Chapter 3

The next few days were a blur of luxury and confusion. Vito showered me with gifts—not just jewelry, but experiences. Private concerts. Helicopter rides over the city. A personal shopper who appeared at my door with racks of clothes.

He called me "principessa" constantly. It felt like a private joke between us, a reminder that I was no longer the invisible admin assistant. I was something else now. Something important.

But I also saw glimpses of the other side. One evening, Vito took a call in the other room. His voice was quiet, but the tension was unmistakable. When he came back, his jaw was tight.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Business." That was all he said. Then he smiled, but it was forced. "Don't worry, bella. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Except it was. Because that night, I woke up to find him standing at the window, his phone pressed to his ear, speaking rapid Italian. I couldn't understand the words, but I could feel the weight of them. He was giving orders. Someone was going to pay for something.

I pretended to sleep. When he came back to bed, he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close. I felt the tension in his muscles, the barely contained fury beneath the surface.

"Vito," I whispered.

"Shh. Go back to sleep."

"I heard you on the phone."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he exhaled. "A rival family tried to move in on our territory. They thought I'd be distracted because I got married." His hand tightened on my waist. "They were wrong."

"Are you going to do something?"

"I already have." His voice was flat. Cold. "They'll think twice before trying anything again."

I should have been terrified. Instead, I felt a strange thrill. This was the other side of him—the man who could make things happen. The man who didn't just talk about power, but wielded it.

"Does it bother you?" he asked suddenly. "Knowing what I do?"

I turned in his arms to face him. In the moonlight, his features were sharp, dangerous, beautiful. "I don't know yet. Ask me again in six months."

He laughed—a real laugh, low and warm. "I like you, principessa. You're not easy to scare."

"I've already been scared by the worst this city has to offer. A cheating boyfriend and a backstabbing friend. What else can the world throw at me?"

He kissed my forehead. "That's what I love about you. You have no idea who you married, but you're not running."

"Should I be?"

He didn't answer. He just pulled me closer and held me until I fell asleep.

The next morning, there was a news report about a warehouse fire on the docks. No casualties, but the damage was extensive. The reporters speculated about faulty wiring. I knew better.

That was Vito's message. He'd burned down a rival's property to make a point. And I found myself not repulsed, but impressed.

When he came home that evening, I asked him about it.

"The warehouse," I said. "That was you, wasn't it?"

He was pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He paused, then finished pouring and took a sip. "It was necessary."

"Necessary?"

"Someone needed to be reminded that I don't forget. That I don't forgive. And that anyone who tries to hurt what's mine..." He looked at me then, and his eyes were dark and intense. "They'll regret it."

I walked over to him, my heart pounding. "Vito. I'm not going to pretend I understand all of this. But I'm not going to pretend I'm scared of you either."

He set down his glass and cupped my face in his hands. "You should be scared of me, Aria. I'm not a good man."

"Maybe I don't want a good man." I leaned into his touch. "Maybe I want someone who's strong enough to protect me. Someone who would burn down the world for me."

His thumb brushed my lower lip. "You are dangerous, you know that?"

"Only to you."

He kissed me then—fierce and hungry, like he'd been holding back for days. His hands slid down my back, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the heat of his body, the controlled power in his arms. When he broke the kiss, we were both breathing hard.

"I'm going to show you what it means to be married to a man like me," he murmured against my ear. "And when I'm done, you'll never want anyone else."

"Promise?"

He smiled, dark and promising. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

That night, he kept me up till dawn, showing me exactly what kind of husband he could be.

And every touch, every whispered word, every possessive claim—it burned itself into my memory.

I had married a dangerous man.

But he was mine. And I was starting to realize that was exactly what I'd wanted all along.