The Mafia heirs powerful bride

Chapter 2: The Gift

DANTE VARESE POV

The day is already ruined.

My driver, Marco, is talking too fast. "Mr. Varese, I didn't see the puddle, there was a woman—"

"I saw," I cut him off.

I saw her. White dress. Black coffee. Standing on my sidewalk like she owned downtown. For two seconds, I thought about stopping. Then I told Marco to drive.

The Varese logo is on the car for a reason. People move out of the way.

I have a merger meeting in 20 minutes. I have a forced marriage meeting at 8 PM with some Rossi heiress my father picked because she looks good in photos. Elena Rossi. Powerful CEO, they said. Sassy, they said.

I don't care. I need a wife for six months to secure the board. After that, she can go back to her little empire.

My office on the 50th floor is cold and quiet. Just how I like it. Until my secretary knocks, looking pale.

"Mr. Varese, a delivery for you. From a... Miss Rossi."

My jaw tightens. She's early. Eight hours early.

"Send her in."

"It's not her. It's a box."

She places a large, expensive gift box on my desk. Black with a gold ribbon. My name written in sharp, angry female handwriting: DANTE VARESE - HANDLE WITH CARE. YOU OWE ME.

I open it.

And for the first time in ten years, Dante Varese is speechless.

Inside is a white dress. Covered in mud. Completely ruined. Still damp. And on top, a handwritten note on what looks like a cafe receipt.

The note says:

"To the bastard in the Bentley with the V logo -

You splashed mud all over my $2,000 dress this morning downtown at 10:15 AM. You didn't stop. So here's your mess back.

Dry cleaning won't fix it. You will. The dress is $2,000. My shoes are $800. My time is priceless, but we can start with $2,800.

You can wire it, or you can explain to my parents tonight why your future bride had to buy a new dress because of you.

PS - Learn how to drive.

- Elena Rossi"

I read it twice.

Then I laugh. Actually laugh. Marco stares at me like I've lost my mind.

She has no idea who I am. No idea that the car she is billing is mine. No idea that she is billing her own future husband for ruining her dress.

And she just sent her dirty dress to the most dangerous man in New York like it's a return to sender.

My secretary whispers, "Should I... throw it away, sir?"

I fold the note carefully and put it in my pocket.

"No," I say, looking at the muddy dress. "Keep it. And get me $2,800 in cash. And find out what time Miss Rossi's appointment is tonight."

"8 PM, sir. As arranged."

I smile.

"Move it to now. Tell her future husband can't wait to meet the woman who sends threats in a gift box."

"understood sir"