The Ghost Husband’s Deal

To settle my family's debt, I was forced to marry the comatose heir of a mafia family.

On our wedding night, as I washed his body, a low, lazy chuckle echoed in my ear. "Enjoying the view?"

I glanced up, meeting the gaze of my comatose husband's ghost. "He'll do."

While everyone was pitying my fate as a young widow, I was striking a deal with my new husband's ghost.

"Sign it. Now."

A contract on parchment was shoved in my face. Its sharp edge brushed against my eyelashes.

I didn't flinch. I simply reached up, took it, and smoothed it out.

Beneath a gold-embossed family crest, the words were stark: a voluntary marriage into the Volpe family, to be lawfully wed to Lorenzo Volpe.

Lorenzo Volpe. The sole son of North America's oldest Sicilian mafia family. Three months ago, a "car accident" had left him in a vegetative state.

The family doctor said he would never wake up. Lying on that hospital bed, he was just a breathing corpse.

My stepmother, Brenda, sat on the leather sofa nearby, trimming her nails. The polish was a shocking scarlet.

My half-sister, Chloe, was huddled next to her, stifling a giggle behind her hand.

"Aurora, this is a golden opportunity," Brenda said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The Volpe family is obscenely wealthy. Once Lorenzo is finally out of the way, that inheritance is all yours. Marry him, and you'll be set for life."

I saw her scheme clear as day. She wanted her own daughter, Chloe, to marry Lorenzo's younger brother, Marco.

Marco currently held most of the family's real power. But as long as Lorenzo was alive, Marco couldn't legitimately claim the title of heir. The moment Lorenzo died, Marco would be the new Don.

But as I stared at the contract, I didn't feel a shred of fear. In fact, it was almost laughable.

Because I could clearly see the restless spirit of a gambler, riddled with bullet holes, was perched on Brenda's shoulder, greedily feeding on her life force. The spirit had no lower jaw, only a gaping, bloody hole.

I turned my head to look at the oil portrait of Lorenzo on the table. The man in the painting had sharp, chiseled features that radiated a cold, oppressive aura.

But in my eyes, a translucent figure hovered at the edge of the frame.

The spirit sat astride the frame, his long legs swinging idly as he shamelessly sized me up.

He wore an unbuttoned black shirt, revealing an expanse of tattoos across his powerful chest. Even as a spirit, he seemed more alive than anyone else in the room.

"What? Too scared to sign?" my father, Frank, slammed his hand on the table.

"Aurora, don't be ungrateful. Considering your mother's bloodline, it's an honor for you to be buried with a Volpe."

I placed the contract back on the table. "I'll marry him."

My answer was clipped and final.

Brenda's hand jerked, and the nail clippers pierced her finger. The gambler's spirit shrieked and dissolved into black smoke that seeped into the carpet.

"You'll really do it?" Frank stared.

"I will." I picked up the pen. "But I have one condition."

"You dare to bargain?"

"The moment I walk out that door, I have nothing to do with this family. You pay your own debts, you handle your own troubles, and you never come looking for me again."

I signed my name, the letters of 'Aurora' digging into the paper with force.

The ghost in the portrait raised an eyebrow, then floated down and leaned close to my ear. An icy breeze brushed against my neck.

"You've got some nerve, baby," he murmured, his voice a husky, playful whisper against my earlobe.

I turned my head to look at him. He clearly hadn't expected me to meet his gaze and instinctively recoiled.

"You can see me?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

I ignored him and tossed the pen aside.

"Let's go," I said. "To the Volpe estate."

Frank's face lit up. He snatched the contract and headed for the door, no doubt to get another high-interest loan.

Lorenzo's spirit followed me, his large hand hovering over my shoulder. The ghostly touch felt incredibly heavy, like a block of sculpted ice pressing down on me.

"Interesting," he chuckled in my ear. "Let's see if you're still smiling when you walk into that den of wolves."

I pushed open the main door. The sunlight outside was a bit harsh. Lorenzo's spirit didn't seem to fear the sun at all. He even stretched his shoulders languidly.

"Hey, girl," he floated in front of me, walking backward to match my pace. "Why'd you agree to marry me? For the money?"

"To stay alive."

"Stay alive?" he scoffed. "Marrying me is like stepping into hell. My bastard brother, Marco, and my snake of a stepmother dream of seeing me in the ground. The moment you walk in there, you become a target."

"I know."

"And you're still doing it?"

"Because I have the Sight." I reached out and tapped my finger against his chest.

Lorenzo froze. For the first time, his ghostly face showed an expression that was not cocky or playful, but one of genuine shock.

"You can really see me?" he repeated.

"I can see you, and I can hear you." I pulled open the door to a black, armored SUV.

"Lorenzo, I can see you. That makes me the only one who can help you. We're in this together now. Do you want to get back into your body or not?"

The heavy car door slammed shut. Lorenzo phased through the roof and settled beside me, his gaze burning, all traces of playfulness gone.

"I do," he said. "It's all I dream about. I want to tear those backstabbing bastards apart with my own two hands."

"Good," I said, watching the city lights streak past the window. "Because I can wake you up."