Chapter 1 - The Devil’s Bargain
“Hiding yourself,” Dante Cavallo said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated right through the soles of Clara’s flour-dusted sneakers. He stepped closer, the scent of expensive tobacco, winter air, and dangerous power enveloping her. “You shrink every time a man looks at you. Stop it. You have nothing to apologize for.”
Clara’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She dropped her hands from her apron, her fingers trembling. “Mr. Cavallo, the bakery is closed. I don’t know why you’re here, but—”
“I’m here because you need a husband by nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” Dante interrupted smoothly. He took a drag of his cigarillo, the cherry glowing hot red, before exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling. “And I need a wife.”
Clara stared at him, the buzzing of the fluorescent light suddenly deafening. “You… what? You’re Dante Cavallo. You could have any woman in the state. Why would you need a wife? And why on earth would you choose me?”
“Because the women in my circle are vipers,” he said, his pitch-black eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “They want my money, my influence, or my blood. I require a wife with a clean background, no ties to the syndicate, and a desperate enough situation that she will sign a strict non-disclosure agreement. In exchange, I offer absolute protection. Your grandmother will never touch your brother. Your debts will vanish. You will lack nothing.”
Clara’s mind reeled. This was madness. He was the head of a criminal empire, a man who swallowed businesses whole and left nothing but bones. But as she thought of Leo, sleeping on a thin mattress in their freezing apartment, the desperation clawed its way up her throat.
“What’s the catch?” she whispered.
“You live with me. You wear my ring. You play the part of a devoted wife in public,” Dante replied, stopping just inches from her. “And you never, ever run from me.”
“I just want to keep Leo,” Clara choked out, tears finally spilling over.
May you like
Dante reached out, his thumb—calloused and warm—wiping a tear from her cheek. “Say yes, Clara. And Beatrice Jenkins will never breathe in your brother’s direction again.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “I’ll marry you.”
