Chapter two:Her Falls Begin
939 Words
Power wasn’t given to me.
I took it.
I learned early that the strong ruled the world and the weak were forgotten. I was fourteen when I watched my father bleed out on the marble floor of our home. Fifteen when I swore they wouldn’t get me too. By nineteen, I was running the Castellano Syndicate. Now at thirty, I own half of New York—legally and otherwise.
And tonight, I’m buying a wife.
Not because I believe in marriage. I believe in leverage.
The room around me was silent but heavy. My lawyers stood near the window, waiting for my final approval. The documents lay on the table—marriage contract, financial transfer, legal bindings. My empire depended on the signature of a woman I’d spoken fewer words to than the number of enemies I buried this year.
I stared at the papers, unblinking.
Seven days. That’s what the mafia council gave me.
Seven days to prove stability. To show I had someone by my side before they forced a vote to appoint a new leader. A married man signals permanence. No wife means vulnerability. And in my world, vulnerability gets you killed.
One year. That’s what I’m giving Sophie Hernandez.
She doesn’t know power. But she understands desperation. That’s why I chose her.
She wasn’t picked from my world. She’s not the daughter of an ally, not a business pawn. She’s someone who has nothing left to lose. People like that don’t break easily.
I’d seen her file. Street fights. Jobs that required survival instincts. No criminal record—smart enough to stay clean. Strong. Independent. The kind of woman who’d rather fight than submit.
Good. I value strength more than obedience.
Because if she survives me, she’ll come out forged in fire.
My second-in-command, Marco, approached. “The hospital confirmed. Her mother’s surgery begins within the hour. Payment processed.”
I nodded once.
“Do you think she’ll follow through?” he asked.
“If she doesn’t,” I replied, calmly signing the final contract, “then she’s more suicidal than I thought.”
He smirked. “She didn’t look scared when you spoke to her.”
No. She didn’t.
That was… interesting.
Fear is predictable. Her eyes held fire. Not the kind that would burn me—no, she doesn’t have that kind of power. But enough to challenge me. Enough to make this year… tolerable.
“Of all women, why her?” Marco questioned.
“She doesn’t want the marriage,” I answered simply. “Which makes her the least likely to expect anything from it.”
And expecting nothing from me is the smartest thing anyone can do.
Marco left, and I looked out at the city skyline. Lights flickered like dying stars. My reflection in the window was solid, composed.
But a memory flickered. A blonde woman’s voice. A whisper. A betrayal. “I love you, Dante.” And then, “You were easy to manipulate.”
I shut the memory down. Love was a liability. Trust was death. And companionship was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
I heard footsteps behind me.
I didn’t turn.
“You’re late,” I said.
She stepped forward, stopping a few feet away. “I had ten minutes. Not nine.”
I turned then.
Sophie stood in front of me wearing the same clothes from the hospital. Eyes tired but unbroken. She looked at me like I wasn’t a myth or a monster—but a man she refused to be afraid of.
Interesting.
Her voice was calm. “It’s done. She’s in surgery. And I’m here to sign whatever you want.”
“No,” I said. “You’ll sign only after you hear the terms.”
I walked toward her slowly. “There will be rules.”
“I expected that.”
“You live here,” I continued, gesturing around my penthouse office. “Times Square mansion. Never leave without a driver. No contact with the press. No involvement in syndicate business.”
She didn’t flinch.
“No relationships,” I added.
She raised a brow. “Romantic or otherwise?”
“Both.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Her voice was dry. “You think I have time for a social life while being your property?”
For a brief second, something dangerously close to amusement brushed my chest.
“Only for one year,” I replied.
“And after that?”
“You walk away,” I said. “With your money. And no mention of me ever again.”
“And if I break a rule?”
“Don’t.”
She exhaled slowly. “You know, I thought men like you enjoyed women who bowed to you.”
I stepped closer, inch by inch, until her breath hitched.
“I’ve been surrounded by women who wanted my power,” I said quietly. “It will be… refreshing to have one who hates me instead.”
She stared at me then. Not with hatred.
With understanding.
She reached for the pen. “Fine. Let’s make this official.”
Before she could touch it, I placed my hand over hers—firm, cold.
“Contracts are written on paper,” I murmured. “But sealed in blood.”
She swallowed. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Not unless you give me a reason.”
Our eyes locked.
She signed.
My heart didn’t shift.
But something inside me did. A fraction. Barely noticeable.
The clock struck midnight.
“Welcome to hell,” I said.
She lifted her chin.
“I’ve lived there long before you invited me.”
- Writer
