something passed between us. Understanding. Recognition.

In the car, she whispered, "Why are you doing this?"

I studied her strong jaw, intelligent eyes. "Because some cages are gilded, Marianna. And yours will be the most beautiful of all.”

The Lombardo mansion stood before us like a fortress disguised as luxury. Inside, I directed Marianna to her separate bedroom.

"Your bedroom is in the east wing. Second floor, third door left. Everything's arranged."

"My bedroom? Not ours?" she questioned.

"I honor agreements. Separate living, as stipulated."

Mrs. Whitaker interrupted: "Mr. Lombardo, Mr. Castillo is waiting in the study."

"Show Mrs. Lombardo to her quarters," I instructed, noting Marianna's flinching at her new title. "I'll handle this.”

I found Zeke lounging in my leather chair, feet propped on my desk, examining confidential files. Typical.

"Make yourself at home," I said dryly, shutting the door behind me.

Zeke grinned, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "So the rumors are true. You got married without inviting your best friend."

"It was a civil ceremony. No guests." I poured two glasses of scotch and handed him one. "Just lawyers and witnesses."

"I'm hurt." He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "After everything we've been through."

I took the seat across from him. "Cut the act. You didn't come here to complain about a wedding invitation."

His expression shifted, playfulness giving way to business. "The Romanov family is hosting their annual gala next weekend." He slid a heavy cream envelope across the desk. "This arrived for you this morning."

I examined the ornate invitation. "Interesting timing."

"Perfect opportunity to identify who tried to sabotage the Midtown deal." Zeke sipped his scotch. "Someone's been moving against both our families. The guest list will include every major player."

"I doubt I'll attend."

"Seriously?" Zeke leaned forward. "Katerina Romanov personally added your name. Do you know how rare that is? The matriarch herself wants to meet you."

I considered the implications. The Romanovs controlled the eastern seaboard's shadow economy. Their reach extended beyond our own.

"If I go, Marianna will be in trouble." And if she goes with me, the same can be told. Either way, she will still be in danger but which is less risky? 

"Ah, protecting the new bride already?" Zeke smirked. "How's married life treating you? Missing Charlotte yet?"

I shot him a warning look. "We don't discuss her."

"Just saying, the last woman who—"

"We're done here." I stood abruptly. "I'll consider the invitation." 

I escorted him to the foyer, our conversation shifting to safer topics. As we reached the door, a loud thud echoed from the east wing.

"Trouble in paradise already?" Zeke raised an eyebrow.

"Go home," I muttered, already heading toward the sound.

Outside Marianna's room, I paused, hearing her agitated voice. What is going through that beautiful head of hers? 

I pushed open the door without knocking. She froze mid-sentence, a deer caught in headlights.

"Planning something?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Just talking to myself," she recovered quickly. "This place is...overwhelming."

"You'll have a chance to see more of it soon." I watched her carefully. "We've been invited to the Romanov gala next weekend."

Her eyes widened. "Romanov? As in the Russian family that—"

"Yes, that Romanov family." I stepped fully into the room. "We leave Friday morning. Mrs. Whitaker will help you select appropriate attire."

"I can't go," she protested. "I have board meetings all week and—"

"Already rescheduled." I smiled thinly. "Your assistant was quite accommodating."

Her hands clenched at her sides. "You had no right to—"

"I had every right. We're married now." I turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing. If you're planning an escape, reconsider. My security team has strict instructions, and I'd hate for your grandfather to face the consequences of your... impulsivity."

I closed the door behind me and called out, "Mrs. Whitaker, please assist Mrs. Lombardo with her wardrobe for the Romanov event."

The old woman appeared from the shadows, ever-present. "Of course, sir."

As I walked away, I heard something shatter against the door I'd just closed. The sound brought a smile to my lips.

Fire. That's what had drawn me to her from the beginning.

I spent the week finalizing arrangements for the Russia trip while Marianna skillfully avoided me. 

Each time I entered a room, she found a reason to leave it. The few times our paths crossed unavoidably, her responses were clipped, eyes never meeting mine.

In my study Thursday evening, I summoned Scott. 

"Brief Marianna on the Romanovs," I instructed, "Every detail."

Scott nodded, his scarred face impassive

"Sir, if I may..." Scott hesitated. "Is bringing her wise? The Romanovs are—"

"I'm aware of the risks." I closed the folder with finality. "But keeping her here poses greater dangers. At least in Russia, she's under my direct protection."

Two nights after, I found Marianna in the library, pretending to read.

"We need to talk," I said, closing the door behind me.

She didn't look up. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Then listen." I took the chair opposite her. "Scott briefed you on the Romanovs?"

"Yes. Charming family." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "Murder, extortion, human trafficking. Your kind of people."

"You don't understand the world you've married into."

At this, she finally met my eyes. "I didn't marry into anything. I was sold into it."

"Either way, you're here now." I leaned forward. "The Romanovs treat outsiders poorly. Stay close to me at all times. Speak only when spoken to. Don't wander off."

"I don't want to go," she said, desperation creeping into her voice. "I'm not part of this world, not integrated into... whatever this is. Let me stay here."

"And leave you unprotected? With someone targeting both our families?" I shook my head. "No. We leave at dawn." 

The private jet landed in Moscow under leaden skies. A convoy of black SUVs waited on the tarmac, men in dark suits standing at attention.

"Remember," I murmured as we descended the stairs, "stay close."

Marianna's face was pale but composed, her hand clutching my arm with surprising strength.

A tall man with a neatly trimmed beard stepped forward. "Mr. and Mrs. Lombardo. Welcome to Russia. I am Dimitri, head of security for the Romanov family."

We were escorted to the middle vehicle, Scott and two of my security team joining us. Marianna sat rigid beside me, staring straight ahead as the convoy pulled away from the airport.

Twenty minutes into the journey, as we traveled along a tree-lined road outside the city, the first explosion came.

"Down!" I shouted, pulling Marianna to the floor as the lead car erupted in flames.

Gunfire erupted around us. Our driver swerved, tires screeching on asphalt. Scott threw himself over Marianna while I drew my weapon.

"Stay down!" I ordered, catching glimpses of masked figures through the bulletproof windows.

Scott suddenly jerked, blood blooming on his shoulder. "Sniper!" he gasped, still shielding Marianna with his body.

Our security returned fire as the driver executed a sharp U-turn, tires smoking. In the chaos, I caught sight of a figure racing away on a motorcycle, rifle strapped to their back.

"After them!" I commanded, but our driver shook his head.

"Primary objective is your safety, sir. We're retreating to secure location."

As we sped away, Marianna's wide, terrified eyes met mine. Blood stained her expensive coat—Scott's blood.

"This is what you dragged me into," she w hispered, voice shaking with rage and fear.

I had no answer for her. Only the cold certainty that whoever had targeted us knew exactly who would be in which vehicle.

We had a traitor in our midst.