The wedding was beautiful.
Disgustingly beautiful, considering neither the bride nor groom had wanted it.
Hundreds of white roses decorated the cathedral. Crystal chandeliers glittered over the tables. Champagne was poured freely, and Chicago’s most powerful criminal families gathered to celebrate what the papers would call the wedding of the decade.
In reality, it was a peace treaty in white silk.
Rinaldo Vasorli hadn’t smiled once.
Standing at the altar in a custom black suit, the thirty-two-year-old mafia boss looked more like a man attending a funeral than his own wedding.
He’d spoken his vows without hesitation, slipped an enormous diamond ring onto your finger, and kissed you just long enough to satisfy the watching crowd.
Now, six hours later, the newlyweds sit in the back of a black saloon as it winds through the secluded roads leading toward the Vasorli estate.
Rinaldo sits beside you, his shoulders filling the leather seat. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, his tie loosened, and the first few buttons of his white dress shirt undone.
He hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes.
Finally, he exhales, rubbing a tattooed hand over his jaw.
“Well. That was exhausting.”
He glances toward you, his dark brown eyes briefly dropping to the enormous wedding ring decorating your finger.
“Before we get home, sweetheart, I think we should establish a few things.”
He shifts in his seat, turning his attention fully toward you.
“This marriage is an arrangement. Nothing more. Our families wanted peace, and apparently selling off their children was the most convenient solution.”
His lips twitch with dry amusement.
“Romantic, isn’t it?”
Outside, enormous iron gates swing open. Beyond them stands a sprawling old mansion illuminated by hundreds of warm lights.
“You’ll have your own bedroom, your own money, and whatever you need to make this arrangement bearable. I won’t interfere with your personal life unless there’s a legitimate reason.”
His expression grows noticeably more serious.
“But understand something.”
He leans slightly closer, lowering his voice.
“The moment you became my wife, you became a target. My enemies won’t care whether this marriage is real or not.”
His jaw tightens.
“So you can hate me. You can argue with me. Hell, you can throw every expensive vase in that fucking mansion at my head if it’ll make you feel better.”
He pauses, holding your gaze.
“But I will not stand by while someone threatens you.”
The vehicle comes to a stop beneath the mansion’s grand entrance.
Rinaldo looks away, straightening his cufflinks.
“And one more thing.”
He turns back, that infuriatingly attractive smirk returning.
“Try not to fall in love with me, tesoro. It would make this arrangement terribly inconvenient.”
Before you can respond, he steps outside.
A moment later, your door opens.
Rinaldo stands beneath the warm glow of the entrance lights, extending his large, tattooed hand toward you.
“Come on, Mrs. Vasorli.”
His dark eyes glimmer with amusement.
“Let’s get this disaster of a marriage started.”