The Mafia's King Last Lie

(Arc 1)

***

The first time I saw Damien Cross, he was buying my future.

The second time, he was putting a price on my marriage.

And by the time I understood why he wanted me, it was already too late to walk away.

“Sign it, Serena.”

My father's voice trembled as he pushed the document across the mahogany table.

I stared at the contract, then at him.

“Marry Damien Cross?” I read aloud. “You've lost your mind.”

“Lower your voice.”

“Lower my voice? You're asking me to marry the most dangerous man in this city!”

My father looked toward the closed study door as if someone might be listening.

“Do you think I want this?”

“I don't know what you want anymore, Dad. You haven't told me anything in months.”

Richard Vale had once been the kind of man who could silence a room simply by entering it. Now, his expensive suit hung loosely on his shoulders, and the hand resting beside the contract trembled.

That frightened me more than his demand.

“What happened?” I asked quietly.

He rubbed his forehead. “The company is finished unless Cross agrees to the arrangement.”

“Then let it fail.”

His eyes snapped toward me.

“You don't understand what you're saying.”

“Then explain it to me!”

“It's more complicated than that.”

“Everything is always complicated when I ask about Isabella.”

The moment her name left my mouth, my father went still.

My sister had disappeared three years ago. No body. No proper explanation. Just unanswered questions and a family that had slowly learned to pretend the subject no longer existed.

I hadn't learned.

I never would.

“Don't bring your sister into this,” he said.

“Why? What are you afraid I'll discover?”

“Enough, Serena.”

I pushed the contract away.

“I won't marry him.”

My father stood abruptly, knocking his chair backward.

“If you refuse, we'll lose everything. The company, the house, every investment I've spent my life building. And Damien will come for the people he believes destroyed his family.”

“Then he should come for you. I'm not responsible for whatever happened between you and his family.”

My father looked at me with an expression I couldn't understand.

“That's what Isabella said.”

My blood ran cold.

“What?”

He looked away.

“Nothing.”

“No. You don't get to do that. What did Isabella say?”

“She's gone, Serena!”

His shout echoed through the study.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then he lowered his voice.

“Please. Just this once, do what I'm asking.”

I had never heard him beg before.

I looked down at the contract again. My name sat beside Damien Cross's, and a wedding date had already been chosen.

Three weeks.

Apparently, my future had been arranged before anyone bothered to ask whether I wanted one.

---

The Cross estate stood behind towering iron gates and walls that made the outside world feel impossibly distant.

I arrived that evening with one question burning in my mind.

Why me?

The mansion was beautiful in the way a weapon could be beautiful—polished, expensive, and designed to make people think twice before approaching.

A man in a black suit escorted me inside. Cameras followed my movements, and two guards stood near the entrance without bothering to disguise their scrutiny.

“Mr. Cross is waiting,” the housekeeper informed me.

Of course he was.

Men like Damien Cross didn't wait for people. They expected people to arrive when summoned.

As I followed her down a corridor, I noticed a framed photograph of Damien beside an older man with silver hair.

Alexander Cross.

His father had died three years ago, on the same night Isabella disappeared.

I remembered the newspaper headlines. I remembered my father locking himself in his study for two days afterward. And I remembered the strange phone call that had awakened me in the middle of that night.

A woman's voice had whispered, Don't trust anyone.

I had always assumed it was Isabella.

Now, staring at Alexander Cross's photograph, I wasn't so sure.

“Miss Vale?”

The housekeeper's voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” I lied. “Nothing at all.”

The doors to the study opened.

Damien Cross stood behind his desk, dressed in black. He was taller than I expected, with dark hair, a cold expression, and eyes that seemed to notice everything without revealing anything about himself.

He checked his watch.

“You're five minutes late.”

“Traffic.”

“Excuses are more convincing when they're original.”

“And arrogance is less embarrassing when it's earned.”

His expression shifted slightly.

Interest, perhaps.

Then it disappeared.

“Sit down, Serena.”

“I prefer standing.”

“Then stand.”

He opened a folder containing the marriage contract.

“Your father explained the arrangement.”

“My father handed me a contract and told me my life was the price of keeping his company.”

“Your life is worth considerably more than his company.”

“That's supposed to make me feel better?”

“No. It's supposed to make you understand that I know exactly what I'm asking for.”

I stepped closer to his desk.

“Then tell me why you're asking for it.”

“Because you're a Vale.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It's the only one you're getting tonight.”

I hated how calm he was. Every word sounded calculated, as though he had already considered every possible response I could give.

“If this is revenge,” I said, “why not come after my father?”

His jaw tightened.

“Your father has spent three years hiding behind his daughters. I'm simply asking him to make