Contract Marriage with the Don

The Don's Proposal

The silence after Adrian Moretti's words was suffocating. Elena's mind screamed in protest, but her voice refused to surface. Her father looked as though someone had ripped the floor out from under him, yet he did not argue-not even once.

That was what terrified her the most.

"You... you mean..." her father stammered, his bloodshot eyes darting to Elena and then back to the Don. "Elena? She's... she's just a girl."

Adrian's expression didn't shift. His gaze, sharp as broken glass, remained locked on Elena. "She's of age. That's all that matters."

Her stomach knotted, nausea climbing her throat. The casual way he said it-as though she were a business transaction, no different from the whiskey her father drowned himself in-made her chest ache.

"No," she finally whispered, her voice hoarse. "You can't mean this."

At last, Adrian moved. His shoes clicked against the cracked floor as he closed the distance between them, each step measured and deliberate. When he stopped in front of her, Elena had to tilt her chin up just to meet his eyes.

Those eyes were merciless. Dark, fathomless, like they had seen too much blood, too much betrayal to ever soften.

"I don't repeat myself," he said smoothly. "Your father owes me, Miss Romano. The debt is substantial, and I don't waste time on men who can't pay what they owe. But you..." He paused, his gaze flicking over her face, as though memorizing every line, every fragile protest in her eyes. "You have value."

Her cheeks burned-not from shame, but from fury. "I'm not a commodity you can just claim!"

A dangerous stillness fell over him. His men shifted uneasily by the doorway, but none dared speak. Adrian leaned down slightly, his voice dropping low, intimate and menacing all at once.

"Everything in this world has a price. Even you."

Elena's chest heaved. She wanted to slap him, to scream, to fight-but her father's trembling hands on her shoulder stopped her. He shook his head, his lips trembling.

"Elena, please," he whispered. "You don't understand... he'll kill us all if you refuse."

The room tilted. The words slammed into her like a physical blow.

She wanted to hate her father for saying them, for using her as his shield, but the terror in his eyes was real. And so was the lethal patience in Adrian Moretti's.

Adrian straightened again, unbuttoning his jacket with a slow, deliberate gesture. "It won't be so terrible. You'll live in comfort, in safety. Your father's debt will disappear. In exchange, you will be mine. Do you understand me?"

Elena swallowed hard. She understood perfectly. This wasn't a proposal. It was more like a sentence.

When she didn't respond, Adrian's lips curved into that ghost of a smile again. "Good." He turned to his men. "Bring the contract."

One of them stepped forward, pulling a sleek black folder from his coat. He placed it on the coffee table, opening it with reverence. Inside, crisp papers gleamed beneath the weak bulb light.

Elena stared at them, her pulse hammering in her ears. Marriage contracts. Legal, binding, inescapable.

Adrian took a pen from his breast pocket and extended it toward her. "Sign."

Her hands trembled violently. "I... I can't-"

His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, his voice hardened. "You will."

Her father dropped to his knees again. "Elena, just do it!"

Tears blurred her vision. She wanted to scream, to run, to shatter the fragile illusion of control he carried like armor. But the weight of his presence crushed her. Adrian Moretti wasn't a man who asked twice.

With shaking fingers, Elena reached for the pen. The moment her skin brushed against the cool metal, his hand closed over hers, steady and commanding.

Her breath hitched. The contact seared her, making her painfully aware of how close he was. His scent clean, expensive cologne laced with smoke and something darker wrapped around her like invisible chains.

"Good girl," he murmured, so low only she could hear. "Obedience suits you."

Her heart plummeted.

She scrawled her name across the line, her handwriting barely legible from the force of her trembling. When it was done, she dropped the pen as though it burned her skin.

Adrian plucked the contract from the table, folding it neatly. Victory gleamed in his eyes, though his expression remained composed. "It's settled then."

He turned, already striding toward the door. "Prepare her. The wedding will be tomorrow."

Elena's chest constricted. Tomorrow. No time to escape, no time to breathe.

As his men followed him out, the last image seared into her mind was his broad shoulders vanishing into the night and the chilling realization that her life no longer belonged to her. Not anymore.

It belonged to the Don.