A Marriage with the Mafia Prince

Chapter 11 - Second thoughts.

A L Y S S A

The next morning...

I barely slept last night. I lie in my bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every word Stephano said to me, every look he gave me, the way he stood there, so certain of himself and so sure that I am temporary. I turn onto my side, then onto my back again, pulling the blanket up and then pushing it away, my mind refusing to quiet down. It is not just what he says that keeps me awake; it is how easily he says it, as if reducing me costs him nothing at all. By the time morning light begins to slip through the curtains, I feel more drained than rested, but there is no space to indulge that exhaustion today.

Carmen sits across from me at my small kitchen table, her mug of coffee cradled between both hands as she listens to me recount last night in a voice that sounds unfamiliar even to my own ears. The breakfast she insisted on making sits in front of me, eggs and toast that would normally make me grateful, but I keep pushing the food around my plate instead of actually eating it.

“He said that to you…?” she asks, her brows drawing together as she leans forward, her disbelief obvious.

“Yeah…” I answer, forcing myself to meet her eyes even though my chest tightens again at the memory.

She exhales through her nose and shakes her head. “Of course he’s a d**k. Rich, handsome men like him are anything but humble or kind." She lets out, the anger clear in her voice on my behalf, and I wish I could hold onto that anger instead of the doubt creeping in beneath it. I glance down at my plate again, pressing my fork lightly into the eggs without taking a bite, my appetite gone entirely.

“The way he spoke to me… it’s like I was nothing,” I admit, and saying it aloud makes it feel more real. “And I’m supposed to be with a man like that for two years?”

Carmen watches me carefully before asking, “Are you having second thoughts?”

I don't answer right away, because I'm afraid of what the answer might mean. My eyes drift toward the counter where the envelope sits, tucked partially beneath a stack of unopened mail. Five thousand dollars for agreeing to a conversation. The Valentinos have that much money to just throw away. I still have not touched it, almost as if leaving it there untouched means I have not fully committed yet.

“Yes… but…” I begin, and even that feels like an admission of weakness.

“But there’s no turning back now,”

Carmen follows my gaze to the envelope and then back to me. I'm glad she doesn't argue. She knows what that money represents, and more importantly, she knows what it could turn into for my mother.

As silence passes between us, I glance at the clock on the wall, and my stomach twists when I see the time creeping closer to ten. The car should already be on its way, if not downstairs waiting, and my pulse begins to quicken in a fashion that reminds me that this is all real.

“I should get going…” I mumble, pushing my chair back gently and standing up.

"Good call." Carmen stands as well, watching me with an expression that tries to be supportive but cannot quite hide the worry underneath.

I smooth my hands down the front of my dress, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I look okay?” I ask, and I hate that I sound like I need reassurance.

I chose a simple white flared midi dress, the nicest thing I own, the fabric light against my skin, the waist fitted enough to show off my figure and hips, not that I even need to impress anyone... I stand in front of her, turning slightly so she can see it properly, wondering if I look like someone about to get married or just a girl pretending to belong somewhere she does not.

“You look perfect,” Carmen says with a soft smile, though her eyes look suspiciously glossy.

I try to smile back even though it doesn't come easily. “I guess the next time I see you… I’ll already be a married woman.” I say, and the words sound strange in my mouth. Married. It feels too grown and too permanent, even if it is only on paper.

She steps forward and wraps her arms around me without hesitation, holding me tighter than usual as I press my face into her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair conditioner and perfume, the familiarity making me feel safe and at ease.

“Stay safe, okay?” she murmurs, and I nod against her, my throat too tight to promise anything out loud. After a few seconds, we pull apart slowly, both of us pretending this is normal, pretending this is just another day.

I grab my small purse from the counter, slipping my phone inside, and take one last look around the apartment. The worn couch, the tiny kitchen, the stack of bills near the sink. This place has always felt cramped, but right now it feels like a refuge...

When I step out into the hallway and then down to the street, the morning air feels cooler than I expect. The same black car from last night is parked in front of the building, shy, polished and out of place among the older, cheaper vehicles lining the curb. The driver stands beside it, dressed sharply, his posture straight and his expression neutral.

He greets me briefly and opens the back door for me as I approach. I murmur a quiet thank you and step inside, gathering the skirt of my dress carefully so it does not catch on the door. The leather seats are smooth beneath my hands as I settle in, my reflection faintly visible in the tinted window.

As the door closes and the driver moves around to his seat, I exhale slowly, trying to gather my thoughts before they spiral again. I smooth my dress over my knees and clasp my hands together, staring at them for a moment as the car pulls away from the curb.

The city passes by outside the window, familiar streets slowly giving way to wider roads and larger houses, and I find myself rehearsing nothing and everything at the same time. I tell myself not to react to him the way I did last night. I tell myself not to let his words sink in so deeply. I remind myself that this is an arrangement, that I am here for a reason that has nothing to do with romance or approval.

Still, beneath all of that logic, there is a quiet awareness that in less than an hour, I will be standing across from him again, dressed in white, signing papers that tie our lives together in a way that cannot be undone easily... and so I straighten my posture slightly, lift my chin just a little, and look out at the road ahead as the car continues forward, preparing myself to see the man I will be spending the next two years with...