Pernikahan Bayaran

My husband, Damien Falcone, had 99 lovers. He gave them all up when he fell for me. Now, for number 100, he's dragging me to hell.

My husband was missing. Right when we needed him most—the arms deal with the Castellano family.

My father had no choice. He took me with him.

The exchange at the docks was going smoothly. Too smoothly.

Then they heard our bottom line, and the smiles died on their faces.

"Five million? I thought you could go as high as ten."

I frowned. "What? We never—"

Before I could finish, gunfire erupted.

The first bullet grazed my ear. It left a hole in the container behind me.

I hit the deck, my gun already in my hand.

"Isabella!" My father's voice was a roar over the gunfire.

Marco and his men were already taking cover. Bullets rained down on us.

This wasn't a last-minute decision.

This was a setup. An ambush.

I returned fire. A Castellano goon dropped.

But we were surrounded.

"Isabella!" My father screamed again through the hail of bullets. He clutched his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers. His face was white. "They knew our bottom line! Ten million! We've got a rat!"

My blood ran cold.

Only three people knew that number: my father, me, and my husband, Damien Falcone.

Three hours later, the air in the private hospital stank of antiseptic and blood.

My father was on the bed. The doctor said the bullet missed his heart by an inch.

The truth hit me like a stray bullet.

Security footage showed a call made from Damien's office right before we left. An encrypted line. The receiver was the Castellano family.

The call was made by Sophia Ricci. Damien's latest pet project from some third-rate family.

The family has one rule for traitors: they die.

When Damien rushed into the room, he smelled like another woman's perfume.

He saw my father, and the color drained from his handsome face. "God, Bella, I…"

"She did it." I threw the tablet at him. The call log was stone-cold proof. "Your new pet almost killed my father."

He stared at the screen, his jaw clenched. A flicker of murder in his eyes.

I knew that look. This was the Damien Falcone who once cut off a man's finger for stealing a thousand dollars.

"I'll handle it," he said, his voice raw.

"Good," I said, my voice like ice. "The family has rules. She doesn't see the sunrise. I'll handle it myself."

I turned to gather my men, but he grabbed my wrist.

His grip was tight. His eyes held a hesitation I'd never seen before.

"Bella, wait."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Wait for what? Damien, have you forgotten the rules? Or is she… different?"

"She…" He took a deep breath, avoiding my eyes. "She's still useful. Her family controls the ports. Moving on her now could start a war."

"A war?" I laughed, a bitter, broken sound, and yanked my hand free. "My father is lying in that bed, and you're talking to me about starting a war? Damien, any of your other conquests crossed a line, you got rid of them without a second thought."

I searched his face for the man I married, but he wasn't there.

He said nothing. And his silence was the answer.

It was a betrayal louder than any gunshot.

This woman was an exception.

I remembered our wedding night.

He'd called it an open marriage. A promise that we could have our games, but our hearts—and our family lines—were off-limits. Untouchable. The only rule.

Once, a senator we worked with disrespected me. Said something crude.

Before I could react, Damien had crushed his glass in his hand.

Shards dug into his palm, blood dripping down.

But he smiled at the terrified senator.

"The Falcone family rule is no violence in business. But my rule is, no one disrespects my wife."

He used to be my shield against every storm.

He gave me all his affection, all his tenderness.

He made me think that open marriage pact was dead and buried.

Until Sophia.

Now, for this "game," he had broken our only rule. The most important one. Loyalty.

This wasn't about a thrill anymore.

He was falling for her.