Chapter 5

Eva

It was official. I'd gone crazy.

Staring at the man I'd saved a day ago, disbelief and incredulousness filled me. 

I'd already gone through an entire rollercoaster in a single night. Coming up from my already closed shop after some inventory to find a random shirtless and bleeding man with a literal GUN behind my counter. 

An admittedly hot shirtless man, but that was besides the point.

All in all, last night was already enough to cope with. I'd somehow screamed at a dangerous stranger out of my home, taken ANOTHER dangerous stranger in, learned how a gun feels and even how to pull out a whole goddamn bullet from a person. I was running on less than 4 hours of sleep and had seen way too much fucking blood than I ever wanted. 

Surely, after that nothing else could surprise me, right? 

Right?

Apparently wrong, since he'd chosen to spit those words out.

Marry him? 

Those were damn near the most ridiculous words I've ever heard.

I was waiting for the punchline, but nope. His face was— just like it had been since he woke up— scrunched to a slight frown, looking at me seriously, not letting off an inch.  

Fuck. He was really being serious.

It was even worse, because despite his grumpy look, his eyes held some kind of expectation. Like he EXPECTED me to agree.

What had I said about me being crazy? No way. I was pretty fine. 

 It was HIM. HE was crazy. An absolute sexy looking madman.

“You're fucking mental.” This time, I didn't care about the curse slipping out of my lips. It was way too moot a concern compared to the absolute madness he'd stated.

Marry him?!

Somewhere between staring at him, my legs had turned to jelly. I tumbled backward, barely regaining my strength before a swift thought reached me.

It was wrong. So violent. And so, SO necessary.

My gaze trailed back to the frying pan I'd abandoned moments ago. When my gaze snapped back to him, I saw his eyes— god, why did they look so damn green and intense right now— narrow as if he'd already predicted my next move.

“Don't.” I heard him say, but I couldn't care less. Rushing past him, I grasped the pan for dear life, raising it as a silent threat before he could approach me. 

“Stay right there.” I warned. My heart skipped a beat as he tried to step forward.

“Let me explain—”

“There’s no GODDAMN explanation for whatever the fuck you just said!” 

My scream had some effect. His arms were raised in surrender,  gaze trailed up to the pan, then back at me.

“You…have a very concerning attachment to that thing,” he said. 

Hardy har har.

I couldn't give a single shit about his opinions right now. Tightening my grip on the handle, I glared at him.

“The back door’s behind you. You have ten seconds to get out before I start swinging.” I warned, "I've just dealt with pulling out a bullet wound, so I'm feeling fucking fearless right now. Don't TEST me.”

In all honesty, I wasn't sure I could do it. But a bluff was a bluff, and a good bluff went a long fucking way.

My warning must have hit, because he'd paused more permanently. His unflappable frown deepened even further and in his eyes I saw something akin to calculation. 

He was STILL not leaving.

“I think you need to calm down.” he said and my jaw clenched. Calm down? How fucking dare he?

“Ten.” I called out coldly, showing him just how ‘calm’ I was. 

“I'm not going to hurt you.”

Oh, hell no did he say that.

“Seven.” I practically barked as low as possible before taking a step back. If not for people existing around the area I would've screamed bloody murder. Hell, I was tempted to do so now, damn the consequences.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat, eyeing him carefully as he took a deep breath.

“My apologies,” he began slowly, “It seems I've started off on a wrong foot, but my proposal will be worth your time.”

This bastard was WASTING my time.

“Fivefourthreetwo—”

“It would be a marriage of convenience.” he cut in louder before I could finish my countdown. “I need a fake wife for six months on paper. In return I'll give you ten million.” 

My mind fizzled out, all thoughts of mustering the courage to whack him suspended.

Ten million? Ten. Million.

Those two words cycled through interchangeably.

But the way he looked, confident. I looked at him carefully. From my past experience, I knew what a grifter looked like. I had years of experience dealing with many kinds of people to read the sycophancy on their face. But I didn't see any lick of deceit on him. 

My heart skipped a beat. Ten million. Was he serious?

I needed to hold my horses, I warned myself. There were far too many questions that needed answering. Why did he need a wife? 

Who the hell WAS he?

 I straightened, lowering but not letting go of the pan as I glared at him.

“Start talking.”

…

Ten or so minutes later, we were both sitting in my dining space where he explained that it was most definitely NOT a joke, and in fact necessary for him to get his old money family's ‘inheritance’ with those same conditions. 

What inheritance? I didn't know and he wasn't keen on elaborating.

My jaw tightened and I took a deep breath.

“So,” I began carefully, “You want to marry me for six months.”

His face, still locked in a straight expression — seriously, did he not know how to smile? — grew more determined as he nodded.

“And then…we divorce.” 

“And I'll give you ten million in return for your troubles.” he completed for me.

My heart skipped a beat. Those damn figures sounded too high. I stared at him, my brain began sorting through the possibilities.

Maybe I'd fallen into a pocket dimension or the four hours of sleep had caught up to me and I was experiencing some kind of fever dream.

Because this was a little too good to be true.

It was, all in all, a good deal. TOO good in fact that I could tell from a mile away that  he was hiding something crucial.

He still hadn't given away his identity or motivations past the inheritance talk, keeping everything else shrouded in mystery as if he expected me to jump ship as soon as I heard the figures involved.

To be fair, they were tempting figures, but I wasn't fucking stupid.

Taking a deep breath, I looked at him. One thing at a time.

“Why ten million?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “If you overheard my conversation, you'd know I need only five to cover my debt, plus interest.”

“Consider the extra five as repayment for saving my life.” he replied, “You saved my life last night. I owe you a debt of gratitude Miss Johnson, it's only fair that I give you double the amount you need.”

I swallowed thickly. Looking him over, his gait still held that composed, commanding authority. It was a grounded certainty. 

I'd seen that look before, in my previous line of work, but it looked more or less like an overall pissing contest. With him, it felt more innate.

“It's Eva now that we're talking business.” I quipped, leaning forward. “Let me understand something. You've known me for…what? A few hours max?  During which, I've insulted you for assholery- well deserved by the way, told you that you should leave first chance you've got and mere minutes ago, tried throwing you out of my apartment. You've experienced all that and you still thought; ‘ah, there's the woman I should marry’?”

His gaze flickered and I caught it. Interesting.

“‘Fake’ marry,” he corrected, “It isn't personal.”

“Oh, good.” I pitched my voice to a saccharine octave, “because that's enough reason to have a very REAL legal marriage with someone I barely know.”

He took a deep breath. I could practically see the gears churning in his bean and steeled myself. The first lie that came out of his mouth and I would throw him out.

“Because I think you're practical,” he said. I blinked, stunned.

What?

“You think I'm practical?” I asked carefully.

“Yes.” he nodded, “You have quick wits and a good sense of self preservation. That much was made last night with how easily you deflected that man. You're also very clear headed and unmalleable. Despite my intimidation, you made me see the errors of my ways. More importantly, with how quick you were to attempt to discard me, I know that you have the objective mentality and determination to avoid what you believe would endanger you. You are, by what I've  seen, the suitable partner for this. I think that given how our circumstances align within similar timelines, this will be profitable for both of us.”

Wow. Just…wow.

Shock and disbelief filled me. He'd used our previous interactions, including the slights I'd mentioned and twisted it into a psychoanalysis and commendation for my traits. It was downright smooth and flattering to the point of manipulation.

It was also very much true. I hated that he had very convincing points, but that wasn't enough to faze me.

“Since you know I'm practical and don't like endangering myself, you'd understand why I'm being hesitant about dealing with a man who was just shot yesterday.” I snapped, chair scraping quickly as I stood up, slamming my hands onto the table. “That brings me to my next question. Who was that man and who ARE you really? Don't give me that vague bullshit, because last I checked, you have a fucking gun and I heard outside about two cars taken away early in the morning riddled with bullets. Whatever you're into is EXACTLY what I'm trying to avoid. So if you want a chance for this ‘practical arrangement’, you better start talking about all the stakes.”

His gaze flickered when I mentioned the car, but it completely lowered to the table by the time I finished. 

Silence filled the room alongside the tension. I moved back to the seat, but even after I settled he remained in place. It wasn't until half a minute later that his voice rang.

“I wasn't lying when I said I come from an old family line.” He said, “but our business isn't…conspicuous.”

Something swirled in my belly at his words. The questions piled up in my mind but I stayed silent, listening.

“If honesty is what you need, then let me reintroduce myself.” He finally looked up as if making a decision. His hazel gaze pierced me intensely. “I am Roman Ricci, heir to the Ricci Family.”

The Ricci Family? 

My brows furrowed, mind racing. He was right in saying it wasn't conspicuous. It didn't sound like any corporation I knew, especially a big one.

In fact, with the gravity which he used, it sounded more like…

A snort left me, breaking the tension. He looked at me, raising a brow and I shook my head.

“Sorry about that.” I shook my head, “I was just thinking that name sounds like something you'd hear out of a shitty crime movie. What do they call it again? Mafia? Right, like some kind of mafia…”

My words trailed off, mind turning blank as I  Ricci Family. The Italian surname. The guns and those men.

An old money family.The authoritative aura he held as he spoke and looked at me, like he was a leader. His ‘inheritance’.

It couldn't be…

I kept looking at him, hoping to refute what I said or crack a smile for once at how ridiculous it sounded. He didn't.

“It IS the Mafia.” He said, “or…what is left of it at least, and I am supposed to be the head of it. The Don, so to speak.”

His words crashed into me hard.

Holy shit.

If I wasn't sitting, I would've collapsed outright. But he wasn't done.

“That's why those men are after me. Marco, my disowned uncle and currently the sole family member I have left, sent them.” He said, “He is actively trying to kill me in order to claim my inheritance and take hold of the Family.”

 I shook my head, rubbing my palms against my face to process everything.

This was beyond surreal. 

“And this so-called ‘inheritance’ is what you're trying to get by marrying me.” I said, carefully and he nodded.

“It was in my father's will, passed from heir to heir, but he added a condition. I'm expected to be married for a minimum of six months. The sooner the better.” He said, “Marco doesn't know about the will, of course, and I won't let him find out. This isn't his centre of power, so he holds limited information.  What happened last night was a fluke, but my men have already reinforced the city. He won't know about your existence either. I don't plan on putting anyone else in this. Even if it means taking certain measures, I will make sure that you can live your life safely with little to no interference from me.”

I didn't miss the slight omissions and vague implications as he tried to make the deal. Nice try, business-speak, I was more than familiar with it.

But cycling through his expression and everything he'd said, I couldn't find any trace of a lie. It strangely added up.

Never in my life did I imagine myself in this kind of predicament. A Mafia Don.

Harry would call me crazy if I told her this, and maybe suggest a psych ward if I agreed. A part of me wished I could call her for advice.

Swallowing thickly, I truly began to think about it.

He had a six month deadline and so did I. I needed money to pay off my debts and he needed a temporary wife for his family inheritance. There was also no way in hell I could raise five million on my own without wearing myself thin.

This was, by all means, a lucky streak.

And ten million WAS ten million. 

Fuck it, I thought. She'd once told me to take more risks anyways. 

Thinking of that, I brightened in an instant and let a smile spread on my lips.

“Alright then. Let's get married.” I said. 

He blinked, and this time he was the one gaping in shock.

“You agree?” 

“Absolutely.” I smiled, “There still needs to be a formal contract written up and yada yada, but it's a done deal, no take backs.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if disbelieving my decision. Maybe he hadn't expected me to agree so easily. Or maybe he'd suddenly realised that accepting a marriage proposal from a stranger didn't exactly speak of a sane mind.

But he'd started it first. Too late for regrets, buster.

I stood up and offered my hand to him, smirking at his questioning gaze.

“Come on now. Like all deals we need to shake hands. You're well enough to do that aren't you Roman?” I emphasized his first name challengingly. It sounded ironic coming from me, given how  I'd refused his hand in my bedroom, but matters changed.

Something flickered in his gaze that I couldn't understand, but then, his lips lifted into what I could only call a deep devastating smirk.

“In that case,” his voice rumbled as he stood up. “we have a deal… Eva.”

With that, he took my hand—

…Oh.

Oh shit.

His hand was warm and enormous, completely engulfing mine.  A spark ran through me, sending a low thrum of heat.

I was no stranger to hot men. Hell, I'd stripped him naked—save for his underwear— hours ago. There was absolutely no reason to be fascinated by the size of his fingers or where they could potentially be.

Like inside my mouth, or grabbing my hips or even deep in my —

Get a fucking grip, I scolded myself. I immediately released his hand and forced a smile.

“So, dear future husband, when do we start?”