Surrogate For The Mafia Lord

Armani leaned back in his chair, looking out the window as the smell of fried fish filled the small restaurant. He was in Seattle, a place he’d only visited once before for a fancy party years ago. That event hadn’t left much of an impression, but this trip was different. It was important.The fish on his plate was crispy and fresh, just like Benedict had promised. Benedict always said it was the best in the world, and maybe he was right. But Armani barely tasted it. The uncomfortable chair and cheap table didn’t bother him as much as the thoughts running through his head.Armani del Rossi was no ordinary man. He ruled his world from the shadows, the name “Del Rossi” whispered with fear and reverence across continents. He was a mafia lord—a ruthless, calculating figure who commanded loyalty through power and fear. Possession was his creed. Control was his doctrine. And anything he wanted, he took.Recently, his mind had been elsewhere. Benedict had a daughter, and even Xavier—of all p

ArmaniHer eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating as she said, “Prove it.”I blinked, caught off guard. “Prove what?” My voice was steady, but I genuinely didn’t know what she was asking for.“The money,” she said, her gaze flicking down toward my midsection. For a brief moment, I thought she was checking me out, but no—she was expecting to see a bulging wallet or something. Her eyes snapped back to mine. “Prove it.”I felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips. Interesting. She wasn’t going to make this easy. Fair enough. I gave her a slight nod and reached into the inner pocket of my jacket. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled out my wallet. It was sleek, black leather—understated but unmistakably expensive. I counted out twenty crisp bills and nodded toward the booth she’d just vacated. “Shall we?” I asked, gesturing politely.I wasn’t convinced this would lead anywhere. Honestly, the whole situation felt surreal. After years of searching for the right woman, was it possible she’d just wa

I’ve been anticipating this moment for what feels like an eternity. The search for the mother of my child has consumed me, stretching the days into what seems like years. City after city, profile after profile—each one a neatly presented catalog of women, all willing to trade their futures for a price. Yet, none of them felt right. Not until now.Rena.Her file had crossed my desk like so many others, but unlike the rest, hers stood out. A perfect history—unmarried, a master’s degree from a reputable university, no criminal record, and a family background without blemish. On paper, she’s everything I could ask for.And in person… she’s lovely. Not in the conventional sense of women I’ve been drawn to, but there’s something in her presence—something understated yet compelling. She doesn’t demand attention, but once you notice her, it’s impossible to look away.In the back seat, a neatly stacked folder of legal documents waits. Months of meticulous planning have led to this night. All I

ArmaniHer lips part slightly, her expression shifting between shock and confusion. “Did you just say… wedlock?” Her voice is low, almost as if saying it louder would make it real. She stares at our intertwined hands, her eyes betraying the storm of thoughts swirling in her head. “You’re serious? You actually want us to get married?”“Yes,” I say simply, turning my hand to gently lace my fingers through hers. Her skin feels warm against mine, but her fingers remain stiff, unyielding. “Of course. A proper courtship is the first step. Something fast, dramatic—just enough to convince the world.” I nod toward the door, where the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi still wait like vultures. “They’ll make sure everyone believes it. The perfect audience for our whirlwind romance.”Her gaze snaps back to me, sharp and disbelieving. “Wait—your family doesn’t know about this?” She leans back slightly, tugging her hand free as her brows knit together. “This… this is insane. Even for you.”I let out

Armani’s POVI should feel victorious. Triumphant, even.Instead, I find myself staring at her, searching for something in her expression that I can’t quite place. There’s no hint of satisfaction, no relief washing over her features like I expected. Just a quiet sort of weight settling in her shoulders, her fingers barely flexing against the stem of her untouched glass.She won. She’s going to save her father. That must be why her eyes look so heavy—overwhelmed by relief, nothing more.I motion to the waiter. “Champagne.”A crisp pop echoes through the air, breaking the silence between us as the cork is freed from an expensive bottle. The golden liquid cascades into delicate flutes, the bubbles rising like tiny bursts of celebration, their soft fizz filling the space between us.I lift my glass, tilting it toward her in a silent toast. “To us.”Rena hesitates, her fingers wrapping around the slender glass, but she doesn’t immediately drink. Instead, she studies me, as if trying to dec