The Mafia Twins want me

Three weeks before my wedding, I decided I would rather die than marry Adrian Moretti. Three weeks later, I woke up naked in another man's bed. My head throbbed so violently that for a few seconds, I couldn't remember where I was. The sheets beneath me were unfamiliar. Black. Silk. They carried the faint scent of expensive cologne and something darker, warmer, distinctly masculine. I swallowed. My mouth tasted bitter. My body felt strangely heavy, as though I'd been dragged through a dream I couldn't quite remember. Then I felt the arm around my waist. A large, muscular arm. I froze. Slowly, painfully slowly, I turned my head. The man beside me was asleep. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Broad shoulders. And a face I recognized immediately. Donovan Blackwood. My breath caught in my throat. Of all the men in New York, it had to be him. The Blackwood name was practically synonymous with power. Donovan Blackwood was a billionaire who owned half the city's most exclusive businesses and, according to every rumor I'd ever heard, controlled the other half through means nobody dared discuss aloud. He was a mafia boss. Not the kind who smiled for photographs and pretended his empire was legitimate. A real one. Ruthless. Untouchable. Dangerous. I'd seen him at society events before. Twice, maybe three times. Never close enough to speak to him. I had always preferred it that way. Men like Donovan didn't need to raise their voices to frighten people. His presence alone was enough. Whenever he entered a room, conversations seemed to lower automatically. And now I was in his bed. Naked. My heart began pounding. I pulled the sheet against my chest and tried to remember what had happened. Nothing. A blank wall. The harder I searched my memory, the worse my headache became. The last thing I remembered was sitting in my sister's bedroom. She had poured champagne for both of us. I remembered laughing. I remembered telling her that I couldn't go through with my wedding. I remembered lifting the glass to my lips. After that— Nothing. Donovan stirred. His arm tightened around my waist. I flinched. His eyes opened. Dark. Sleepy. Immediately alert. For several seconds, he simply looked at me. There was no surprise in his expression. That frightened me. "What happened?" My voice came out barely above a whisper. Donovan's gaze moved over my face. Then to the sheet clutched against my chest. Then to the rumpled bed. "You don't remember?" I shook my head. His expression didn't change. Before either of us could say anything else, the bedroom door exploded open. Three men rushed inside. One of them stopped so abruptly that the man behind him nearly collided with his back. Then the cameras came out. Flash. Flash. Flash. I screamed and pulled the sheet over myself. "What are you doing?" Nobody answered. One man was already speaking urgently into his phone. The other took another photograph. "Stop!" I grabbed a pillow and threw it toward the nearest camera. It missed. The damage was already done. By the time I was dressed and escorted out of the building, my phone had become unusable. Messages flooded the screen. Calls. Notifications. Unknown numbers. My name was everywhere. So was his. ‘Samantha Vale caught in Donovan Blackwood's bed.’ ‘Mafia billionaire's secret affair exposed.’ ‘Adrian Moretti's fiancée spends the night with rival crime lord.’ My hands shook as I stared at the headlines. I hadn't even known what happened to me. Yet the entire city already had a story. And somehow, I was the villain in it. By noon, my engagement to Adrian Moretti was over. By evening, both families were at war. And by midnight, my father placed a marriage contract in front of me. I stared at the papers. Then at him. "You're marrying Donovan." For a moment, I thought I'd misheard him. "What?" "You're marrying Donovan Blackwood." I pushed the contract away. "No." My father didn't move. "I said no." "You don't have a choice." My laugh came out bitter. "I was drugged." "I know." "Then why am I the one being punished?" Silence. My father's eyes shifted away from mine. That hurt more than if he'd shouted. I looked around the study. My mother sat on the sofa, pale and exhausted. My sister was standing near the window. She hadn't looked at me once since I came home. "The Morettis want an explanation," my father finally said. "They can have one. I don't know what happened." "They don't care." "Then what do they want?" "Someone to blame." My stomach twisted. "And Donovan?" My father hesitated. "The Blackwoods want their reputation protected." I stared at the contract. "And this marriage fixes everything?" "It gives everyone a way out." Everyone. Except me. I looked at my sister. She finally turned. Our eyes met. For one brief second, something unreadable flashed across her face. Then she looked away. I should have noticed. I should have questioned everything. Instead, I was too exhausted to fight. So I signed. Four days later, I became Mrs. Blackwood. There was no grand romance. No beautiful beginning. No promises whispered between two people hopelessly in love. There was simply a diamond ring placed on my finger, a legal document bearing my signature, and a man standing beside me whom I barely knew. Donovan Blackwood. My husband. The title felt absurd. I knew his reputation. I knew his face. I knew people lowered their voices whenever his name was mentioned. That was all. I knew nothing about his habits. Nothing about his family. Nothing about the people closest to him. And I certainly knew nothing about what happened behind the gates of the Blackwood estate. Apparently, nobody thought I needed to know. The estate appeared almost immediately after we passed through the gates. It was enormous. Dark stone. Tall windows. Immaculate gardens. Security guards positioned along the driveway and around the main building. Everything about the place screamed wealth. And power. And the kind of danger money couldn't buy its way out of. I stared through the car window. "Do you live here?" Donovan didn't look at me. "Yes." "Alone?" His gaze finally shifted toward me. "Does it matter?" I looked away. Apparently not. The car stopped beneath the enormous stone entrance. A maid was waiting for me. "Mrs. Blackwood." I stepped out. The title still sounded strange. She led me through the house and upstairs. I passed enormous paintings, marble floors, dark wooden doors, and rooms I couldn't imagine ever needing. Everything was beautiful. Everything was cold. At the end of the hallway, she opened a bedroom door. "Your husband will join you later." I nodded. She left. The door clicked shut behind her. I stood in the middle of the room and looked around. This was apparently my life now. A strange house. A strange marriage. A strange man. I walked toward the mirror. The woman staring back at me looked nothing like the woman who had woken up three weeks ago believing her biggest problem was an unwanted wedding. There was a diamond on my finger. A Blackwood ring. I lifted my hand and stared at it. I had gone to sleep three weeks ago as Samantha Vale. Now I was someone's wife. And I had no idea what kind of husband Donovan Blackwood intended to be. A soft click came from the door. I turned. It opened. Donovan stepped inside. He closed the door behind him. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. He stood there in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze dropped to my wedding ring. Something changed in his eyes. It was subtle. A flicker. Something dark and possessive. My fingers curled instinctively around the ring. He began walking toward me. I instinctively stepped backward. He stopped. His eyes remained fixed on mine. "You're afraid of me." It wasn't a question. I swallowed. "Shouldn't I be?" For the first time, the corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile. Something more dangerous. "No." He took another step. "Not anymore." My heart slammed against my ribs. I backed away until the edge of the bed pressed against the backs of my knees. Donovan stopped directly in front of me. He was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body. Close enough that the faint scent of his cologne filled my lungs. I looked up at him. "Why did you agree to this marriage?" His expression remained unreadable. "You signed the contract." "That doesn't answer my question." "No." His hand lifted. My entire body tensed. But instead of touching me, his fingers brushed lightly over the diamond ring on my finger. His eyes darkened. "You'll learn soon enough." "Learn what?" He finally looked into my eyes. "Exactly what it means to be Mrs. Blackwood." My pulse raced. I wanted to step away. I wanted to demand answers. I wanted to remind myself that this marriage was nothing more than a contract. But before I could say another word, Donovan reached for me. And this time, I didn't know whether I was more afraid of him— or of the part of me that didn't stop him.