Bethroted To The Mafia Boss
Chapter 4
Victor’s POV
“Her inheritance? What for?” he asked, his brows knitting together as he leaned back in his chair.
I didn’t answer immediately. I let the silence stretch just long enough to make him curious. My fingers tapped once against the armrest before I spoke.
“As her husband-to-be, I need to know everything about my bride,” I said calmly. “Her likes, dislikes, hobbies, friends, family… properties, inheritance.”
I held his gaze.
“Everything.”
“Oh… well…” He cleared his throat and adjusted the files on his desk. “I can give you a list of everything she inherits at the age of twenty-five.”
“Mr. Smith,” I said, my tone polite but firm, “I don’t want a list. I want the papers of ownership and the proceeds for all the properties she inherits.”
He paused. His fingers stopped moving.
“Papers of ownership?” he repeated slowly, studying me as though trying to read what lay beneath my words.
“Hmmm.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the air conditioner.
“Alright,” he finally said with a nod. “Everything will be ready on her birthday. You’re invited to the party. I plan to officially announce the engagement there.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
“Though I saw you already gave people a hint in that interview.”
I allowed a small, controlled smile.
“Mr. Smith, I want to marry Alice partly because of the letter… it was my late father’s dying wish.”
I slowed my words, choosing them carefully.
“But more than that, she’s a beautiful and intelligent woman. She would make a good wife.”
I kept my expression neutral, careful not to reveal the truth beating quietly beneath my ribs.
“I’m happy to hear that, my son.” His face softened, nostalgia creeping into his voice. He folded his hands together on the desk.
“You know… your father and I were best friends. We grew up together. We even swore we would remain brothers for life.”
I stayed silent, watching him.
“Our fathers were also best friends,” he continued, his eyes drifting somewhere far away. “They bought four plots of land together. But my father paid more, so the agreement was sixty–forty. My father would take sixty percent, your grandfather forty.”
He sighed, rubbing his temple as if the memory itself carried weight.
“That was the agreement.”
I leaned forward slightly.
“Then one day, your father insisted the sixty percent belonged to his family instead. Said my father forced your grandfather into accepting the forty.”
His jaw tightened.
“I was furious. I had evidence — documents, proof — I showed him everything. But he refused to accept it.”
His voice grew rougher, edged with old hurt.
“We cut ties after that. Years of resentment.”
He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the desk.
“Before he died, I tried to reach out… but my brother stopped me. He said your father had been telling people I was wicked. That I stole his land.”
A bitter laugh escaped him.
“I got angry again. Stayed away from your family for good.”
He looked back at me, searching my face.
“I’m still surprised he would write a letter asking me to marry my daughter to you. I thought he wanted nothing to do with me anymore.”
I felt something twist inside my chest — not guilt, not quite anger… something heavier.
“Mr. Smith,” I said quietly, “this is the first time I’m hearing this story. My father hid a lot from me. The letter… was the only thing he spoke about before he died.”
The room felt smaller suddenly.
“Oh, my boy.” His voice softened with genuine regret. “I’m so sorry.”
I gave a small nod and forced my shoulders to relax.
“It’s alright, Mr. Smith,” I said.
“Life happened.”
I stood up slowly, buttoning my suit jacket.
“I moved on.”
But as I turned toward the door, I felt the old fire stirring again in my chest.
Moved on…
Not forgiven.
I was at the cashier counter, tapping my card lightly against the glass while the attendant packed my things, when I saw her.
Allie.
My breath stalled for half a second.
Ah… my beautiful little Allie.
Even from across the store, she pulled attention without trying. The soft tilt of her head as she listened on the phone. The way her fingers toyed absently with the strap of her bag. The slight crease between her brows when she was annoyed.
I’d be lying if I said her beauty wasn’t dangerous.
But beauty wasn’t the reason I was marrying her.
The land dispute between our fathers — the land that now sits in her inheritance — that was reason enough. And I always make sure my information is correct.
I stepped closer, slow and deliberate, my shoes barely making a sound on the polished floor.
She didn’t notice me.
“I don’t want to marry him,” she muttered into the phone, her voice tight with frustration. “He’s a playboy.”
A humorless laugh slipped from my throat.
If only she knew those women meant nothing. They were armor. In my world, feelings get you killed. So you bury them, suffocate them, pretend they never existed.
Marrying her isn’t just strategy.
It’s protection.
It’s answers.
It’s the past catching up with both of us.
She turned suddenly — sharp, instinctive — like she felt my eyes on her.
Our gazes locked.
Her expression hardened instantly. Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes flashing with anger.
I let my own stare darken. I’d heard the end of that call.
“Love you.”
It better have been a woman.
Alice doesn’t keep many friends. Not real ones. And the idea of some man saying that to her…
Yeah. I didn’t like that.
“Allie,” I said, voice low and smooth as I stepped closer.
Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t step back.
“Who was that on the phone?”
She lifted her chin, defiant, eyes sharp.
“None of your business.”
I arched a brow, taking another slow step into her space.
“Young lady,” I said quietly, “you don’t speak to your husband-to-be that way.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You are not — and will never be — my husband-to-be.”
A chuckle rolled out of me, deep and calm, though something inside my chest pulled tight.
“My dear Allie, your father has already given me the go-ahead to start preparations.”
I leaned closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear.
“As we speak… our wedding venue is booked.”
“What?” Her eyes widened, genuine shock flickering across her face. “But—”
“But what?” I interrupted softly. “I told you. You’re getting married to me.”
My gaze sharpened.
“Whoever you were talking to had better understand he’s flirting with another man’s future wife.”
My voice dropped, darker now.
“I don’t want to fight anyone for you, my love.”
A pause.
“You belong to me. Body. Soul. Spirit.”
Color rushed to her cheeks. Her breath hitched, and for a split second she looked shaken — before the fire returned.
“I belong to myself,” she snapped. “Booking a venue when the bride hasn’t said yes is your failure, Victor.”
“Oh,” I murmured, a slow smile tugging at my lips, “she’ll say yes.”
I tilted my head slightly.
“Especially after she sees my surprise.”
Suspicion flickered across her face.
“What surprise, Victor?”
I only smiled wider.
“Don’t worry, my little Allie. You’ll see it soon.”
She glared, folding her arms like a shield.
“Don’t play games with me. I’m not one of your playthings.”
I leaned just close enough to see the tiny tremor in her breath.
“Oh, you definitely are,” I whispered.
My voice dropped even lower.
“You’re my favorite plaything.”
Her breath caught. Heat rushed to her face. She hated that I could see the effect I had on her.
Without another word, she turned sharply and walked away, steps quick, shoulders rigid.
A quiet laugh slipped from me as I watched her leave.
She really will be the death of me.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
I answered without looking away from the exit she’d disappeared through.
“Boss, the shipment has arrived. Everything’s complete.”
“Good,” I said, voice instantly colder. “Take it to the warehouse. I want no mistakes.”
“Yes, boss.”
The call ended.
I slid the phone back into my pocket, a faint smile returning.
This shipment carries quite a few surprises for my bride.
I wonder…
Does she still like surprises?
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