Chapter 2 - Playing the Part
Morning arrived with cold sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lia woke up to find fresh clothes laid out for her: a tailored navy wool dress that screamed understated wealth, paired with classic leather pumps. There was no sign of her old life anywhere.
Mrs. Gable entered at eight sharp with a tray of black coffee, poached eggs, and fresh fruit.
"Mr. Romano expects you downstairs in twenty minutes," Mrs. Gable announced. "A stylist will be arriving at noon to prepare you for tonight's gala."
"A gala?" Lia asked, taking a sip of the scalding coffee. She needed the caffeine to clear the remaining fog in her brain. "Is he presenting me like a new sports car?"
Mrs. Gable gave a rare, slight twitch of her lips. "Mr. Romano is hosting the annual Winter Syndicate Foundation gala. Every major family in the Tri-State area will be attending. You will be expected to stand by his side and act the part of a devoted bride."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then Mr. Romano will be very displeased, and the consequences will fall on those who fail to manage you," Mrs. Gable said quietly, her eyes holding a faint note of warning. "Do not underestimate the danger of this night, child. Smile, speak when spoken to, and stay close to Dante."
Two hours later, Lia was led down to Dante’s home office. The room was lined with leather-bound books and heavy mahogany furniture. Dante sat behind a massive desk, scanning documents on a sleek tablet. Standing near the window was another man—younger, with lighter hair and a sharp, cynical smile.
"Lia, this is Julian, my head of security and lieutenant," Dante said without looking up from his screen.
Julian bowed mockingly. "Ah, the famous bride. Beautiful, I must admit. Aunt Carol really held out on us."
"Watch your tongue, Julian," Dante warned coldly, finally setting the tablet down. He looked at Lia, taking in her appearance with a critical eye. "You look acceptable. Tonight, you will meet my uncles, the capos, and most importantly, Marco Moretti."
Lia felt a cold drop in her stomach at the name. "The man who wanted to buy me?"
"The man whose son was denied his prize," Dante corrected. "Moretti thinks I insulted him by taking you. He will be watching us for any sign of weakness. If he sees that our marriage is a sham, he will use it to challenge my authority within the Council."
"So I'm supposed to pretend I love the man who kidnapped me?" Lia said bitterly.
"You don't have to pretend you love me," Dante said, rising from his chair and walking toward her. He reached out, his hand settling firmly on her waist. Lia's skin prickled where his fingers pressed through the fabric of her dress. "You just have to look at me like I am the only man in the room who can keep you safe. Which, incidentally, happens to be the truth."
He pulled her slightly closer, his gaze dropping to her lips before rising back to meet her eyes. Lia's breath caught in her throat. The sheer intensity of his presence was overwhelming. He was a tyrant, a criminal, a murderer for all she knew—yet when he touched her, her heart betrayed her by hammering wildly against her ribs.
"Do you understand what is at stake tonight, Lia?" Dante asked softly, his thumb resting against her hipbone.
"If I slip up, you look weak," she said.
"If you slip up, you die," he countered brutally. "Moretti will take you from the floor of that ballroom if he thinks I won't tear this city apart to get you back. So when we are out there, you hold my hand. You smile. And you let everyone think you chose this."
The evening arrived in a blur of silk, diamonds, and flashing cameras. The venue was a restored opera house in Manhattan, guarded by scores of armed men dressed in immaculate tuxedos. Lia wore a floor-length emerald silk gown that clung to her curves, her dark hair pinned up in an intricate style that exposed the long line of her neck. Around her throat sat a necklace of emeralds and diamonds—a Romano heirloom that felt heavier than a lead weight.
Dante walked beside her, his arm linked firmly with hers. As they stepped into the ballroom, heads turned instantly. Whispers rippled through the crowd of elite mobsters, corrupt politicians, and wealthy socialites.
"Keep your head up," Dante murmured in her ear, his hand slipping around her waist to pull her flush against his side. "You belong here now."
"I belong in Queens, living my life," she muttered through a bright, fake smile.
"Queens is in the past."
Before she could reply, a tall, older man with slicked-back white hair and a face carved from granite approached them. Beside him was a younger man with wild, dark eyes and a cruel sneer—Frank Moretti and his son, Antonio.
"Dante," Frank Moretti grunted, his voice sounding like gravel being ground together. "I see you brought your new acquisition."
Dante's grip on Lia's waist tightened by a fraction—a subtle signal of lethal tension. "She is my wife, Frank. Show some respect."
Antonio Moretti’s eyes slithered over Lia, lingering on her lips and the bare skin of her shoulders. "A lovely girl, Dante. Quite a sudden wedding, isn't it? We were under the impression Miss Evans had other commitments."
Lia felt a chill run down her spine. Antonio's look was predatory, filthy. Suddenly, Dante's controlling grip didn't feel like a cage anymore—it felt like an armor plate. She involuntarily leaned closer into Dante’s side.
Dante noticed the movement. A faint, dark smirk touched his lips. "Lia's commitments are exclusively with me now. Aren't they, darling?"
He looked down at her, his eyes dark and commanding. Lia knew what was required of her. She looked up at Dante, forcing her expression to soften, letting her hand rest gently on his broad chest.
"Exclusively," Lia said, her voice steady as she looked back at Antonio. "My husband made sure all my past debts were settled. Completely."
Frank Moretti’s eyes narrowed, recognizing the sharp undertone in her words. Antonio sneered, but Dante laughed—a rich, genuine sound that echoed across the nearby circle of guests.
"You see, Frank?" Dante said smoothly. "My wife knows where she belongs. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a dance to attend to."
Dante led her toward the center of the dance floor as the orchestra began playing a slow, sweeping waltz. He drew her in close, one hand on her back, the other clasping her hand firmly.
"You did well," Dante admitted softly as they moved seamlessly across the floor.
"I did what I had to do to survive," Lia said, looking up into his dark eyes. "Antonio Moretti looks like a monster."
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"He is," Dante said coldly. "Which is why he will never get within ten feet of you as long as I draw breath."
For a second, looking at the sharp angle of his jaw and the fiercely protective burn in his eyes, Lia felt a strange, terrifying shift in her heart. She was supposed to hate this man. But in a room filled with wolves, Dante Romano was the only predator standing between her and the dark.
