The Mafia King's contract

The hospital bill in my hand shook. $250,000 dollars. Due in 48 hours. Or they’d pull the plug on my little sister, Deborah. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the hospital corridor. Brooklyn General was not where billionaires came to donate. It was where people like me came to die slowly. “Miss Annabel?” The nurse’s voice was soft. Pitying. “We’re really sorry. Without payment...” “I know.” My voice cracked. “I’ll get it.” How? I was 25. A college dropout. My parents were gone. And the only job I had was serving coffee at a diner that paid minimum wage. I stumbled out into the night. New York was too bright, too loud. Like it was mocking me. That’s when I saw the flyer stuck to a pole. "MODELS NEEDED FOR PRIVATE EVENT. $5,000 FOR ONE NIGHT." A number at the bottom. No name. I wasn't a model but I have to go for Deborah $5,000 wouldn’t save Deborah. But it was something. I called. Two hours later, a black SUV with tinted windows picked me up. The driver didn’t speak. He drove me to a mansion in the Hamptons. Inside, chandeliers dripped from the ceiling. Women in gold dresses laughed. Men in suits drank whiskey that cost more than my rent. And in the middle of it all, he was sitting. Alessandro "Alex" Moretti. CEO of Moretti Group. Youngest billionaire on Wall Street. Rumored to run half the underworld on the East Coast. He was tall. Black suit. No tie. Tattoos peeking from his collar. His eyes were gray. Cold. Like he could see every lie you’d ever told. He wasn’t looking at the models. He was looking at me. I felt the tension Because I didn’t belong here. My thrifted dress. My worn shoes. My desperation. A man in a suit approached me. “Mr. Moretti would like to speak with you. Privately.” My heart hammered. This was a mistake. I should run. But Deborah’s face flashed in my head. I followed him to a study at the back. No windows. Just books, a desk, and him. Alex didn’t stand up when I entered. He just swirled his whiskey and studied me. “You’re not a model,” he said. His voice was low. Rough. “No sir.” “You’re Annabel. 25. Dropped out of college to pay hospital bills. Sister has kidney failure.” I froze. “How do you—” “I know everything about everyone in this room, Annabel.” He finally stood. He was terrifying up close. “The question is, what are you willing to do for $5 million dollars?” The air left my lungs. “5... million?” “For 3 months.” He slid a folder across the desk. “Be my wife.” I laughed. It came out broken. “You’re joking.” “I don’t joke.” He opened the folder. Inside was a marriage certificate. Already filled out. Annabel. Alessandro Moretti. “And a contract. You attend events with me. You pretend to love me. You don’t ask questions about my business. And you don’t fall in love with me.” I stared at him. “Why me?” “Because my grandfather will only sign over the company if I’m married. And I need someone who has nothing to lose. Someone desperate enough to say yes and smart enough to keep her mouth shut.” He leaned forward. “Your sister gets the best hospital in New York. Tonight. Full payment. In exchange for 90 days of your life.” My hands shook. This was illegal. This was insane. This was— My only option. “Clause 7,” I whispered, reading. “No physical intimacy.” His gray eyes flickered. “Correct.” I picked up the pen. My signature looked small next to his. Alessandro Moretti. Bold. Sharp. The moment I signed, he took my phone and called someone. “Transfer $250,000 to Brooklyn General Hospital. And get her into Mount Sinai. Tonight.” Then he looked at me. Really looked at me. “Congratulations, Mrs. Moretti. You just sold yourself.” I was surprised Me selling my self Then I remember my sister He came around the desk and stopped in front of me. Too close. I could smell his cologne. Something expensive and dangerous. He lifted my chin with one finger. “Rule number one,” he murmured. “In public, you smile. You touch me. You act like you’re in love.” His thumb brushed my cheek. “Rule number two. In private... we are nothing.” His eyes dropped to my lips for half a second. Then back up. “Don’t forget it.” He turned away. “Now go pack. My driver will take you to the mansion. Welcome to your new life.” As I walked out, my phone buzzed. Credit Alert: $250,000.00 from MORETTI GROUP. Description: For Deborah. Deborah was going to live. And I was now married to the most dangerous man in the country. For 3 months. No feelings. No touching. That’s what I told myself as the SUV doors closed behind me. But when I caught his reflection in the window, watching me leave... I wasn’t so sure I could keep that promise. I felt like to just bring him to my self