A Marriage with the Mafia Prince

A L Y S S A

"This is a gesture of faith," Mr Valentino says, his voice smooth and assured, like he's explaining an investment opportunity instead of handing me a sum of money that could alter the course of my life. "A retainer, if you will. Consider it a taste of what we're offering. Spend it on your mother. Or don't. It's yours."

The envelope sits in my hands, closed now, but I can still feel what's inside it. I can feel it like pressure against my palms, against my chest, against the part of me that still wants to believe I didn't just agree to sell my future in exchange for survival. My pride is screaming, loud and frantic, telling me not to take it, telling me that once I do, there's no pretending this was hypothetical, no pretending I still have one foot outside the door.

But pride doesn't keep hospital machines running. Pride doesn't make pain go away. Pride doesn't sit beside my mother's bed at night and whisper that she can rest now, that everything will be okay.

So I close the envelope with a hand that trembles despite my effort to stop it, and I slide it into my purse as carefully as if it might burn through the lining. I lift my gaze back to them and nod once.

"I accept," I say.

The words sound strange in my mouth, like they belong to someone else, someone braver or more foolish than I am.

Mrs Valentino's expression softens, just slightly, and Mr Valentino's mouth curves upward in something that looks like satisfaction. They exchange a glance that feels intimate, as though they've just completed a deal that was never truly in question.

"Thank you, Alyssa," Mrs Valentino says. "We will be in touch."

And just like that, it's over.

No signatures. No paperwork slid across the table. No formal closing to the conversation that has just reshaped my entire life. Just expectation hanging in the air, thick and quiet, like something waiting to be fulfilled.

I stand slowly, my legs stiff, my body lagging behind my thoughts as if it needs extra time to catch up. I manage a nod that feels awkward and out of place, then turn toward the elevator without another word.

I do not look back.

The elevator doors close with a soft hiss, sealing me inside a narrow mirrored box that reflects a version of me I barely recognise. Pale. Eyes too wide. Lips parted like I've forgotten how to breathe properly.

What just happened?

The question circles my mind as the elevator descends, the numbers lighting up one by one. I wait for panic to hit, for my chest to tighten, for tears to come. None of it happens. There is only a strange quiet, a blank stretch inside my head where thoughts should be colliding. It feels like something in me has gone still out of self-preservation, as though shutting down emotion is the only way I can keep standing upright.

I open my purse and pull the envelope back out.

The cash is real. I slide my thumb over the bills, half expecting them to fade into nothing, to reveal this whole thing as a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and stress.

Five thousand dollars.

The number alone feels unreal. More money than I have held at one time in years. Enough for another round of treatments. Enough for another stretch of hope.

I fold the envelope again and press it briefly against my chest before tucking it away, like a secret I am not ready to look at for too long.

The elevator doors open.

The lobby is just as polished as before, marble floors gleaming beneath my feet, the receptionist offering me the same polite nod as if I hadn't just walked out of a meeting that has effectively sold my future. I step outside, and the city crashes back into me all at once.

Horns blaring. People rushing past. Voices overlapping. Life is moving forward without hesitation.

Everything looks the same.

But nothing is.

I pull my coat tighter around me and start walking, not toward any particular destination, just away. The cold air bites at my cheeks, stinging enough to remind me that I am still here, still in my body. It helps. A little.

It is nearly midday.

Six hours until the car comes.

Six hours until I meet the man I am supposed to marry.

Six hours until this thing I have agreed to takes on a face.

By the time I reach my apartment, my head feels full again, thoughts stacking on top of each other in ways that make it hard to breathe. I unlock the door and step inside, letting it slam shut behind me with a sound that echoes through the small space, too loud, too final.

I stand there with my coat still on, purse clutched tight to my chest, afraid that if I set it down, I will lose the only proof that this is real. My legs feel stiff, my body unwilling to move forward.

This is real.

I said yes.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and when I take it out of silent mode, I see the missed calls immediately. Carmen. Too many of them.

As if summoned, the phone starts ringing again.

I hesitate, staring at her name on the screen, then answer.

"Hey."

"Alyssa!! Why weren't you picking up my calls?!" she shouts. "I've been trying to reach you all morning! I was about to call hospitals!"

I pull the phone away from my ear. "Good morning to you, too." I let out with a deep sigh.

"You disappeared," she says. "What happened?"

"I had an interview."

There is a pause, then her tone brightens instantly. "Really? That's great. How did it go?"

"It was... different."

The shift is immediate. "Different how?"

"I'm home," I say instead. "Can you come over?"

Another pause. "I'm on my way."

Ten minutes later, she bursts through the door like a storm, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail of red hair, cheeks flushed, eyes scanning me like she's checking for injuries.

"Okay," she says. "Talk."

I don't answer. I just moved toward the coffee table and set my purse down, pulling the envelope out and placing it in front of her.

Her gaze follows it. She stops moving.

"What is that?"

"Open it."

She hesitates, then does, and when she sees what's inside, her breath catches.

"Alyssa," she says quietly. "How much is this...?"

"Five thousand dollars." I let out as I keep my eyes on her.

She looks up at me, eyes wide. "From who??"

"The Valentinos."

Her reaction is instant. She stiffens, then looks at me like I have lost my mind. "What? How? Why would they give you this much money? They hired you and paid you up front?"

I sink onto the couch, exhaustion crashing into me all at once. "I didn't work for them."

Her voice rises. "Then what did you do?"

I close my eyes for a moment, then open them and meet her gaze.

"They want me to marry their son."

The silence that follows feels endless. Until finally she responds.

"What?!"

"Two years," I say. "A contract. A child. Then I'm free."

She stands abruptly. "No. No, absolutely not. This is insane!! This is how people disappear!! Have you never watched a crime documentary in your life?!"

"They're paying for my mom's care," I say. "All of it."

Her mouth opens, then closes again.

"And you're actually considering this...?" she says.

"I already said yes."

She stares at me, horror and worry battling in her eyes.

"Alyssa," she whispers. "What have you done...?"

I look down at my hands, at the envelope still sitting on the table between us.

"I did what I had to."

And even as I say it, I know this is only the beginning.