Pretend The Iris Doesn't Exist

I am a Principessa of the Grimaldi family—my father is the family's Consigliere.

My life was preordained: I was destined to marry the heir, Nico.

But for a dancer named Chloe, he leveraged a truce to send me away as a hostage bride to the Carbone family's enforcer in Detroit—a man they called "the Cripple."

Nico's tone was flippant, laced with a cruel sort of tenderness.

"Bianca, just agree to let Chloe be my public mistress. This is just a deal. You'll still be my future wife."

My nails dug into my palms, my heart a hollow, aching void. Chloe was nothing more than a stripper he’d picked up in some grimy club.

For her, he used our families' alliance to force my submission, even demanding I sign over half of my trust fund.

I demanded he remove the iris tattooed over his heart—the symbol of our engagement.

He just sneered and refused.

"You don't want to see it?" he said coldly. "Then pretend it doesn't exist."

On the eve of my wedding, Chloe threw herself to her knees during a family council, weeping as she accused me of stealing the "Viper Drive"—a USB containing all the family's secret ledgers—to help Cole dismantle our empire.

A wave of murmurs swept through the room.

Nico admitted he had given me the drive, but then he turned on me. "If I wanted it back, would you refuse?"

In that moment, my heart finally shattered.

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1

I was born a Grimaldi Principessa, daughter of the family’s Consigliere. I should have been untouchable. Instead, for a fragile peace treaty, I was being offered up like a sacrificial lamb—a hostage bride.

That day, the conference room at our headquarters was thick with cigar smoke. The family leadership was gathered to finalize the terms: the two major families would cease fire, the truce sealed by my marriage.

Every word on that agreement was a blade twisting in my gut.

The man I was ordered to marry was the Carbone family's infamous enforcer from Detroit—Cole.

He’d taken a bullet to the leg in a turf war, shattering the bone. A cripple. They said every step was a sharp, painful memory of the battle he’d lost.

When my father led me into Nico's penthouse office, the firelight from the hearth danced on the walls. Nico was lounging in a leather high-back chair, an indifferent smile playing on his lips.

"She's your most precious daughter, isn't she?" Nico directed the question at my father, his voice dripping with contempt. "How can you bear to send her to a cripple's bed?"

His tone shifted, laced with false sincerity. "Papa," he said, turning to my father, "Bianca and I grew up together. Our engagement was a family matter. How could I ever treat her poorly?"

His smile softened as he let out a weary sigh.

"I just need her to drop the attitude and allow my relationship with Chloe to be public. Don't worry, it's just an arrangement to protect Chloe from the whispers. My real wife will always be Bianca. Chloe will be nothing but a shadow in my house."

In the ringing silence, my heart hammered against my ribs. The sharp pain was gone, replaced by a dull, hollow ache.

Chloe. That dancer he’d rescued from a club. Her background was so low it was an insult to even speak her name within the family. But Nico, terrified I would torture her out of jealousy, was using my wedding as a threat to force me into line.

Once signed, the marriage contract represented the will of two families. To break it meant tearing up the treaty. And if the ceasefire was broken…

Bloody street wars would ignite once more. Our businesses, our turf, our families… who would be left standing?

I lowered my head, my nails digging crescents into my palms until the tips turned white. Finally, I spoke, my voice low.

"Papa, Mamma… I'll marry Cole."

"Absurd!"

My father smashed his whiskey glass against the marble floor, sending crystal shards skittering across the room.

The weight in his gaze seemed to bend the proud spine he’d held straight his entire life.

My eyes burned, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, my voice catching on a sob.

"Papa, I don't love Nico anymore. I… I don't love him."

The fragmented words tumbled from my lips. I didn't know if I was trying to convince my parents, the family, or myself.

Everyone knew Nico and I were a perfect match. His mother, our future Donna, had groomed me since childhood to be his wife.

And yet, it was Nico—the heir to our family—who shoved me onto the sacrificial altar of a peace treaty and sent me to a broken enforcer in Detroit.

Overnight, the rumors ripped through the Chicago underworld.

"Something must be wrong with Bianca—why else would Nico cast her aside?"

"Her new husband is a cripple. What a disgrace to the Grimaldi name."

"They say the Consigliere spoiled her rotten. Crawls through bars all night—no shame."

By the next morning, my reputation was in shreds. Whispers followed me like a disease. Friends who once laughed by my side now refused to meet my eye.

Even my father was dragged through the mud. Other Capos began to question if a man with such a daughter was still fit to be the family's Consigliere.

Rage and humiliation drove me straight to Nico's penthouse.

But as I shoved the door open, I froze.

He was on one knee, gently massaging a woman’s slender ankle.

He glanced up, his eyes holding the same warmth I remembered, his voice soft.

"Bianca… this is Chloe. She's with me now. She's just a civilian, with a good heart. Please—don't hurt her."