His Fake Death My Real Freedom

My former fiancé, Marco Vescovi, was supposedly killed in a shootout two years ago.

As his arranged fiancée, I remained exceptionally calm.

Two years later, in a top-tier private casino in Chicago, I stumbled upon him. Marco was wound around some young woman, their mouths locked in a deep, bruising kiss.

His men hurried over to explain.

"Alessia, Marco was kidnapped by a rival faction. He was severely injured and only recently rescued, but he has amnesia. We didn't inform you because we were afraid you'd worry."

Marco shoved the girl away, his brow furrowed as his eyes locked onto mine.

"So, you're the fiancée I forgot? I have no memory of you. But out of respect for the Gallo family, I'll honor our agreement."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "They're lying to you. We've never met."

What Marco didn't know was that on the day his "death" was announced, I received an anonymous package containing a security tape.

In the video, he was in his private hangar, telling his confidant, "The thought of spending my life with Alessia is driving me insane. I'm faking my death to get out of this marriage. You keep the Gallo family quiet—don't let them stir up any trouble."

But what he couldn't possibly know was that in the two years he'd been "dead," I had already moved on.

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1

The VIP lounge fell silent for a moment before Marco's men erupted in a chorus of excuses, all talking over each other and gesturing at me.

"Alessia, how can you act like you don't know him? We were the ones who kept it a secret; it has nothing to do with Marco."

"Exactly. We were trying to spare you the pain. Now that he's finally back, you can't just give him the cold shoulder."

The air grew thick with unspoken pressure.

Before I could form a response, a derisive snort from Marco Vescovi shattered the feigned harmony.

He rose from the sofa, lazily swirling the ruby-red wine in his glass. "Good," he declared with utter disdain. "Saves me the headache."

The girl beside him, Caterina, immediately clung to his arm, gazing up at him with a mixture of feigned shyness and raw ambition.

"Marco… I remember you. She's the one being cruel. I… I'd do anything to be your bride…"

Marco said nothing, only casting a contemptuous glance in my direction before yanking Caterina into his arms for a deep, invasive kiss.

His men quickly shuffled to stand in front of me, blocking the crude display.

They continued their hollow attempts at placation.

"Alessia, Marco has amnesia. You know, he always said you were the only one for him."

"Come on, Alessia. You should be by his side, helping him remember. Don't be so stubborn."

My patience was wearing thin when a sharp pang shot through my heart. A wave of palpitations washed over me, my vision blurring at the edges.

The color drained from my face. Without another word, I spun on my heel and stalked out of the room.

I moved so quickly they didn't have time to react.

It was only after I had vanished from sight that they all let out a collective sigh of relief and turned to Marco.

"Marco, you took it too far. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. You'd better watch it, or you'll burn this bridge with the Gallo family for good."

Marco just scoffed dismissively and sank back into the plush sofa.

"Alessia plays the ice queen, but underneath, she's desperate for me. Two years apart? I bet she's been aching for it. Besides, I'm playing the amnesiac. When I get tired of this game, I'll just say my memory's back, and it was all unintentional. I won't even have to apologize. I'll just crook my finger, and she'll come running."

The moment I stepped out of the VIP lounge, my composure crumbled. I leaned against the cold wall, gasping for breath. My heart hammered against my ribs, the pain so intense it rooted me to the spot.

Just then, a shadow fell over me.

"What? Heartbroken enough to give him another chance?"

I looked up to see Nico De Luca, his arms crossed, leaning casually against the doorframe. His gaze was coolly indifferent as it swept over me.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. In the dim light, his features were sharp, as if carved from granite, his eyes deep, unreadable pools. Even in shadow, his thin lips held a faint, knowing curve.

Stung at being read so easily, my eyes welled with tears.

A flicker of almost imperceptible panic crossed Nico's eyes, and he strode toward me. "Don't cry. I swear, I won't mention it again."

His arms were surprisingly strong as he swept me up bridal style, leaving no room for argument. The clean scent of tobacco and leather from his suit was unexpectedly grounding, and I instinctively wound my arms around his neck.

"My heart hurts…" I whispered.

Nico paused for a fraction of a second. "Did it just start?"

I nodded, my lips brushing against his firm jaw as I buried my face in his broad shoulder.

He placed me gently in the back seat of his armored car, turning on the air conditioning. "Stay here," he said, his voice low and firm. "I'm going to make them pay."

With that, he shut the car door, his tall figure turning decisively and disappearing back into the bustling casino.