Dario and I climbed into one of his staff's cars early that morning. Everything inside me was taut with dread, coiled and watchful, while his nerves sat raw beneath his skin. I could see it in the way he gripped the steering wheel, knuckles blanching as the car cut through the quiet streets toward the city.
Toward the City Hall.
We both knew my grandfather would be furious. But the fury was manageable. Power, on the other hand, required certainty. What he had agreed to at the beginning, he would insist upon seeing through. And this, bleak as it was, remained the only viable path.
Alexandre and I had married under a false identity. A woman who did not legally exist. Which meant our marriage held no legal weight. On paper, I was still free to marry. Even when my heart had belonged to another.
The car slowed at a light. Dario exhaled through his teeth, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead.
"I'm surprised you would do this," he said. "There's no going back now."
He hated this as much as I did. I could feel it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his grip tightened every time the light changed. His resentment towards me had sharpened, especially after knowing how I had slept with Alex only moments before. But Dario wanted his legacy more than his pride, which was the only reason he was willing to do this.
"I know," I said quietly, my gaze fixed on the city passing by. "But it's necessary."
I hadn't even both wearing anything ceremonial. Wearing white would've felt like a lie. This wasn't a union of love. This was a transaction.
So I chose something more precise. A beige pantsuit, tailored and sharp with a simple white tank beneath. Something I could see myself getting married in, then walk straight into business meetings afterward without changing a thing.
"Your grandfather truly believed you killed him," he said. "He was...very proud."
"I know," I replied softy.
"He can never know what we're really doing," Dario continued. "Not ever."
"You have my word," I said without hesitation. "This was my intention from the beginning anyway. If anything goes wrong, I'll take responsibility. You won't be implicated."
His jaw tightened. "And you're certain Barinov won't interfere?"
"He won't," I said, my voice steady, even as something in me recoiled at the certainty of it.
It didn't matter who Alexandre would kill. Without a legal claim to me, he would never be entitled to the power attached to my family name. And if there was one thing my grandfather had done right, it was securing his legacy with ruthless precision.
Every fortune, every seat of power, every contingency had been bound to our blood and legality. And should that inheritance ever be taken from the family, he had ensured that the consequences would be irreversible.
Either way, Alexandre needed me. Without my name, his power would always be incomplete.
Dario parked a few blocks away in a commercial garage near City Hall before we continued on foot. Dressed in his black suit, his dark hair slicked back and aviator sunglasses shielding the emotion in his eyes, he looked as if we were heading into a high-stakes meeting. Which, in a way, felt like we were.
There was no romance between us. Just purely survival instinct, as we moved through the streets shoulder to shoulder, blending in with the crowd until we reached inside the building. Couples lingering in quiet corners, their fingers intertwined, soft laughter murmured between them.
Some looked nervous. Others radiant. They were eloping, just like us. The only difference was, they had chosen each other.
The sight tightened something in my chest.
We hadn't brought a lawyer. No witnesses. No family representatives.
We simply entered as civilians, registered our names and relied on Dario's quiet reach to move things along quickly and efficiently, before anyone thought to ask too many questions. Then we were ushered into a small room, sterile and bright, where the papers waited to be signed.
That was when the unease hit me.
Not all at once, but sharp enough to make my skin prickle. I caught Dario by the arm, stopping him just as he reached for the door handle.
"Wait."
He turned, irritation flickering across his face. "What is it?"
I didn't answer right away. My gaze swept the corridor again. The hum of the fluorescent lights, the sudden absence of voices, the way the clerk that had our documents had up and left.
"How many of your men are posted here?" I asked quietly.
He frowned. "Only a few. The ones I trust." A pause. "Why?"
My fingers tightened around his sleeve. "Something's wrong," I said. "This was too easy."
The words barely left my mouth when a voice cut through the corridor.
"Mr.Bianchi? Miss Ricci?"
We both turned.
The clerk cleared her throat, suddenly attentive again. "If you're here to proceed, the office is ready," she said, her eyes flicking between us. Then, hesitating, "Are you...still intending to go through with this?"
Dario's jaw tightened. I could feel it through his arm before he spoke.
"Yes," he said flatly.
His grip shifted, firm and proprietary, those fingers closing around my wrist as if he was daring anyone, anything to stop him. He leaned in closer, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
"Whatever you think you're doing," he murmured, "stop it. We had a deal. We'll finish this. Now."
He pulled me forward before I could protest, steering me toward the office door.
We should have had a priest come to the penthouse. Signed the documents there. Even when it risked alerting the family.
I had foolishly thought that public meant safe. That we could be hidden within the crowd. I thought it would've been the perfect cover, that all we had to do was sign the papers. I didn't think it would take this long.
The door clicked shut the moment the clerk set the documents on the table. The moment she walked out, we could hear the lock turned.
My spine went rigid.
"Fuck this," Dario muttered, already on his feet, striding to the door when it opened again.
A uniformed officer stepped inside.
"Protocol, sir," he said mildly.
That voice, too familiar and precise, cutting through the room like a blade. "Can't have the bride or groom running off now, can we?"
My hands clenched around the arms of my chair. My chest tightened, then seemed to drop straight into my stomach.
Fuck.
The officer moved with infuriating ease, crossing the room and taking a seat as if he belonged there. NYPD blues. Badge polished to a gleam. His cap pulled low, shadowing his face just enough to make it theatrical.
But his mouth gave him away.
That slow, knowing curl of his lips as he leaned back, amused. Like this was all nothing more than a private joke.
Dario slowly lowered himself back into his chair, one hand hovering near the waistband of his trousers where the gun was hidden. I placed my hand over his and guided it away.
There was no point.
Alexandre's gaze followed the movement. The faint smile slipping from his lips, replaced by something colder. Sharper. Those dark green eyes turned lethal as they lifted to meet mine.
I didn't remove my hand.
"Already replacing me, Princess?" he asked softly. "I didn't realize our reunion's going to be so...brief."
The question lingered in the air.
Soft, intimate and unmistakably a threat.