Forced to be the mafia king's bride

The rain fell like sheets of silver, soaking the narrow streets of New York City. Elena Cruz hugged her thin jacket tighter around her body as she hurried home from the late shift at the diner. Her shoes squished against the puddles, her breath visible in the cold night air. She was exhausted, but she didn’t have the luxury of resting. Her younger brother, Mateo, was in the hospital again — and every extra shift meant a few more dollars toward his bills. She turned the corner into the alley that cut through to her apartment building when she saw something — or rather, someone — lying beside a black car. Her steps slowed. Her heart skipped. It was a man. Even from a distance, she could see the faint movement of his chest — he was alive. But the ground beneath him was dark with blood. “Oh my God,” she whispered, running closer. He looked… dangerous. A dark suit clung to his muscular body, ruined by rain and blood. His face was striking — chiseled jaw, full lips, and eyes half-closed in pain. A gun lay near his hand. Elena froze. Every instinct screamed at her to run. But then he groaned. “Help… me…” The sound was low, rough, and desperate. Elena’s heart clenched. She couldn’t just leave him to die. She pushed away her fear and knelt beside him. “Hey, hey—can you hear me? You’ve been shot.” His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist — strong despite his weakness. His voice was gravelly, commanding. “Don’t… call the police.” She blinked. “What? You need a hospital!” “No cops,” he rasped again, eyes flickering open for the first time. They were steel gray — sharp and full of something dark. “Please.” For reasons she couldn’t explain, she nodded. Something about his tone, his power even in pain, made her obey. She dragged him to her small apartment with all the strength she had, his heavy body nearly collapsing twice. Her heart pounded as she locked the door behind them. By the time she got him to the couch, his eyes were closed again. “Stay with me,” she whispered, grabbing her small first-aid kit. She cleaned his wound — a graze, thankfully, though it bled heavily — and wrapped it tight with trembling hands. Hours later, after she’d fallen asleep on the chair beside him, she woke to find the couch empty. The man was gone. Only a single black card lay on her table. A. Blackwood. No number. No address. Just the name. She frowned. Who was he? --- 💔 Three Days Later Elena was pouring coffee at the diner when a sleek black car stopped outside. Everyone turned to look. The door opened, and the man stepped out — alive, clean, and terrifyingly handsome. Elena’s heart stopped. It was him. He entered the diner like he owned the place. His eyes found her instantly. “Miss Cruz,” he said in a low voice that made her stomach twist. “You saved my life. Now, I intend to repay you.” She blinked, flustered. “I don’t need—” “I’m not offering charity.” His tone softened, though his gaze stayed intense. “I’m offering a deal.” She frowned. “A deal?” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Marry me.” The tray nearly slipped from her hand. “What?” “Six months. A contract marriage. You’ll be compensated handsomely.” Her breath caught. “You’re insane.” A small smile touched his lips. “Perhaps. But think about it, Elena. I can make all your problems disappear.” Her pulse raced. “Why me?” “Because,” he said simply, “I trust you. And you’ve already seen me at my weakest.” She stared at him, speechless, as he handed her a white envelope. Inside was a check. For two million dollars. Her brother’s surgery… their debts… everything could be fixed. But something deep inside her whispered danger. “Think about it,” Adrian Blackwood said, turning to leave. “I’ll send a car tomorrow. If you come with it, I’ll know your answer.” And with that, he was gone again — leaving her trembling, her heart and mind at war. --- That night, Elena sat by Mateo’s hospital bed, staring at the city lights outside the window. Two million dollars. A contract marriage. A stranger who felt both terrifying and magnetic. Could she really do it? When Mateo coughed in his sleep, weak and pale, her decision formed itself. If she had to sell her heart to save him… so be it. Elena looked out the window again and whispered to the night, “I’ll do it.”