Chapter 02:

Alessandro’s POV

And then our eyes met.

I swore I had seen her before…..but where?

What could such a young lady be doing here—and how did she get in? Not like I fit in here either.

Flashback

At the Don’s meeting a day before….

The Don’s mansion reeked of smoke and old money. Don Vittorio, my late father’s closet friend, had fixed me with the same look a hawk gives a rabbit.

“So, what are you waiting for, Alessandro?” His tone was heavy with accusation. “You were engaged to Ginevra for years. Why haven't you married her? Or…” He let the silence stretch. “Are you telling us to start considering your half-brother instead?”

My knuckles whitened against the armrest. “My father chose me. He wanted me to take after him.” I said evenly. “I will honor his will.”

“Then prove it,” Vittorio snapped. His smirk cut deeper than any blade. “Do something about it immediately.”

I rose, bowing my head in shallow respect, though my blood burned.

By nightfall, I stood outside Ginevra’s apartment complex. Her building smelled of roses and lies. The receptionist lied with a polite smile—she wasn't seeing visitors. But her car was parked out front. She was home. Avoiding me.

I pushed past. The door gave under my hand. And inside—

Her body was tangled with another man’s. Naked. Laughing, moans fill the room.

They stopped to lock eyes, exchanging silent communication of lust. Then the naked man began humping her pushing his dick in and out of her cunt fast and hard as she started to moan in delight.

For one sharp second, I couldn’t breathe. Don Vittorio’s word echoed—Or should we choose your half-brother instead?

She scrambled off him, her face paling when she saw me. “Alessandro, wait! It’s not—“

Her excuse fell flat; the man’s mocking words landed like a blade.

“No need to beg him. You said he wasn’t close to the type of partner you wanted. So why bother?”

Rage swelled me whole. I stuck him, fists answering for my humiliation until the room stank of copper and betrayal. Then came the wail of sirens. Ginevra had called the cops on me. I was dragged out in cuffs, blood panted my knuckles and I was already done with her while he played the victim.

Present

The memory bled away as the young woman—Amara—was brought in. She looked too delicate for a place like this. Tears marked her cheeks, but her spine held. Something about her presence stirred a question I didn’t like having.

Damian entered with my lawyer. My cell unlocked, freedom returned. I stepped into the corridor, cold resolve settling back over me.

“Damian,” I said quietly, “fetch the marriage contract from my room.”

The one meant for Ginevra. I had other uses for it now.

“And run a background check on the girl.”

Damian returned quickly, file in hand. He laid it flat on the table.

“Amara,” Damian whispered the name into my ear, handing me the file I’d asked for.

“She’s clean,” he reported. No parents. A sick grandmother. Dept. Desperation. Single. Not too clean, if you ask me. That means you’ll be the one writing her story from scratch, boss. But remember—stories don’t always obey their authors.

My jaw clenched, but I said nothing.

He studied me, then added, “You’re moving fast. Yesterday it was Ginevra. Today you're offering your name to a stranger? If this is revenge, it’s dangerous. If it’s a duty, it’s dangerous too. So which is it?”

I didn’t answer. Because I wasn’t sure myself. Duty, yes—the Don needed proof of loyalty. Defiance, yes—Ginevra had spat on my name. But underneath all of it lingered something else, something I didn’t dare name.

When Damian stepped aside, I lifted the contract. The parchment felt heavier than steel. Once, it had been a chain meant for Ginevra. Now it felt like a gamble. One part survival one part defiance. And, damn me, one part hope.

The guard brought Amara from her cell. Her eyes locked on mine—unflinching, accusing. She wasn’t begging. She wasn’t trembling. She dared me to explain why Alessandro Vitale, heir of shadows, had chosen her. For a moment, I wonder the same thing.

Damian’s voice echoed in the back of my head: “I saw the way you looked at her. You’re calling it convenience, but your eyes didn’t agree. Careful, boss. The wrong woman can save a man—or ruin him.”

I straightened, pushing hesitation into silence.

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

I studied her, then spoke my name like a verdict:

“I’m Alessandro Vitale,” I said at last, my voice cutting through the room. “And here, I hold a marriage contract. Marry me—and gain your freedom. Not just from this cell….but a lifelong freedom.”