HE WAS FORCED TO MARRY THE SHY “UGLY” GODDAUGHTER EVERYONE MOCKED—THEN THE SPOILED MAFIA HEIR DISCOVERED SHE CONTROLLED HIS FORTUNE, SAVED HIS LIFE, AND WAS THE ONLY QUEEN STRONG ENOUGH TO RULE BESIDE HIM

For three days since their midnight confrontation in the library, Massimo had barely slept. The realization that his entire empire was moments away from a hostile internal takeover had sobered him faster than any lecture from Carlo ever could. He had spent forty-eight hours reviewing ledgers with Livia, learning more about international maritime logistics in two days than he had in a decade of university lectures.

And now, they had to walk into the lions' den together.

When the double doors of the grand ballroom swung open, the murmurs of the elite crowd died down instantly.

All eyes turned toward the entrance.

Massimo walked in first, impeccably dressed in a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo, his face carved from ice, radiating his trademark dangerous elegance. But it was the woman on his arm that made the crystal glasses freeze halfway to a hundred mouths.

Livia Rossi.

The transformation was absolute. The thick glasses were gone, replaced by laser-corrected vision and a piercing, confident gaze. The shapeless gray wool sweaters had vanished, replaced by an architectural, backless emerald-green silk gown that hugged her slender curves like liquid fire. Her dark chestnut hair, no longer pinned into a frumpy knot, fell in loose, glossy waves down her bare back.

She didn't look like an orphan charity case. She looked like a queen stepping out of a Renaissance painting to claim her throne.

Enzo, standing near the bar with a glass of scotch, nearly choked on his drink. His eyes bulged as he stared at Livia, his mouth opening in shock.

Massimo felt a strange, unfamiliar surge of fierce possessiveness swell in his chest. He tightened his hand on Livia’s waist, guiding her smoothly down the grand staircase.

“You’re enjoying this,” Massimo muttered under his breath, keeping his smile fixed for the crowd.

“I’m enjoying the sheer terror on your cousin’s face,” Livia replied smoothly, her lips curving into a radiant, untouchable smile as she waved gracefully at a prominent senator. “Keep your posture straight, Massimo. The sharks are watching.”

Before they could reach the center of the room, Enzo intercepted them, his face twisted into a mockery of a warm family smile.

“Massimo! My dear cousin!” Enzo laughed, raising his glass. “I must congratulate you. I didn't know your tastes ran toward charity cases... though I must admit, the packaging has vastly improved. Did you buy her that dress with what’s left of your allowance?”

Massimo’s fist clenched at his side, ready to plant his knuckles straight across Enzo’s teeth.

Before Massimo could strike, Livia stepped forward, her voice cutting through the air like a razor-sharp scalpel.

“Thank you, Enzo,” Livia said, her tone dripping with icy sweetness. “Though I’m surprised you have the time to critique my wardrobe when you should be reviewing your Cayman Islands asset disclosures.”

Enzo’s smile vanished instantly. The color drained from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse. “What... what did you say?”

Livia tilted her head, her amber eyes locking onto his with terrifying clarity. “I said, darling, that the port authorities in Marseille are asking very interesting questions about missing container shipments. You might want to brush up on your tax law before the federal prosecutors come knocking on your villa door.”

Enzo took a panicked step back, his eyes darting wildly between Livia and Massimo. He realized then—with absolute, sickening clarity—that they weren't just playing at marriage. They knew everything.

“Excuse me,” Enzo choked out, turning on his heel and bolting toward the exit like a coward.

Massimo looked down at Livia, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face. He wrapped his arm securely around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.