Chapter 14
Julietta
Istared at the diamond sitting on Dante's mahogany desk like it might detonate.
"That's not negotiable," I said flatly.
Dante leaned back in his chair, searing blue eyes tracking my movements as I circled the ring without touching it. We'd been in his office for twenty minutes. The marriage proposal had shifted something between us—the air felt thinner, charged with possibility and danger.
"The ring or the conditions?" His voice was measured, but I caught the edge underneath.
"Both. Neither. All of it." I turned to face him. "If I'm doing this—if I'm actually going through with this tomorrow—then we establish parameters. Real ones."
"You're negotiating your own wedding."
"Our fake wedding," I corrected. "Which means I get to set terms."
Dante stood slowly, moving around the desk with the fluid grace of a predator. He picked up the ring—a vintage white gold band with a cushion-cut diamond that caught the light like trapped starlight. He turned it over in his fingers, studying it.
"What are your terms, Mrs. Taviani?"
The way he said it made my pulse spike.
"First, equal authority. You've shown me your operations, let me work with your strategists. But when decisions get made—about security, about territory, about threats—I'm not consulted after the fact. I'm in the room when the call is made. Real partnership, not performance."
"That could get you killed."
"I'm already a target. At least if I know the landscape, I can navigate it." I took a step closer. "Second, I have a voice in operations. Real authority, not ceremonial. I've already proven I can improve your efficiency. That doesn't change because I'm wearing a ring."
Dante's expression didn't shift, but something flickered in his eyes—approval, maybe. Recognition.
"Third," I continued, "you don't make decisions about my life without consulting me first. Not where I go, who I see, what I do. I'm not a possession. I'm a partner."
"A partner in a fake marriage."
"Which makes it even more important that it feels real.
" I reached out and took the ring from his hand, holding it up to the light streaming through his office windows.
The diamond threw tiny rainbows across my palm.
"If people are going to believe this, we have to believe it first. That means treating me like I matter. Like my input matters."
Dante was quiet for a long moment. Then he took my hand and slid the ring onto my left ring finger. It fit perfectly. Of course it did.
"You have all three," he said quietly. "No secrets. A voice in operations. Autonomy over your own life. But understand what you're asking for—knowledge is a burden, Julietta. Once you know how deep this goes, you can't unknow it."
I looked at the ring catching light on my hand, feeling the weight of it settle against my skin.
"I already know how deep it goes," I said. "I just want you to stop pretending I'm too fragile to handle it."
He brought my hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against the ring, and I felt it everywhere.
The next twelve hours became a blur of logistics and performance preparation.
Dante's office transformed into a war room.
Marcos spread out maps of the courthouse district, marking exits and secure routes.
Vince coordinated with the judge—a thin, nervous man named Castellano who clearly owed Dante enough favors to risk his career.
Security teams repositioned throughout the city.
I sat at the conference table, watching it all unfold with strange detachment.
"The announcement goes out at seven a.m.," Marcos said, pointing at his timeline. "Wedding at six p.m. at the courthouse. Close circle only—fifty guests, all vetted, all loyal to Dante. Enough witnesses to make it legitimate, not enough to cause logistics problems."
"Where's the leak happening?" I asked.
Marcos glanced at Dante, who nodded.
"We've already handled one leak," Marcos said. "The Corsica team your father hired. They got too close to the compound last week."
"Handled?" I kept my voice neutral.
"They're no longer a problem," Dante said flatly. "Three professionals, eliminated before they could report your location. Lorenzo thinks they're still tracking you. Buying us time."
I nodded slowly, processing. Another threat neutralized before I even knew it existed. Another example of Dante's reach.
"Good," I said. "What else?"
"We feed misinformation to three different sources," I continued, thinking it through.
"Tell them the wedding's at the Basilica downtown.
Tell another group it's happening at the Regent Hotel.
By the time Lorenzo figures out which story is real, we're already married and the security protocols are locked down. "
Vince exchanged a glance with Marcos.
"She's right," Marcos said grudgingly. "Keeps him scattered."
"It also keeps his people running in circles," I added. "If he sends teams to all three locations, he depletes resources. Gives us intelligence on how many people he actually has positioned in the city."
Dante stood and moved to the window, his silhouette framed against the glass. When he turned back, he was smiling—that dangerous expression that made my stomach tighten.
"Adjust the timeline," he instructed Marcos. "Implement her misinformation strategy. Vince, coordinate with security. I want multiple exits prepared and escape routes mapped for every contingency."
"Done," Vince said.
"And Julietta gets a full briefing on the security protocols," Dante added. "She needs to know every exit, every team position, every contingency. That was part of the deal."
I felt something shift in my chest at those words. He was honoring it. Actually honoring it, in front of his men.
Vince shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't argue.
The ring felt strange as I dressed for the wedding.
I stood in Dante's penthouse bedroom, facing a mirror that reflected a woman I barely recognized. The dress was white silk—elegant, understated, achingly simple. It fit perfectly because apparently Dante had a team of people whose entire job was knowing my measurements.
My hands were shaking.
This was fake. Temporary. A legal document designed to protect me from my father's reach. Nothing more.
And yet when I looked at my hand, at the diamond catching the late-afternoon light, my heart was racing like I was actually doing this.
Like I actually wanted to.
A knock at the door pulled me from the spiral.
"Come in."
Dante stepped through, and I forgot how to breathe.
He wore a charcoal suit that fit him like it was painted onto his body, crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, dark tie knotted with precision. He looked like something dangerous wearing expensive tailoring. Which I suppose he was.
"You're ready," he said. Not a question.
"No." I turned back to the mirror, smoothing my hands down the silk. "But apparently we're doing this anyway."
He moved behind me, his reflection appearing in the mirror. His hands found my shoulders, and I felt every nerve ending light up at the contact.
"You want to back out?"
"No." The word came out steadier than I felt. "I want to know why you picked this dress."
"Because you look like yourself in it. Not like a pawn. Not like property." His hands slid down my arms, and I watched goosebumps rise on my skin in response. "Like someone making a choice."
I turned to face him, my heart doing something complicated in my chest.
"This is still fake," I whispered.
"The marriage license is real," he said quietly. "The vows are negotiable. But the ring is permanent, Julietta. Once it's on, everyone in this world will know you belong to me. And I belong to you in the way that matters—completely, irrevocably, no escape clauses."
"That's not—"
"I know." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "But it's what's true anyway. You figured that out already. That's why you're not running."
He was right, and I hated how much that realization terrified me.
The courthouse was chaos contained by careful planning.
Security surrounded the building, disguised as city workers and maintenance staff. Dante's men positioned themselves at exits, their hands never far from the weapons I now knew they carried because he'd shown me, honored his promise of transparency.
Fifty people filled the small courtroom—some I recognized from the compound, others I'd never seen. All watching as I walked toward Dante, my hands trembling.
Judge Castellano spoke quickly, efficiently, like he wanted to get through this and into witness protection. The vows were traditional, generic, meaningless on paper.
Except they weren't.
When Dante took my hand, his thumb brushed across my palm like he was memorizing the feel of me. When he said the words—"I do"—his voice was quiet enough that only I could hear it, and it sounded like a promise instead of performance.
"I do," I repeated, and it felt like stepping off a cliff.
He kissed me like he wasn't performing for fifty witnesses. Like it was just us, like the ring on my finger actually meant something permanent instead of temporary. His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, and I melted into him, letting the world blur into insignificance.
When we broke apart, the courtroom erupted in applause.
By midnight, I was sitting alone in Dante's bedroom—our bedroom now, I supposed— with the ring still on my hand.
Funny how I'd been sleeping here for weeks, but calling it 'our bedroom' felt more permanent than the marriage certificate. More real than the vows I'd spoken in front of fifty witnesses.
The reception had been brief—champagne at a private venue, carefully vetted guests, the announcement queued to go live at seven a.m. across every major platform. Lorenzo's people would be scrambling to piece together what had happened. Dante's network would be buzzing with the news.
The mafia princess had married the Don.
It was strategic. It was brilliant. It was exactly what we needed to neutralize the threat.
And I couldn't stop looking at the ring like it might dissolve if I wasn't watching carefully enough.
The bedroom door opened quietly. Dante crossed to me, still in his suit, and sank onto the bed beside me. He took my left hand gently, examining the diamond.
"Second thoughts?" he asked.
"I'm having approximately ten thousand thoughts," I admitted. "None of them second. First, third, and fourteenth thoughts."
He smiled, that dangerous expression softening into something almost tender. "What are they?"
"That this was supposed to be fake." I looked at him. "That I'm supposed to be using this as leverage, building power, planning my next move."
"And?"
"And I can't stop thinking about how real it felt when you kissed me. How real it feels right now."
Dante pulled me against him, and I let myself rest my head on his shoulder. His hand came up to my hair, stroking slowly.
"It doesn't have to be fake," he said quietly.
"Yes, it does." But my voice wavered. "Because if it's real, then I'm trapped. And if I'm trapped again, I'll—"
"You won't be trapped." His voice was absolute, like he was making a decree the universe had to obey.
"You're Mrs. Taviani because you chose it.
Because you decided that power matters more than freedom.
Because you realized that sometimes the only way to be untouchable is to stand beside someone equally untouchable. "
I pulled back to look at him, and his icy blue eyes were unreadable.
"And what about the part where I could destroy you?" I asked. "Where I could take everything you've built and burn it?"
"I'm counting on it," he said softly. "I need a wife who could destroy me. Anything less would bore me."
He kissed me slowly, and I tasted the truth underneath the words—that he was as trapped as I was now, that the ring on my finger bound us equally, that we were both standing at the edge of something neither of us could control or escape.
The fake marriage had already become something terrifyingly real.