Chapter 4

I’m sitting at the breakfast table, trying to bury myself in work. I’m in charge of author acquisition and public relations at Rothschild’s Reads.

We’re supposed to host a debut gala for a group of authors who just wrote fictional stories about living through quarantine. One’s a murder mystery, one’s a romance, one’s about alien abduction, and the last is a sci-fi book about parallel universes. The gala’s in a few weeks, and our venue just pulled out after discovering structural damage throughout the building.

Even though it’s only breakfast, I’ve already been in crisis mode since six a.m., when my assistant called.

“Call the Botanical Gardens, Julianne at the Central Park events center, Kendall at the Angel Orensanz Foundation, and any restaurant you can think of. I’ll call Emily as soon as I’m on my way in,” I tell Grayson.

“I’ll get right on it,” he says, urgency thick in his voice.

“Gray!” I call before he can hang up. “It’s 7:30! Wait until at least 8.”

“Oh. Right.” He pauses. “I’ll do research while I wait.”

“Are you already at work?” I ask.

“Yeah...” he replies quietly.

“And when did you get in?” I ask, sitting down at the table.

“I was pulling in when I called you,” he mutters. “I got an alert while getting ready for the gym, so I just changed and came in.”

“You’re leaving at 2:00 then.”

“But we’re in panic mod—”

“Doesn’t matter. Your hours are 9 to 5. You’ve already maxed out your overtime for the month. You need a life outside this job, okay? You missed the gym this morning—you can go this afternoon.”

He sighs over the line. “Fine. But that means I’m finding a new venue today.”

I chuckle. “Sounds good to me. I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up and turn to find my father and brother both watching me.

“What’s going on?” Stefan asks, concerned.

“Nothing for you to worry about. It’ll be in the weekly summary on Friday,” I say smartly.

He’s been trying to talk to me ever since last night’s disaster of a meeting—and I’m not ready. He’s selling me out for the sake of the business.

It’s not that I wouldn’t have done what was asked if I had a choice. It’s that I would’ve liked to be included in the decision. Maybe even suggested pumping the brakes a bit. Hell, maybe I would’ve chosen the younger Luciano brother.

Rocco Luciano is still in grad school earning his MBA, but he’s only three years younger than me and has a much cleaner reputation. He would’ve been a better match for me—and for the company.

Which might be exactly why the Don picked Dante.

Before Stefan can say anything, Father interrupts. “Well, I hope that’s something your assistant can handle. Don Luciano has invited us to his home this morning.”

“Actually, it isn’t. I need to be in the office today to deal with a few things,” I say as I start plating some of the food Jamille, our cook, made.

“It’s not a request,” Father snaps. “We’re going to review the contracts—for the merger and your marriage.”

I pause, arching a brow. “He wants me to sign a prenup?”

“Not exactly,” Father says, but offers nothing more.

And that’s how I end up standing at the entrance of the Luciano estate instead of in the office helping Grayson with this vendor nightmare. My phone is blowing up with texts listing everything that’s booked. Thank God Grayson knows my best friend Emily—who’s also one of the top event planners in the city. The two of them are having lunch and, hopefully, working some magic.

The problem with changing venues is that some only work with specific vendors, which could screw us hard. And with only three weeks left until the gala, we’re in major crunch time. If we don’t get this nailed down today, we won’t have time to finalize things and send invites by the end of the week.

A butler opens the door and escorts us to Don Luciano’s office. Inside are the Don, his wife Emilia, a few men who are clearly lawyers, and—of course—my fiancé.

How can someone so vile look so deliciously rumpled?

His hair looks finger-combed, his shirt is wrinkled and unbuttoned in a deep V that shows off his pecs, and he hasn’t shaved. He looks like he just rolled out of bed. And it’s a sight I wouldn’t mind seeing more of—if I didn’t know what a bastard he was.

I force myself to look away when his dark brown eyes land on me. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m attracted to him.

I also don’t want to risk seeing that hatred in his eyes again.

“Ah, Julian and Stefan—welcome! Come in, sit,” the Don says. I’m surprised he doesn’t greet me, but then both he and his wife cross the room to where I stand. Emilia beams as she approaches.

“Darling! It’s such a pleasure to meet you!” she says, pulling me into a hug and kissing the air on both sides of my face, high-society style.

I’m startled, but years in this world have taught me how to mask my emotions. I return the greeting. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Luciano.”

“None of that, passerotta (sparrow),” the Don booms cheerfully. “For now, I’ll accept Rafel and Emilia—but soon enough, we’ll be Mama and Papa.”

My eyes widen. He really expects me to call him Papa? It’s all I can do not to laugh in his face.

I’m so thrown by the moment, I don’t even realize Dante is next to me until I feel his hand on the small of my back. I immediately stiffen and begin to step away, but he slides his hand to my waist and pulls me in.

“I think that might be a little soon, Padre,” Dante says smoothly. “Why don’t we go over the contract before things get too sentimental?”

His parents make agreeable noises and return to their seats.

“I can’t believe you’re making me sign a prenup,” I hiss under my breath. “I don’t want your fucking money, Dante.”

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s smirking.

“Not a prenup, cara mia. A contract. Part of the business agreement. One you’ll have to uphold if you want our help saving your failing family business.”