The Mafia King's Contract Bride

The room they brought me to didn't look like a prison.

That made it worse.

The bedroom was enormous black marble floors, a king-sized bed dressed in dark silk sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. Everything screamed luxury. Power. Control.

And none of it belonged to me.

A maid helped me out of my coat, her movements careful, her eyes lowered. No one spoke. No one asked if I was okay. In this house, feelings didn't matter-only obedience.

When the door finally closed behind her, the silence pressed in on me.

I stood there for a long moment, hugging my arms around myself, trying to breathe. My heart was still racing from what I'd done from the signature that had sealed my fate.

Married.

To a mafia king who had just told me no woman survived him.

The door opened without a knock.

Luca De Santis stepped inside.

I turned instantly, my spine stiffening.

He had removed his jacket but kept his shirt sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. He looked infuriatingly calm, like this was just another night, another transaction completed.

"This room is yours," he said. "You won't leave it without permission."

I swallowed. "Like a prisoner."

"Like my wife," he corrected coolly.

I clenched my jaw. "What exactly do you expect from me?"

Luca's gaze slid over me, slow and deliberate, making heat crawl under my skin despite my fear. "Obedience. Discretion. Loyalty."

"And if I fail?" I asked.

His eyes flicked to mine. "Then the contract becomes... unpleasant."

A chill ran down my spine.

He walked toward the table near the window and picked up a folder. Another one. Thinner than the contract, but heavier in meaning.

"These are the rules," he said, tossing it onto the bed.

I stared at it, then at him. "Rules?"

"You will memorize them," Luca said. "Break one, and there will be consequences."

My fingers shook as I opened the folder.

Rule One: Never leave the estate without authorization.

Rule Two: Never speak to outsiders about the marriage.

Rule Three: Never ask about my business.

Rule Four: Never enter the west wing.

Rule Five: Never fall in love.

My breath caught.

I looked up slowly. "That last one-"

"Is not a suggestion," Luca said sharply.

I closed the folder. "Why marry me if you're so afraid of love?"

He stopped moving.

For a split second, something dark flickered across his face pain, maybe. Or rage.

Then it vanished.

"Love gets people killed," he said. "You'd do well to remember that."

I hesitated before asking the question burning inside me. "The women before me... did they break the rules?"

Luca stepped closer, invading my space. I could smell his cologne something dark and expensive.

"You are dangerously curious," he murmured.

"Because I don't want to die," I shot back.

His lips curved into a humorless smile. "Then follow the rules."

A knock sounded at the door.

Marcus, the man from earlier, entered. "Sir. There's been movement. One of the Rossi men was spotted near the perimeter."

Luca's entire presence shifted. Colder. Deadlier.

"Double security," Luca ordered. "No one gets close to her."

Her.

The word hit me unexpectedly.

Marcus nodded and left.

I stared at Luca. "They're watching already, aren't they?"

"Yes," he said. "They'll test you. Try to use you."

"For what?"

He met my eyes. "To hurt me."

Fear curled in my chest. "And if they succeed?"

Luca leaned down until his face was inches from mine. "Then I'll burn the city to the ground."

My breath hitched.

He straightened. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, you meet the world as Mrs. De Santis."

He turned to leave, then paused at the door.

"One more thing, Elena," he said without looking back. "This marriage is not protection."

The door opened.

"It's a battlefield."

And as the door shut behind him, I realized something terrifying.

I wasn't just trapped in Luca De Santis's house.

I was trapped in his war.