The Billionaire's Secret: A Mafia Romance

Chapter 2: The Devil's Contract

I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Alessio Vitale's face, those black, knowing eyes that seemed to look right through me.

The next morning, my apartment looked like it had been plundered by a hurricane. I'd pulled out every secret paper, every fake ID, every emergency stash of cash that I'd hidden away for when I would maybe need to run again.

Five years of plotting. Five years looking over my shoulder. Five years of existence as Sofia Russo instead of Sofia Castellano.

And now Vitale wants to marry me.

The universe had a weird sense of humor.

My phone rang with Maya's morning greeting text: Morning! Arriving early to assist with the new shipment. Bringing coffee!

I quickly responded, "Take the day off." I am going solo today.

I couldn't allow Maya to see me like that; I couldn't risk her presence if Alessio Vitale reappeared. She would ask questions.

I'd chosen my most professional outfit: black slacks, a white shirt, and the only decent jacket I owned. If I were meeting the devil to work out terms, I'd at least be dressed like someone who couldn't be intimidated.

Even though I was completely terrified.

My phone buzzed at exactly noon with an unknown number: "Car waiting outside." -AV

How did he get my phone number? The question added to a long list of disturbing facts about Alessio Vitale.

The black sedan idling at the curb had darkly tinted windows that resembled mirrors. When I approached, the driver stepped out a man with shoulders as broad as a doorway and a face that had clearly seen many wars.

"Ms. Russo," he said, opening the backdoor.

I hesitated. Once I got in that car, there was no turning back.

"Where are we going?" I demanded.

"Mr. Vitale's office, ma'am."

Of course, he wouldn't come to see me. Men like him had people go to see them. I took a deep breath and entered the backseat, half expecting to see Alessio sitting there. But I was alone in the leather-scented interior.

We drove through increasingly upscale neighborhoods until we arrived at a gleaming tower in Midtown. "Vitale Enterprises" was written in chic silver letters across the door.

My stomach dropped as we rode up to the top floor in an escorted private elevator with keycard access. The doors opened to reveal a reception area with views of Manhattan through floor-to-ceiling windows.

"This way, Ms. Russo," said a well-groomed woman behind the desk, not even raising an eyebrow to ask who I was. Of course. I was expected.

She took me down a hallway to double doors, knocked once, and then pushed them open.

Alessio Vitale leaned against the window, his back to the door, holding a phone to his ear. He was speaking quickly in Italian, his voice sharp and bitter. When we arrived, he turned halfway around and flashed the single-finger "wait" sign.

"Sì, è fatto. "Non mi interessa come," he said with a flourish, then hung up.

The receptionist disappeared, closing the doors behind her, and left me standing there with him. His office was larger than my entire apartment and was designed simply with a massive desk, a conference table, and a seating area near the window.

"Sofia," he said, sticking his phone in his pocket. "Thanks for coming."

As if I'd had a choice to make.

"Your proposal," I replied, my tone even. "I need details before I can consider it."

He smiled, ever so slightly. "Cutting to the chase. Good one." He gestured toward the conference table, where a file was waiting. "Sit down, please."

I took a seat at the table's far end, and he sat at the head. He towered over me, whether he was sitting or standing, radiating control and strength.

"Before we begin," he said, "I must say that anything said here is not to be mentioned outside these walls. Violating the confidentiality would have. consequences."

The threat hung in the air between us.

"I understand," I said rigidly.

He moved the folder closer to me. "The terms of our agreement.

I opened it to find what appeared to be a legal contract, at least twenty years thick.

My attention was drawn to terms like "12 calendar months duration," "appearance of genuine relationship," and "separate living quarters within shared residence."

"You're serious about this," I whispered, thumbing through the pages.

"I'm always serious about business, Sofia." The way he said my name sent shivers down my spine. "Page four explains your pay."

I nearly threw up when I looked at the page. The monthly "allowance" exceeded the amount I earned in a year. The settlement at the end could keep my gallery running for the rest of my life.

"Why?" I demanded, looking up at him. "Why pay so much? Why take all this trouble for a copy wife?"

Something flickered in his eyes. "My reasons are my own. All you need to know is that I require a wife for certain business and family purposes. The deal is advantageous to both of us."

"And if I say no?"

"Then you walk out that door and we never lay eyes on each other again." His voice was cold. "And in twenty-seven days, you lose everything you've ever worked for."

I swallowed hard. "What exactly would be required of me?"

"Public appearances. Social functions. Family functions. You will live in my penthouse but in your own set of rooms. You will dress and behave as my wife would be expected to.

And in return, your gallery is supported immediately, your debts are settled, and your economic security is guaranteed."

"And." I stutter. Blushing. "Physical expectations?"

Something frightening flashed across his face. "This is not that kind of arrangement."

"That better be in writing," I blurted out, shocked at my nerves.

"Page twelve, section four," he replied, never missing a beat. "No physical intimacy anticipated or expected."

I turned to the section and read it through twice, a rush of relief sweeping over me. At least there was that.

"What about the gallery? Can I still run it?"

"Oh, certainly. I wouldn't want my wife to do nothing. However, you will need to limit your hours there. My wife would not be required to work full-time.

My wife. The words sent me out in a cold sweat.

"One year," I replied slowly. "And then what?"

"Then we amicably terminate the marriage. You receive the settlement. I maintain my business interests. We go our separate ways."

It seemed too simple. There must be a catch.

"Do I get to read this over myself? With a lawyer?"

He glanced at his watch, a casual yet intimidating gesture. "You get an hour with my lawyer next door. He can answer any questions you have, but the contract is not negotiable."

Of course, it wasn't. Guys like Alessio Vitale did not negotiate; they made offers.

A knock at the door interrupted us. Alessio invited them inside, and a man entered with a leather portfolio.

"Ah, Dante," Alessio said, rising to his feet. "Perfect timing. Sofia, this is Dante Ricci, my operations chief. Dante, Sofia Russo."

The man who entered was not at all what I had expected. Dante Ricci was charming, whereas Alessio had been cold and intense. A little shorter than Alessio, but still a tall man with warm brown eyes and a friendly smile. He wore his suit casually, with the top button undone and no tie.

"Future Mrs. Vitale," Dante smiled, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you."

I shook his hand, a little unsure. "Nothing's been decided yet."

"Smart woman," replied Dante with a glint in his eye. "Keep Alessio's feet on the ground. It's good for him."

Alessio gave him a look that would have parched anyone else. Dante merely laughed.

"I want you at the Zhang meeting," Alessio told him. "Bring the revised projections."

"Already making a start, boss." Dante turned back to me. "Don't be put off by his scary face, Sofia. He's only half-frightening."

I could not hide the trembling smile on my lips. Dante Ricci appeared disarming in some ways as if he could be an ordinary human being beneath his intimidating boss.

"Dante," Alessio's voice carried a warning tone.

"Going, going." Dante waved at me with a finger before melting out of sight through the doorway. "Hope to see more of you, Sofia Russo."

He left, and then I was standing opposite Alessio, and he was studying me with an expression not to be underestimated.

"He looks. Nice," I ventured.

"Dante is a master of his craft," Alessio replied. "But don't make the mistake of thinking of charm and innocence. Nobody in my group is innocent."

Including you, his eyes seemed to say.

"So I get an hour to decide if I want to sign my life away to some stranger," I muttered, tapping on the contract.

"To keep everything you've built? Yes." He pressed a button on his desk phone.

"Carmen will escort you to the conference room where Mr. Stein is waiting. When the hour is up, I'll be waiting for your answer."

I stood, holding the contract. "And if I walk?"

Alessio's black eyes locked onto mine. "Then I find another. But they won't get this offer, Sofia. This one was extended with you in mind."

The way he spoke did put the fear of death in me. Like he knew exactly how much I needed it. Like he'd been watching me for more time than I'd even recognized.

Closing the door behind me, there was something that repeatedly turned around inside my head: What is it exactly that Alessio Vitale truly desires of me?

And what's it costing me to well over a single year of my life?