~Valentino Romano~

"The shipment from Colombia arrived last night," Rocco, my PA reported, standing across from my desk, his voice businesslike.

I swirled the golden liquid in my glass, watching the ice melt into the whiskey.

"And?"

He hesitated for half a second.

"They were short," he admitted. "Five kilos missing."

Silence settled over the room like a thick fog. The sound of my glass tapping against the large L-shaped executive desk was the only thing that filled the air.

Five kilos.

I exhaled through my nose, setting my drink down.

"Let me guess," I murmured. "The shipment was handled by the Cortés crew?"

Rocco nodded. "Sí, Boss [Yes, Boss.]."

"Then they are either incompetent or they think I'm blind." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk.

"Which one is it?"

"Does it matter?" Rocco asked. "The disrespect is the same."

He was right. It didn't matter.

A message needed to be sent.

I picked up my gun from the desk, running my fingers over the cold steel.

"Send a team to visit their capo in Naples," I said. "Make sure they understand their debt will be paid-one way or another."

"Sí, Boss." Rocco inclined his head.

I leaned back in my chair, stretching my fingers against the armrests.

"And if they refuse?"

Rocco smirked. "Then we take a head for every kilo."

I smiled coldly. "Esattamente [Exactly.]."

A sharp knock interrupted us before the door opened, and Andre, one of my men, stepped inside. He carried a tablet in his hand, his expression carefully neutral.

"Boss," he said. "The target was spotted this morning at Milan Airport."

I didn't react right away. Instead, I reached for my cigarette case, pulling one out and lighting it with slow, lazy movements. The flame flickered before I snapped the lighter shut.

"Is that so?" I murmured, exhaling a stream of smoke.

Andre placed the tablet on my desk.

"We have footage."

I leaned forward, flicking the ash from my cigarette before pressing play.

The screen showed security footage from Milan's airport. A lone figure stepping through the arrivals terminal.

My lips curled into a smirk.

I removed my glasses and placed them beside my whiskey.

"And why is that?" I asked, my voice slow, almost lazy.

"No intel yet, Boss," Andre replied.

"Do you want our men in Milan to handle it?"

I tapped the cigarette against the ashtray, watching the embers burn.

"No," I said finally. "Leave it to me."

Andre frowned slightly, but he knew better than to question me.

"Prepare the jet," I ordered.

It had been a long time since I had set foot in Italy. Time to visit padrino [godfather].

~Italy – Milan~

The jet landed in Milan under the cover of darkness. The moment the wheels touched the tarmac, I was already unbuckling my seatbelt, stretching my fingers. I hated planes.

As I stepped onto the runway, the scent of Italy washed over me. Espresso, leather, and the faintest trace of gunpowder.

Two black SUVs waited at the edge of the tarmac. My men loaded the luggage while I slid into the backseat of the lead vehicle.

"To the castle," I ordered.

The drive was quiet. The city lights faded into the countryside, the roads narrowing as we approached Castello Romano, the beating heart of my past.

I was born with nothing.

No name. No past. No future.

The streets of Toronto were my first home. The cold, cracked sidewalks, the alleyways stinking of piss and filth. Those were my childhood playgrounds. I slept where I could, ate what I found, and trusted no one.

By the time I was ten, I had already learned that kindness was a luxury the weak couldn't afford.

And I was never weak.

Not even the night I nearly died.

It was winter. The kind that turned your breath into smoke and your fingers stiff with frostbite. I had spent the last three days starving, surviving off scraps I picked from behind a restaurant on Queen Street. But hunger made men greedy, and I wasn't the only one trying to survive.

The gang of beggars had been watching me. I should have seen it coming.

"Oi, kid," one of them sneered, cornering me in an alleyway.

"Been makin' some nice coin, huh? Hand it over."

I gripped my knife tighter, the rusty blade tucked in the sleeve of my worn-out, oversized coat.

"It's mine."

The man's face twisted with amusement.

"That so? You wanna do this the hard way?"

There were four of them. Bigger. Stronger. But I wasn't afraid. Fear was for people with something to lose.

One lunged, but I was faster.

The blade sank into his eye socket before he could even scream.

Blood gushed over my hands, warm despite the freezing cold. The others hesitated for just a second, long enough for me to grab the dead man's coat and run.

I didn't make it far.

The black convoy appeared like a phantom at the end of the alley. The lead car rolled to a stop, its tinted window lowering with a slow mechanical hum.

That was the first time I saw him.

Don Enzo Romano.

He wasn't an old man back then. He was in his forties, dressed in a tailored suit, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. His eyes were dark, sharp, amused. He looked at me the way a scientist might look at an animal in a cage-curious and calculating.

"You're talented, ragazzo [boy]," he mused, his deep voice smooth like aged whiskey.

"Will you be my son?"

I stood there, hands covered in another man's blood, my heart still pounding in my chest.

It wasn't a question. It was an invitation, a deal and without hesitation, I accepted.

That was the night Valentino Romano was born.

The castle loomed at the top of the hill, its stone walls wrapped in ivy.

This was the place I had once called home.

The guards at the entrance stiffened as we pulled up, their grips tightening on their weapons.

"Il Diavolo di Milano è tornato [The Devil of Milan has returned] occo and I stepped through the grand entrance, the scent of cigars and aged wood filling my lungs. And there, at the head of the dining table, sat the man who had made me what I am today.

Don Enzo Romano.

My godfather.

He was older now, his silver hair thinner, his face more lined. But his eyes? Still sharp. Still calculating.

He took a slow drag of his cigar before finally speaking.

"So, you finally decided to come to Italy." His voice was rough, like gravel on stone.

"I thought you would avoid me until after my death."

I stepped forward and kneeled before him, a show of respect I gave to no one else. "I would never avoid you, padrino," I said, kissing the ring on his weathered hand.

He exhaled, the smoke curling between us.

"You're a good liar, ragazzo."

I smirked but said nothing.

His gaze roamed over me, sharp and calculating. "You've been restless," he muttered. "Too bloodthirsty. Too reckless. That temper of yours will get you killed one day."

"I've been handling business," I corrected smoothly.

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. He knew I was good at what I did. I was brutal, efficient, and utterly ruthless.

But then he sighed, leaning back.

"That's why I want you to marry."

I stilled.

This was the exact reason I had been avoiding Italy. Padrino wanted me to get married, said I was thirty-five and it was time to settle down.

But I wasn't one to tolerate women and their troubles. Women were just tools in my eyes-just for fun, something to fill my bed on a Friday night. I had never thought of falling in love with one or making a family.

But padrino had been on my neck for a year now.

In fact, he wouldn't let me take the Don title unless I married.

"A wife. A family," he continued. "A reason to think before you pull the trigger. You need an anchor, Tino. Someone to keep you from becoming a monster."

I inhaled slowly, measuring my words before I spoke.

"I've already found someone."

His brows lifted. "Oh?"

"Our civil wedding is scheduled for tomorrow at the Comune di Milano at 10 a.m. I hope you will grace the event with your presence, Padrino."

His lips curled into a slow, pleased smile.

"Good boy."

But then his expression darkened.

"Marriage is not just a title. If you take this step, you must be responsible. I want a wife who will ground you, give you a reason to live. A family is power, Tino. Never forget that."

"I don't want you to be like me. No wife, no children of my own. Now I'm old and wrinkled, and there's no one to keep me company. I want the best for you."

I exhaled slowly. "I understand, padrino."

He patted my shoulder, the closest thing to affection he ever gave.

"I can't wait to meet the beautiful woman who has captured your heart, and I'll make sure no one disrupts your wedding tomorrow. It will go smoothly."

I smirked.

"Thank you, Padrino."

I had dinner with him, we discussed business, and then bid him farewell.

As soon as I slid into the back of the SUV, Rocco turned to me, his expression tense.

"Sir," he said carefully. "Why did you lie to the Don? You know he hates being deceived."

I smirked, tilting my head slightly. "I didn't lie."

Rocco frowned. "Sir?"

I leaned back, exhaling slowly, watching the glow of the city fade into the countryside. The roads were dark, empty, silent-just how I liked them.

"Didn't you say our target landed in Italy?"

Rocco stiffened, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. A slow realization crept across his face.

"Wait... are you-"

I shot him a sharp look, cutting him off.

"What I'm planning is none of your business," I said smoothly, my voice calm but cold.

Rocco swallowed hard. "Understood, Boss."

I turned my gaze back to the window, watching the neon lights blur past.

"Where is she right now?"

Rocco glanced down at the tablet on his lap.

"She's currently heading to the Inferno Club."

Inferno Club? What could a naive woman like her be looking for in such a dangerous place?

Well, we shall see.

A slow, dark smile curled on my lips as I pulled my gun from its holster, checked the chamber, then slid it back into place.

"Take me to her. It's time to meet my little bride."

~Alina~

The moment the plane touched down in Milan, a wave of nostalgia crashed over me.

For a second, I wasn't a heartbroken, penniless woman. I was a little girl again, running barefoot through the sun-drenched streets, my father's laughter echoing beside me. I could almost taste the sticky sweetness of gelato on my tongue, feel the warmth of his large hand holding mine as we weaved through the bustling streets.

Back then, Milan had been magic.

Now, it was just another reminder of everything I had lost.

I tightened my grip on the handle of my suitcase, the wheels clicking softly against the airport's shining floors. The air smelled like freshly brewed espresso, warm pastries, and expensive perfume. I moved through the crowd, my body heavy with exhaustion, my heart heavier with the weight of what awaited me.

By the time I slid into the back of a taxi, the midafternoon sun lights washed the streets in a golden glow.

The ride was silent.

I kept my eyes on the window, watching Milan blur past in streaks of ancient stone and modern glass,couples strolling hand in hand. The city was alive, yet I felt detached from it.

I used to belong here once upon a time.

Now, I wasn't sure where I belonged at all.

The car slowed as we reached the outskirts of the city, where the streets grew quieter, the buildings giving way to stretches of olive trees and sprawling vineyards. My fingers curled against my lap as the taxi took the final turn onto a familiar road.

And then I saw it.

Nana's house.

A soft gasp caught in my throat.

I pushed the car door open before the driver had even put the car in park, my heart sinking as I dragged my suitcase from the trunk.

The villa stood just as I remembered, tucked away behind an old rusty iron gate with stone walls that had been warmed by decades of summer suns. It wasn't grand, not like the mansions my father's wealth had afforded, but it had always felt bigger.

But something felt off.

The windows, always scrubbed clean, were slightly clouded with dust. The shutters, which Nana had insisted be repainted every spring, were chipped, their once-bright white now dull. The terracotta roof, usually gleaming under the evening sun, seemed muted.

My fingers trembled as I pushed open the iron gate and stepped onto the cobbled path.

The first thing I noticed was the flowers.

Nana's favorite roses and hydrangeas, usually vibrant and full of life, were withering. The petals curled at the edges, their once-rich colors fading into dull browns and yellows.

A pang of worry shot through me. Nana loved her flowers more than anything. She used to make me water them every morning when I visited as a child, saying, "A home without flowers is a home without a soul."

For them to be neglected meant her condition must be worse than I thought.

I swallowed hard and walked forward, my heart thudding in my chest.

A small gray cat darted past me, its fur slightly unkempt. Nana's pets had always been well-fed and well-loved. Another bad sign.

The air felt colder as I walked forward, the wheels of my suitcase bouncing against the uneven stones. My breath was shallow, my fingers trembling.

I reached the door, hesitating for only a second before lifting my hand to knock.

I never got the chance.

The door flew open before I could touch it.

"Nana! Il mio dolce melanzana è tornato![Nana! Your sweet garden egg is back!

A blur of movement crashed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

Warm arms wrapped tightly around me, and a familiar scent of lavender and citrus filled my senses before I could even process what was happening.

"Giulia!"

My arms instinctively closed around my cousin as she squeezed me in an almost suffocating embrace.

"I missed you!" she breathed, pulling back just enough for me to see the bright smile on her face.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart twisting painfully.

"I missed you, too."

She looked the same yet somehow different. Her dark brown curls were as wild as ever, tumoring past her shoulders in messy waves. Her green eyes, the color of summer leaves, sparkled with emotion, but there was something new in them-a maturity that hadn't been there five years ago.

"You've grown bigger!" she teased, her hands still gripping my shoulders as she took me in.

"It's been forever!"

I let out a breathless laugh. "You say that like I turned into a giant."

She smirked. "Well, maybe a little."

For a moment, the heaviness in my chest lifted.

Giulia had been my best friend growing up, my partner in crime every summer when I visited Italy. We had spent hours running through vineyards, stealing Nana's fresh cookies.

But the moment of joy faded too quickly.

"Where's Nana?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

"What's wrong with her?"

Giulia's smile faltered.

She opened her mouth, but she didn't need to say it.

I already knew.

Inside, the house smelled exactly the same.

Tomato sauce is simmering on the stove. Fresh bread cooling on the counter. The softest hint of lavender from Nana's favorite soap.

But there was something different about the air. A heaviness.

And then I saw her.

Nana sat in her favorite chair near the fireplace, wrapped in a thick wool blanket.

She looked smaller.

Her once rosy cheeks were pale, her silver hair thinner than before. The warmth in her honey-brown eyes was still there, but exhaustion weighed heavily on her features.

"Alina, mia cara [my dear,]" she whispered, reaching for my hands.

I dropped to my knees beside her, taking her frail fingers in mine.

"Nana..."

She smiled softly. "You're still as beautiful as ever. Your father would be so proud."

At the mention of Dad, my chest tightened.

"I miss him," I admitted.

"I do too, tesoro[darling,]" she said with a sigh.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she squeezed my hand.

"Mio dolce melanzana, Nana is getting too old. I don't have much time left," she chuckled dryly.

"But there's something I need to tell you," she said. "Your father left something behind for you. Some properties and fortunes. A hidden inheritance."

I blinked in shock. "What?"

"He anticipated that things might take a wrong turn in the future. To protect you, he made arrangements to secure your future. His wish is for you to settle down before claiming the inheritance, so you can build a stable life with your husband and children. That's the only way he can ensure you're safe from those who would take advantage of you."

My breath hitched.

"Dad wants me to get married first before I can claim the inheritance?"

"Yes," she nodded weakly.

"That's why I wanted to see your fiancé," Nana continued.

"The last time we spoke, you told me you were engaged. Where is he?"

My stomach dropped.

"Hmm... Nana, he's coming soon. He got caught up with something."

Her gaze searched mine as if she could sense my hesitation.

Finally, she nodded. "Alright. I'll wait for him."

I forced a smile, but inside, panic twisted like a knife.

I had no fiancé, thanks to Ethan and Jade.

I had nothing to my name. No home, no money. I had spent all my savings on the penthouse and the wedding, only for everything to fall apart.

I needed this inheritance.

And if that meant finding a fiancé overnight, then so be it.

The idea was reckless, but I had no choice.

I had explained everything to Giulia-how today was supposed to be my wedding, how I had lost everything in a single night.

And thanks to her, I now stood outside Inferno, one of Milan's most exclusive and dangerous clubs. According to her, it was also the easiest place to find a man without complications.

"Just promise them a hot night, and they'll be begging to play fiancé," she had teased with a smirk.

At the time, I had rolled my eyes. But now, standing here, I wasn't so sure she was wrong.

The night pulsed with life, music and voices spilling onto the street. Inferno stood before me, tall, sleek, and ominous, its black glass exterior reflecting the golden city lights.

Before I could take a step forward, a sleek black SUV pulled up beside me.

I barely had time to register the movement before something struck the back of my head.

A sharp, searing pain exploded through my skull, like a bolt of lightning splitting my senses apart. A dull ringing filled my ears, my vision tilting as my body lost all strength. My knees buckled, and the world around me blurred into nothing but shadows and distant noise.

Then, darkness swallowed me whole.

    ~Alina~

   A slow, steady beeping sound pulled me from the darkness. 

  My head throbbed and the air smelled different.

    I woke up slowly, my eyes adjusting to the soft light from the chandelier above me. 

  The bed beneath me was too soft, the sheets cool against my skin.

    As I turned my head, the rest of the room came into focus: furniture, heavy velvet curtains partly covering tall windows, and shiny black tiles.

    This wasn’t my room.

    A chill ran down my spine as last night’s memories hit me.

    I had been kidnapped.

    Panic shot through me and I tried to sit up, but my movements felt restrained and uncomfortable.

    My hands flew to my chest, gripping the unfamiliar fabric and as I slowly looked down, a violent shiver ran through me.

    I was wearing a pristine white lace wedding gown.

    My breath hitched.

    What. The. Hell?

    A scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.

    The door burst open, and three women hurried in, dressed in identical black and white uniforms. Their heads were bowed as they approached, their movements careful and elegant.

    Maids, most likely.

    “Ma’am, is something the matter?” one of them asked.

    I stared at them, my heart hammering.

    “Where am I? What the hell is happening? Who are you? And why—” I gestured wildly at the gown “—am I wearing this?!”

    The maids exchanged confused glances before one of them gave me a soft, almost pitiful smile.

    “You must still be disoriented from last night. It seems you had a little too much to drink.”

    My mouth fell open.

    Drunk?! I never drank. What nonsense.

    The maid continued, her tone gentle, as if she were speaking to a child.

    “We’ve been ordered to prepare you. Today is your wedding day, after all.”

    My blood turned to ice.

    Wedding day? Hell no!

    Yesterday was supposed to be my wedding day. Not today.

    Before I could demand answers, a deep, smooth voice cut through the room.

    “Excuse us.”

    The maids immediately stepped aside, their heads lowering in silent obedience.

    I turned toward the door.

    And my entire body locked in terror.

  He stood in the doorway, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that hugged his tall, broad frame. 

  His black hair was cut short on the sides with the top left longer, tousled stylishly in a way that drew attention to his chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones. 

  His golden eyes burned into mine, sharp, stormy yet hypnotic.

  Expensive cologne and something dangerous filled the air as he approached the sole of his shiny shoes barely making a sound against the floor.

  Behind him, several guards loomed, their expressions blank and their presence threatening. But they halted as he crossed the threshold, radiating something far more menacing than all of them combined.

    My breath stilled.

    I had never seen this man before, yet my gut screamed that he was the one who kidnapped me.

    He had to be.

    A tremor ran through me as I inched back on the bed, grabbing the nearest pillow like a weapon.

    “Stay away from me!” I yelled, my voice breaking.

    “Who are you? Why did you kidnap me? What do you want from me?”

    He didn’t answer.

    He simply chuckled, the sound deep and amused, like I was nothing more than a silly little thing throwing a tantrum.

    His smirk sent a cold chill down my spine as he strode toward me, his presence swallowing the room.

    Instinctively, I clutched the pillow tighter, stretching it at him like a gun.

    “I said stay back!”

    He stopped at the edge of the bed, tilting his head slightly.

    “That’s a pillow, dummy.”

    Before I could react, he flicked my forehead lightly, the action so unexpected that I jolted.

    Then, just as easily, he yanked the pillow from my hands and tossed it aside before taking a seat, completely unfazed by my fear.

    His audacity left me speechless.

    “Open the drawer,” he instructed, his voice slow but commanding.

    “What?”

    His golden eyes darkened. “Don’t question me.”

    A shiver ran through me at the warning in his tone.

    My fingers trembled as I reached for the nightstand, pulling open the drawer. Inside were two brown envelopes.

    “Take them.”

    I did. My hands shook as I opened the first one.

    My stomach twisted painfully as I scanned the documents.

    It was an agreement. A contract.

    Between my father and a man named Valentino Romano.

    My breath caught in my throat.

    My father… had borrowed an absurd amount of money from this man six months before his death. 

  And the terms were brutal.

   If he failed to repay it within two years, Valentino had the right to seize three of his properties.

    The paper nearly slipped from my hands.

    Why?

   Why would my father take out such a loan? What had he been planning before he died?

    I lifted my gaze, my lips parting in disbelief.

    “What is this?”

    He leaned back lazily. “Your father owed me.” His tone was casual, as if we were discussing the weather.

    “He couldn’t pay before he died. Afterward, the banks confiscated his properties and wealth for… reasons I can’t disclose.”

    “What reasons?” I demanded.

    He smirked. “I can’t tell you.”

    My hands curled into fists. “Yes, you can’t! Because you’re lying! Stop pretending you knew him.”

    His expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze sharpened.

    “I knew your father, Luca Moretti. I knew your mother, Cindy Moore Moretti. I know the truth behind their deaths. I know you live in Toronto, that you attended Soreheights College of Medicine. That you studied nursing. I know you were engaged until two nights ago. That you were supposed to be married yesterday.”

    A cold weight settled in my chest.

    He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

    “I know your friend Jade and your fiancé Ethan have been deceiving you for years. I know you came to Italy to visit your grandmother, Nana.”

    My entire body turned to stone.

    He stared at me, completely calm.

    “I know everything about you, amore.”

    I couldn’t breathe.

    Who the hell was this man? How did he know so much about me and my family?

    And the truth behind my parents’ deaths…Everyone said it was an accident. Was that a lie?

   Valentino continued, “I don’t care how righteous you think your father was. What matters is that he owed me. And now, you’re going to pay his debt.”

    My pulse spiked. “How am I supposed to afford that kind of money?”

    “You can’t,” he said, smirking.

    “That’s why I’m offering you a deal.”

    He gestured to the second envelope.

    “Check it.”

    My stomach twisted as I opened it.

    My blood ran cold.

    A marriage contract?

    My eyes flew to his in horror. “What! You want me to marry you?”

    “Yes. Be my wife for six months. Our wedding is set for 10 a.m. today.”

    His lips curled into a smirk.

    “That’s the first payment of your father’s debt. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

    “Hell no!” I shot up from the bed, wobbling slightly.

    “I’d rather chew glass!”

    Valentino chuckled. “Funny, considering you were out last night looking for a fake fiancé.”

    My breath hitched.

    How does he know that?

    He rose to his feet, slipping his hands into his pockets. 

  “You don’t have a choice because this isn’t a request, it’s an order. Sign the papers, the car is waiting.”

    I shook my head furiously.

    “No. I’m not interested, thanks.”

    He smirked. “Your grandmother and cousin are already on their way to the venue. Don’t keep everyone waiting.”

    “What?” I screamed, my eyes popping out in horror.

    He arched a brow.

    “Why so surprised? Didn’t you promise to bring your fiancé to her? I did you a favor. Don’t be an ingrate.”

  I blinked at him in disbelief.

   But he was right after all, Nana is still waiting to meet my fiancé. 

  Seems like I truly had no choice.

    I don’t know exactly who he is, but he’s definitely dangerous and I guess there’s no escaping him.

   And then there’s what he said about my parents’ deaths. 

  He knows something—something no one else has ever mentioned. If I marry him, I can get close, learn the truth.

    He didn’t say anything about the inheritance, which means he’s unaware.

    Good.

    I just have to be his wife for six months. Secure the inheritance, get the information I need, then disappear.

    That’s it.

    With trembling hands, I reached for the pen on the nightstand, my fingers cold and unsteady.

    My voice barely came out, a whisper of defeat.

    “I agree.”

    The tip of the pen scraped against the paper as I scribbled my signature, sealing my fate.

    I swallowed hard, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat.

    “I’ll marry you.”