3

SIERRA

“So, do I call you husband now, or just ‘your majesty of murder’?”

He smirked. “Whichever rolls off your trembling tongue, young lady. Though I must say, you wear defiance better than that dress.”

“Funny. I thought you preferred obedience over fashion.”

“I prefer fire. It keeps things interesting, and you, my dear, are practically an inferno.”

My jaw clenched. “Don’t mistake sparks for surrender. I didn’t choose this.”

“Neither did I.” He leaned in with a low voice. “But here we are, bound by blood and money. Might as well enjoy the fireworks.”

“I would rather set your expensive car ablaze.”

He chuckled. “Then I’ll make sure the wine is vintage and the flames are beautiful.”

This asshole won't back down. Let's see, Mr. Mafia Lord, Don, or whatever.

Alessandro Montrego, the infamous Mafia Don from Italy, with cheekbones sharp enough to slice through my last nerve. Not sure how many people he killed in a day, but I’m sure he’s not a nice guy. Well, all criminals don't deserve the word ‘nice.’

After my parents forced me to sign that goddamn marriage certificate, Alessandro dragged me out of that building without knowing where he was taking me. I hope he won't kill me and bury me alive.

The car suddenly stopped and the door opened. I was hesitant to come out. But Alessandro dragged me inside the enormous mansion like a reluctant debutante at a funeral. My useless wedding gown, once pristine and dramatic enough to make Versailles weep, now looked like it had survived a bar fight. The hem was soaked, the train torn, and the corset had given up on its job hours ago.

I looked like a couture ghost.

Once we're inside, I forcibly pulled my wrist and glared at the man who was responsible for this entire circus.

“Cold?” he asked as we stepped into the marble foyer that could’ve doubled as a cathedral.

The place was so big it had its own echo and its own temperature system, apparently set to ‘Arctic Death.’

“Oh no, I’m perfectly warm,” I snapped, hugging my arms. “I always dreamed of freezing to death in a haunted palace after being coerced into holy matrimony. It’s very Cinderella meets Stockholm Syndrome.”

He chuckled as if he hadn’t just ruined my life and my gown in one fell swoop.

“You could’ve worn something warmer,” he said, tossing his coat to a waiting butler.

“I was busy signing my soul away in triplicate,” I hissed. “Didn’t have time to check the weather app.”

He turned to me with amusement. “You’re feisty. I like that.”

“Oh, good. I was worried you married me for my cooking skills.”

He stopped walking and looked at me with a serious expression. What? Did I say something horrible?

“I married you because you're a woman, you hate me, and your parents owe me money. That’s a rare combination.”

“You’re insane.”

“Clinically,” he agreed and resumed walking. “Come on. I’ll show you your wing.”

“Wing? Am I a bat?”

“Or a queen. Depends on how you behave.”

Queen? Of what? Of his criminal organization?! No thanks!

I don't have any choice but to follow him through hallways that looked like they had been stolen from a museum. Every painting had eyes that followed you, and every chandelier looked like it cost more than my college tuition. I was pretty sure one of the statues winked at me.

“Is this where you keep your enemies?” I asked, gesturing to a locked door.

“No. That’s the wine cellar. Enemies go in the east wing.”

“Charming.”

He stopped in front of a massive double door and pushed it open. My ‘wing’ was more luxurious than any hotel I ever stayed in. Velvet drapes, a fireplace, a queen-size bed big enough to host a summit, and thank God, a closet full of clothes that didn’t involve lace or trauma.

“I’ll send someone with hot chocolate,” he said, turning to leave.

“Make it spiked.”

He stopped in his tracks and scoffed in disbelief.

“You’re going to be trouble.”

His comment made me smirk. “You married trouble, darling.”

He walked to the door without looking back. “Take a rest, Mrs. Montrego.”

My smirk faded and I shut the door behind him. I leaned against the door with clenched fists.

Mrs. Montrego? I f*cking hate that name.

Married to a mafia kingpin, wearing a ruined gown, and freezing in a mansion that probably had secret passageways and at least one ghost.

This is hell.

****

The next morning, I got out of bed, pacing near the window anxiously. I couldn't sleep well last night, even though the bed was softer than anything else. I’m afraid he will barge in and demand my role as his wife. You know, please him with my body–

“Oh! Jesus Christ!”

I tightly hold my chest, surprised at the body that fell outside my window.

I glanced down and saw the man’s body lying on the roof of the car. He’s unconscious, face swollen and bloody as if he was beaten to death before he was thrown out, maybe, from the rooftop or someone else's window.

What the hell!

Fear lingered on my chest. Should I behave now?

The door suddenly opened and Alessandro came in while wiping his red-stained hands with a white cloth.

Did he really kill that man?

Instead of being scared of him, my hands curled into fists. It seems he noticed it and raised his gaze when he sat on the couch. He looks at the window, then at me again.

“I’m sorry if that was the useless thing that greeted you first thing in the morning.”

He doesn't look apologetic at all.

“You murderer.” I gritted my teeth.

“Guilty at heart.”

I exhaled deeply as my breath trembled. “So, what now? Do I get a manual on how to survive being married to a criminal?”

He throws the cloth, now covered with red stains, on the table. “‘Criminal’ is such a crude word. I prefer ‘strategist with a flexible moral compass.’”

“Flexible? You just threw a man off a balcony or rooftop!”

“He landed on a Bentley. I call that a soft landing.”

I scoffed in disbelief. “You think this is funny? My life, my freedom, was sold to you like I’m some antique vase.”

“No, I think it’s tragic, but I didn’t ask for you. I asked for leverage. You just happened to come with a pretty face and a sharper tongue than expected.”

“I'm not useful to you. You don’t need me.” I sternly said. My eyes are sending a dagger at his.

He leaned in with a profound face. “Need? No. But now that I have you... I’m curious.”

I froze.

“Curious about what? How long will it take before I try to kill you?”

The corner of his lips lifted as he stood up.

I immediately stepped back when he stepped closer. He cornered me against the wall and I had nowhere to go. I swallowed hard as he leveled his eyes to mine.

My eyes were burning with rage while amusement filled his. He’s loving it every time he sees fury in my eyes.

I turned my head away when he leaned in closer until his warm breath touched my ear and whispered, “Or how long it takes before you fall in love with me.”