The Mafia King's contract

*Chapter 2: Moving Into His World*

The mansion was too big.

Too quiet.

Too much like a prison.

It was 2 AM when the SUV pulled through the gates of Alessandro Moretti’s home in *the Hamptons, New York*. Guards with guns nodded at us. The driveway alone was longer than my old street in *Brooklyn*.

“Your room is upstairs, Mrs. Moretti.” The butler didn’t look at me. “Mr. Moretti said to give you anything you need.”

Mrs. Moretti.

The name felt like a costume that didn’t fit.

My room was bigger than the diner I worked at. White marble floors. A king-size bed. Walk-in closet already filled with designer dresses with tags still on them.

And on the bed, a note in sharp, angry handwriting:

*"Dinner at 8 PM tomorrow. Don’t be late. - A"*

That was it. No "welcome". No "how are you".

Just orders.

I didn’t sleep. I kept checking my phone.

*Credit Alert: Deborah has been admitted to Mount Sinai Hospital, NYC.*

Relief hit me so hard I cried. Deborah was going to be okay.

Because of him.

The next day I wandered the mansion. It felt like a museum. Cold. Perfect. Dead.

At 7:55 PM I went downstairs. He was already there.

Alessandro Moretti in a black shirt, sleeves rolled up. Tattoos crawling up his forearms. He was on a call, speaking Italian. When he saw me, he ended it with one word and hung up.

He looked me up and down. The red dress they’d left for me. The heels.

“Good,” he said. That was all.

Dinner was silent. Ten courses. None of them touched.

Every time I moved, I could feel his eyes on me.

“Did Deborah get into Mount Sinai okay?” I finally asked. My voice sounded small in the huge dining room.

His fork paused. “Yes. Best doctors in the city.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t answer. Just drank his wine.

After dinner, he stood. “Tomorrow. Charity gala in *Manhattan*. 7 PM. You’ll be on my arm. Smile. Touch me. Act like you love me. That’s the job.”

Then he walked away.

That should’ve been it. That was the deal.

But at 11 PM, I couldn’t sleep. The mansion was too quiet.

I went to the kitchen for water and heard voices from his study.

The door was cracked open.

“...I don’t care who she is,” Alessandro was saying on the phone. His voice was ice. “If anyone touches her, they answer to me.”

My heart stopped.

Her?

Me?

I should’ve walked away. But then I heard another voice. A woman’s. From inside the study.

“Alex, baby, you’ve been ignoring me for weeks. Is it because of her?”

A woman. In his study. At 11 PM.

Jealousy burned in my chest before I could stop it.

This was stupid. We had a contract. No feelings. No touching.

I turned to leave and my heel clicked on the marble floor.

The door swung open.

Alessandro stood there. Shirt unbuttoned at the top. Jaw tight.

Behind him, on his couch, was a blonde woman in a silk dress. Legs crossed. Smiling at me like I was nothing.

“Who’s this?” the woman asked, looking me up and down.

Alessandro didn’t answer her. He looked at me. Only me.

Gray eyes dark. “What are you doing here, Annabel?”

My face burned. “I... I was getting water.”

The blonde laughed. “The wife. Right. The contract.” She stood and walked to me. She smelled expensive. “Heard about the deal. 3 months, right? Cute.”

She touched my arm. “Don’t get too comfortable, sweetie. Men like Alex get bored fast.”

Before I could respond, Alessandro moved.

He stepped between us. His hand came down on my waist. Firm. Possessive.

“Don’t touch her,” he said quietly. But the whole room felt it.

“Leave. Now.”

The blonde’s smile dropped. She looked between us, then rolled her eyes and left.

Silence.

His hand was still on my waist. Burning through the thin fabric of my dress.

“You shouldn’t be out this late,” he said. His voice was lower now.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Go to your room, Annabel.”

I nodded and turned. But his grip tightened for half a second before letting go.

“Annabel.”

I stopped. Didn’t turn around.

“From now on, you don’t come down here alone at night.”

“Why?”

“Because this house isn’t safe. And because I said so.”

I finally looked back at him. “Is she your girlfriend?”

His jaw ticked. “No.”

“Then why was she here?”

“None of your business.”

Right. The contract.

No questions.

I walked back to my room with his words burning in my ears.

_Don’t touch her._

But when I closed my door, I couldn’t stop thinking about his hand on my waist.

How it didn’t feel like part of the act.

And how the idea of that blonde touching him made me sick.

This was supposed to be easy.

3 months. No feelings.

So why did my heart race every time he said my name?