Mafia Marriage of Convenience

"What's it going to be, Rivera?"

Eduardo Cruz leaned back, his chest rattling with a cough that sounded like gravel in a blender. He didn't look like a man who controlled the docks, but the coldness in his eyes said otherwise.

"I don't like the terms." I rotated the crystal glass in my hand. The amber liquid was warm. Stale. Like everything else in this rotting estate.

"The terms are the only reason you're breathing my air, Santiago." Eduardo spat into a handkerchief. It came away spotted with dark blood. "My territory. My distribution routes. My name. You want the Cruz throne? You take the Cruz blood with it."

"I'm not a fan of arranged business, Eduardo. Especially not with a woman who spends her nights snorting the family profits in South Beach."

"Camila is a Cruz. That's all you need to know." He punched his chest, trying to clear his lungs. "Your father and I—we had a pact. A blood oath. He wanted the Rivera name to mean something more than just muscle. He wanted a dynasty. You marry her, or you walk out of here and we go to war. Your choice."

The room smelled of salt air and expensive floor wax. Beyond the heavy drapes of the Cruz Bay Estate, the Atlantic crashed against the jagged rocks. This place was a mausoleum. The cracks in the marble and the peeling gold leaf on the ceiling told the story. The Cruzes were bleeding out. They had the history, but I had the fire.

I looked at the shadow in the corner. Marco Alvarez, my driver, stood motionless. He was a ghost with a Glock.

"Does she know you're selling her like a shipment of uncut product?" I asked.

Eduardo laughed, a wet, hacking sound. "Camila knows how the world works. She wants the life. You provide the bank account and the protection, she provides the legitimacy. It's a trade, Santiago. Don't go getting soft on me now."

"I've never been soft."

"Then prove it. My granddaughter is the key to the North Atlantic routes. You want Rivera Global to be the only name that matters? Sign the papers."

I stood up. The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating. I needed those routes. I needed the Cruz Holdings Tower to fall under my shadow.

"Where is she?"

Eduardo pulled a silk cord. A minute later, the double doors groaned open.

A man walked in.

He didn't walk like a socialite. He moved with a quiet, feline grace. He was wearing a dark, tailored suit that looked like it cost more than the average person's life. His hair was dark, pushed back from a face that was far too handsome for a world this ugly.

This wasn't Camila.

"Lanka," Eduardo wheezed, a smirk touching his grey lips. "Meet your future."

I stared at the man standing between us. Lanka Cruz. The cousin. The painter. The one the streets said was the real power behind the old man's throne while the granddaughter played house.

"You're fine with this?" I looked Lanka dead in the eye.

"As long as the price is right." His voice was like smoke—smooth, dark, and dangerous.

"I'm not looking for a husband, Cruz. I'm looking for an empire."

Lanka stepped closer. He didn't flinch. "Then we want the same thing. Marry me, and you get the Cruz name. You get the routes. You get the keys to every warehouse from here to Milan."

"Even with the reputation you've built? The 'painter' who hides in the shadows?"

Lanka tilted his head. A small, sharp smile cut across his face. "People see what I want them to see, Santiago. I'm a businessman. Just like you."

"You're a mercenary."

"And you're a Rivera. Let's not pretend we have souls to lose."

I looked at him—really looked at him. There was a cold intelligence in his eyes that I hadn't expected. He wasn't a pawn. He was a player.

"I'll have Daniel Brooks draft the contracts," I said, my voice low. "Two years. Then we dissolve the union. I keep the business. You keep the payout."

Lanka reached out, his hand steady. "Two years."

I took it. His grip was firm. Professional.

"Welcome to the family, Santiago," Eduardo whispered from the shadows.

I turned to leave, my mind already calculating the moves. I didn't need love. I needed power. And if I had to sleep with the devil to own the city, I’d make sure I was the one holding the knife.

Lanka watched me go. "Don't be late for the courthouse, Rivera. I hate waiting."

I didn't look back. "Keep your eyes on the road, Cruz. It's a long way to the top."