Breakfast with the Mafia King

Lorrie barely slept. Every time she finally managed to close her eyes, the crushing weight of reality snapped her awake, reminding her exactly where she was.

The Dimitri Mansion. The heavily guarded fortress of one of the most feared men in New York. Her husband's home.

No, she corrected herself, staring up at the ornate ceiling. Her *contractual* husband's home.

Glancing at the other side of the massive king-sized bed, she found it completely empty. The silk sheets were crisp and untouched; Lorenzo hadn't slept there at all. A strange, tangled knot of emotions settled in her chest—a confusing mix of profound relief, sudden disappointment, and utter frustration.

What had she honestly expected? That he would suddenly morph into Prince Charming? The man had literally written a rule forbidding her from falling in love with him. He wasn't romantic, he wasn't kind, and he was undeniably cold. He was also arrogant and annoyingly handsome.

With a frustrated groan, Lorrie buried her face in the plush pillow. "I'm losing my mind."

A soft, hesitant knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts. "Mrs. Dimitri?" It was Maria.

"Yes?" Lorrie called out, clearing her throat.

"Breakfast is ready downstairs, ma'am."

Lorrie checked the clock on the bedside table. Eight-thirty. She quickly freshened up in the marble bathroom and opened the walk-in closet, only for her mouth to drop open. Dozens of designer dresses hung in perfect color coordination. High-end handbags, rows of pristine shoes, and diamonds sparkled beneath soft, recessed lighting. It looked like a luxury boutique in Manhattan.

Defiantly bypassing the extravagant gowns, she pulled out a simple, cream-colored day dress. If she had to play the role of Lorenzo's wife, she was going to do it on her own terms. She certainly wasn't wearing diamonds just to eat eggs.

The dining room was larger than her family's entire apartment. A long, polished mahogany table stretched across the room, with silver cutlery gleaming beneath massive crystal chandeliers.

And at the head of that table sat Lorenzo.

He was reading the morning newspaper, looking unfairly attractive. A sharp black shirt hugged his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to expose corded, muscular forearms. A luxury watch rested heavy against his wrist. Sitting there in the morning light, he looked less like a dangerous syndicate boss and more like temptation itself.

Lorrie mentally slapped herself. *Get a grip.*

She walked over and took a seat a few chairs away from him. "Good morning."

Lorenzo lowered his newspaper, his piercing steel-gray eyes instantly scanning her appearance. He noted the simple dress, the distinct lack of jewelry, and the bare minimum of makeup before meeting her gaze. "You ignored the stylist."

"You noticed," Lorrie countered, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

"I notice everything."

She offered a dry, tight smile. "That's creepy."

"It's useful."

Before she could reply, Rosa burst into the room, radiating her usual bright energy. "Oh, good! Both of you are here." She walked over and warmly kissed Lorrie's cheek before turning a sharp glare toward her grandson. "Did you compliment your wife this morning, Lorenzo?"

"No."

"Did you at least say good morning?"

"No."

Rosa sighed dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. "I raised a absolute caveman."

Lorrie couldn't help the genuine smile that broke across her face. For the first time since arriving at the estate, the suffocating tension in her chest eased. Rosa noticed the shift and smiled wider, leaning across the table. "So, dear... how was your first night together?"

Lorrie nearly choked on her orange juice.

Lorenzo, entirely unfazed, calmly sipped his black coffee. "We slept separately."

Rosa’s joyful expression plummeted into a stern frown. "You *what*?"

"It seemed appropriate," Lorenzo replied smoothly.

"Appropriate? You've been married less than twenty-four hours!" Rosa pointed an accusing finger at him. "Your grandfather carried me all the way to our room on our wedding night, and he didn't leave until—"

Lorenzo looked genuinely horrified, setting his cup down. "Grandmother. Please stop talking."

Rosa laughed, completely unbothered. "No wonder this house has been so depressing lately. It desperately needs grandchildren to liven it up."

Lorrie's cheeks burned a violent crimson. Sensing the impending interrogation, Lorenzo stood up immediately, adjusting his cuffs. "I'm leaving. I have a meeting."

"Liar!" Rosa shouted after him as he walked toward the exit. "You're running away!"

"I'm surviving," he muttered.

But before he could reach the double doors, a young maid rushed inside, looking pale and breathless. "Mr. Dimitri! There's someone outside."

Lorenzo stopped in his tracks. "Who?"

"Miss Bianca Moretti."

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, dropping to near-freezing temperatures. Rosa's vibrant smile vanished, and Lorenzo's expression locked down into a dark, dangerous mask.

Lorrie frowned, looking between them. Who on earth was Bianca Moretti?

The answer came walking through the door a second later. The grand dining room doors burst open, admitting a tall, striking blonde woman. She was elegant, dripping in high fashion, and exuded an intense aura of confidence. She walked straight past the servants, locked her eyes on Lorenzo, and threw her arms around his neck.

"Lorenzo! Oh, I've missed you so much," she purred.

Lorrie’s smile faded entirely. She watched, a strange tightness gripping her throat, as the blonde comfortably and intimately kissed Lorenzo's cheek, acting as if she owned the entire estate.

Bianca finally pulled back, her sharp eyes sweeping across the room until they landed squarely on Lorrie. Her perfectly manicured brows narrowed. "Who is she?"

Lorenzo remained expressionless, gently but firmly removing Bianca's hands from his shoulders. "My wife."

Bianca let out a sharp laugh, waiting for the punchline. When none came, her laughter died. "You can't be serious, Lorenzo."

"I'm very serious."

"No," Bianca hissed, her voice rising. "You promised me years ago you'd never marry anyone."

Lorenzo casually adjusted his watch, completely unfazed by her outburst. "I changed my mind."

Bianca spun around to face Lorrie fully, studying her, judging her, and openly mocking her simple attire. "So this is the woman? The little bookstore girl? The poor little charity case your men brought in?"

Lorrie stiffened, her blood beginning to boil. "Excuse me?"

Bianca smirked, stepping closer to the table. "Do you even know who your husband is, little girl? Do you know how many powerful women want him? How many elite families practically begged for this alliance? And he chose..." She waved a dismissive hand up and down at Lorrie. "...you."

Slamming her napkin onto the table, Lorrie stood up to meet her gaze. "I may not know much about mafia politics, Miss Moretti, but I do know basic manners. And walking into someone else's home to insult their guests—and his wife—isn't exactly classy."

Bianca's arrogant smirk faded into a glare. In the background, Rosa looked like she was about to applaud, while a subtle gleam of amusement danced in Lorenzo's gray eyes. His little contract wife had claws.

Bianca took another step forward, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Listen to me carefully, you nobody. I've known Lorenzo for ten years. I was supposed to become Mrs. Dimitri. You? You're just temporary. One day very soon, he'll get bored of playing house. And when he does..." She smiled coldly. "...he'll throw you away like trash."

Lorrie's heart squeezed painfully because, deep down, she knew Bianca wasn't entirely wrong. She *was* temporary. Twelve months, and then she would leave. That had always been the deal.

Before Lorrie could form a retort, Lorenzo spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a calm, lethal edge that instantly silenced the entire room.

"Bianca."

The blonde turned to him, her expression shifting back to a hopeful, desperate smile. "Yes, Lorenzo?"

**"Apologize."**

Her smile vanished. "What?"

"Apologize to my wife," Lorenzo commanded, stepping into the space between them.

Bianca laughed nervously, backing up half a step. "You're joking, right?"

"No." His gray eyes turned to solid ice, his imposing frame casting a shadow over her. **"No one insults Mrs. Dimitri. Not in my house, not in front of me, and certainly not while breathing my air."**

Bianca stared at him, utterly shocked, heartbroken, and deeply humiliated.

Lorrie stared at him too, her breath catching in her throat. Because for the first time since she had met him, Lorenzo Dimitri wasn't just defending a legal contract. He was defending *her*. And she hated herself for realizing just how good it felt.