Mafia's King Fake Wife

The warehouse stank of rotting fish and spilled diesel fuel, but Special Agent Sofia Martinez had smelled worse during her three years with the FBI's Organized Crime Task Force. What made her stomach clench wasn't the stench-it was the sound of Miguel Torrino's voice echoing through the cavernous space, bragging about the twelve-year-old girls his family had just smuggled in from Colombia.

"Fresh meat for the high-end clients," Miguel laughed, his gold teeth glinting in the harsh fluorescent light. "Virgin kids bring premium prices. Twenty grand each, easy."

Sofia pressed herself deeper into the shadows behind a stack of shipping containers, her Glock 17 steady in her two-handed grip. Through her earpiece, Agent Torres whispered the go-signal she'd been waiting for: "Phoenix is in position. Take them down."

She stepped into the light like an angel of death.

"FBI! Hands where I can see them!"

Miguel and his two lieutenants spun toward her voice, their hands already reaching for weapons. Sofia had expected this-men like Miguel didn't surrender, they fought like cornered rats. Which was exactly why she'd positioned herself behind cover and angled her approach to keep the shipping containers between her and their escape route.

The first man, a scarred giant named Carlos, cleared his .38 revolver from his shoulder holster. Sofia put two rounds center mass before he could aim, the double-tap echoing through the warehouse like thunder. Carlos dropped like a stone, his unfired gun clattering across the concrete.

Miguel dove behind a forklift, screaming in rapid Spanish while his remaining lieutenant, Tony "The Fish" Benedetto, sprayed bullets wildly in Sofia's direction. Amateur. Tony was shooting to intimidate, not to kill, letting his muzzle drift high and right. Sofia waited for him to empty his magazine, counting rounds-fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen-then stepped out and put a single bullet through his forehead.

Tony crumpled, and suddenly the warehouse was silent except for Miguel's panicked breathing.

"Miguel!" Sofia called out, advancing toward the forklift with her weapon trained on its edges. "It's over. Come out with your hands up, and maybe you live to see trial."

"You killed my boys, you FBI bitch!" Miguel's voice cracked with rage and fear. "You know what the Torrino family does to cops who cross us?"

Sofia almost laughed. After three years undercover in the worst neighborhoods of Brooklyn and Queens, she'd heard every threat these wannabe tough guys could imagine. "Your family's going to be too busy planning funerals to worry about me, Miguel. Starting with yours if you don't surrender in the next ten seconds."

She heard the distinctive sound of a hammer being cocked-Miguel still had fight left in him. Sofia smiled grimly and began counting down from ten, knowing that men like Miguel always chose violence over wisdom.

At three, Miguel burst from behind the forklift, roaring like an animal and firing his chrome-plated .45 automatic as fast as he could pull the trigger. But rage made him sloppy, and fear made him slow. Sofia had already anticipated his move, positioning herself at an angle that would force him to expose his entire torso when he came around the machinery.

She put three rounds into his chest in a tight grouping that would have impressed her firearms instructor. Miguel's momentum carried him forward two more steps before he collapsed face-first into a puddle of oil and blood.

"Phoenix, this is Martinez," Sofia spoke into her radio as she kicked Miguel's gun away from his twitching fingers. "Three suspects down, warehouse secure. Send in the crime scene team."

"Copy that, Martinez. Outstanding work. How are you feeling?"

Sofia looked down at Miguel's lifeless eyes, remembering his casual discussion of selling children, and felt absolutely nothing. "Like I need a shower and a drink. Not necessarily in that order."

Twenty minutes later, Sofia sat in the passenger seat of a black FBI sedan, watching crime scene techs photograph the bodies she'd created. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her tired and strangely empty. Three years of hunting human traffickers, drug dealers, and killers had taught her that the world contained more evil than most people could imagine. Sometimes the only language these predators understood was violence.

Agent Torres slid into the driver's seat, his weathered face creased with something that might have been pride or concern. At forty-five, Torres had been with the Bureau for twenty-two years, long enough to know which agents burned out and which ones went dark.

"You did good in there, Martinez," he said, starting the engine. "Clean kills, no collateral damage, major trafficking ring disrupted. The brass is going to love this."

Sofia stared out the window at the New York skyline, its lights twinkling like stars against the evening darkness. "Just doing my job."

"That's what worries me." Torres pulled out of the warehouse district, navigating through the industrial streets of Red Hook. "You've been doing this job a little too well lately. Three shootings in four months, all righteous, all necessary. But the department shrinks are starting to ask questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"The kind that end with mandatory psychological evaluation and desk duty." Torres glanced at her sideways. "Which is why I'm pulling you off active street operations."

Sofia felt ice form in her stomach. "What? Torres, you can't-"

"I can and I am. You're getting reassigned, effective immediately." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick manila envelope. "Deep cover operation. Long-term infiltration of a major organized crime family. The kind of assignment that could make your career-or get you killed."

Sofia took the envelope with hands that trembled slightly. "Which family?"

"The Romanos. Vincent Romano's been untouchable for fifteen years, but we finally have an opening. His son Dante is getting married to unite the Romano and Castellano families. Political alliance to end a territory war that's been costing both sides millions."

"So?"

Torres smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "So the bride-to-be had an unfortunate accident last week. Car bomb meant for her father killed her instead. Which means there's an opening for a replacement bride."

Sofia opened the envelope and found photographs, financial records, and a detailed psychological profile of a woman she'd never seen before. "Lucia Castellano. Twenty-eight years old, daughter of Roberto Castellano's deceased brother. Educated in Switzerland, lived in Europe for the past ten years. No living relatives who could contradict her identity."

"Because Lucia Castellano died in a skiing accident in the Alps six months ago," Torres explained. "Avalanche. Body never recovered. The Castellano family is keeping her death quiet to avoid appearing weak during the territory negotiations."

Sofia studied the photographs-a beautiful woman with dark hair and intelligent eyes who bore a passing resemblance to Sofia's own features. "You want me to impersonate a dead woman and marry a mafia prince."

"I want you to infiltrate the most powerful crime family in New York and gather enough evidence to destroy them from the inside." Torres's voice was deadly serious. "Vincent Romano has ordered the deaths of forty-seven people that we can prove. His organization generates over a hundred million dollars a year through drugs, weapons, human trafficking, and political corruption. This is our one chance to bring them all down."

Sofia closed the envelope and leaned back in her seat. Three hours ago, she'd been hunting drug dealers in a warehouse. Now she was being asked to abandon her identity and marry a man whose family specialized in murder.

"What about Dante Romano? What's he like?"

"Interesting question," Torres said. "On paper, he's his father's heir-smart, ruthless, educated at Harvard Business School. But our informants say he's been pushing the family toward legitimate businesses. Wants to get out of the drug trade, stop the violence, clean up their image."

"A reformer?"

"Or a man who knows the old ways are getting too dangerous in the modern world." Torres pulled up outside Sofia's apartment building in Queens. "Either way, he's your target. Gain his trust, learn their operations, identify their weaknesses. But remember-no matter how charming he might be, Dante Romano is still a killer. Don't ever forget that."

Sofia climbed out of the sedan, the envelope feeling heavier than it should. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning. New identity, new background, new life. Sofia Martinez dies tonight. Tomorrow, you become Lucia Castellano-mafia princess and future bride of the most dangerous man in New York."

As Torres drove away, Sofia looked up at her apartment window, where her cat was probably waiting for dinner and her houseplants were slowly dying from neglect. In twenty-four hours, she'd be living in Vincent Romano's compound, sharing meals with killers, and pretending to love a man she was planning to betray.

She thought about Miguel Torrino's lifeless eyes and the casual way he'd discussed selling children. Then she thought about the forty-seven people Vincent Romano had murdered, and all the innocent lives his organization had destroyed.

Sofia Martinez climbed the stairs to her apartment, where she would spend her last night as herself. Tomorrow, she would become someone else entirely-someone capable of infiltrating the most dangerous family in America and bringing them to justice.

Or dying in the attempt.

Either way, she would sleep soundly tonight. After all, she'd learned long ago that sometimes the only way to fight monsters was to become something even more dangerous.

The only question was whether she'd be able to remember who she really was when this was all over.

Dante Romano had killed his first man at nineteen, but twelve years later, he still felt sick every time he had to pull the trigger.

He stood in the basement of Giuseppe's Restaurant, watching Tommy "Three Fingers" Marcelli beg for his life while chained to a support beam. The basement smelled of oregano and fear-the restaurant above served the best chicken parmigiana in Brooklyn, while the soundproofed room below served justice in the Romano family's traditional style.

"Please, Dante," Tommy whimpered, blood streaming from his broken nose. "It was just fifty grand. I was gonna pay it back, I swear on my mother's grave."

Dante adjusted his Italian silk tie and checked his Rolex-6:47 PM. His father expected this business concluded before the dinner meeting at eight. Vincent Romano didn't tolerate delays, especially when dealing with thieves who stole from the family.

"Tommy," Dante said quietly, his voice carrying the soft menace that made hardened criminals nervous. "You didn't just steal fifty thousand dollars from our construction kickbacks. You stole from my father's pocket. You stole from my pocket. You stole food from the mouths of every made man's children."

"But Dante-"

"And worse," Dante continued, drawing his .45 automatic from its shoulder holster, "you made me look like a fool in front of the other capos. They're watching to see if Vincent Romano's son is strong enough to lead this family someday."

Tommy's eyes went wide as Dante chambered a round. "No, wait! I got information! About the Torrinos! They're planning something big!"

Dante paused. Tommy Marcelli was a degenerate gambler and a thief, but he'd been running numbers for the family since Dante was in high school. The fat little man heard everything that happened on the streets.

"Talk."

"Carlos Torrino is meeting with the Colombians next week. Big shipment coming into Red Hook. Fifty kilos of pure cocaine, street value maybe eight million." Tommy's words tumbled over each other in his desperation. "They're gonna use the money to buy military weapons. AK-47s, rocket launchers, the whole package."

Dante lowered his weapon slightly. "Where's the meet?"

"Warehouse 47, pier 19. Next Tuesday, midnight." Tommy sagged in his chains, hope flickering in his eyes. "See? I'm still useful! I can keep feeding you information!"

Dante studied the pathetic man who'd once been his father's trusted lieutenant. Tommy had taught him how to count cards, how to spot an undercover cop, how to break a man's fingers without damaging the bones permanently. Now Tommy was just another problem to be solved.

"You're right, Tommy. You are useful." Dante raised his gun again. "But dead informants don't steal from the family."

The single shot echoed through the basement like thunder.

Dante holstered his weapon and pulled out his phone, speed-dialing his cousin Marco. "It's done. Send a crew to Giuseppe's basement for cleanup. Make it look like the Torrinos got to him-I want the body found in their territory."

"Any last words?" Marco's voice carried dark amusement. He'd always enjoyed the violent side of family business more than Dante did.

"He gave us intel on a Colombian shipment. Warehouse 47, pier 19, next Tuesday." Dante headed for the stairs, eager to escape the smell of blood and gunpowder. "Pass it to Papa. He'll want to plan an intercept."

"Will do, cousin. How'd Tommy take it?"

Dante paused at the basement door, looking back at the body of a man who'd once bounced him on his knee as a child. "Like a Romano. Dignity at the end."

It was a lie, but Tommy Marcelli deserved that much.

Twenty minutes later, Dante sat across from his father in the restaurant's private back room, watching Vincent Romano devour a plate of veal marsala while discussing murder with the casual tone other men used to talk about the weather.

"Good work with Tommy," Vincent said between bites. "Clean, quick, sends the right message to the other crews. A man who steals from family doesn't deserve a slow death."

Dante sipped his espresso and said nothing. At fifty-eight, Vincent Romano looked like a respectable businessman-silver hair perfectly styled, expensive suit tailored to hide the .38 revolver in his ankle holster, manicured hands that had personally strangled three men. Only his eyes gave him away-cold, calculating, completely without mercy.

"The Colombians interest me," Vincent continued. "Eight million in cocaine, plus military weapons. If we take that shipment, we hurt the Torrinos and make ourselves rich at the same time."

"It could be a trap," Dante pointed out. "Tommy was desperate. He might have told us what we wanted to hear."

"Then we'll be careful. But if it's real..." Vincent smiled, and Dante suppressed a shiver. His father's smile was the last thing many men had seen before dying. "We could end this war in one night. Kill Carlos Torrino, take his drugs, steal his weapons. The other families would have to acknowledge our strength."

Dante nodded, though privately he wondered if ending one war would just start three others. Violence bred violence in their world-every death demanded revenge, every victory created new enemies. He'd been trying to move the family toward legitimate businesses for five years, but his father still believed power came from the barrel of a gun.

"Speaking of strength," Vincent said, signaling the waiter for more wine, "I have news that will please you. The Castellano situation has been resolved."

"What situation?"

Vincent's smile widened. "Your wedding situation. Roberto Castellano and I have been negotiating an alliance for months-his territory and shipping connections, our political contacts and enforcement capabilities. Together, our families could control the entire East Coast drug trade."

Dante felt ice form in his stomach. "Papa, I told you-"

"You told me you weren't ready for marriage. But this isn't about what you want, Dante. This is about what the family needs." Vincent leaned forward, his voice dropping to the whisper he used when making threats. "Roberto's niece Lucia has agreed to the arrangement. Beautiful girl, educated in Switzerland, perfect breeding for producing the next generation of Romano leadership."

"I don't even know this woman."

"You'll learn. The engagement party is Saturday night-neutral ground at the Meridien Hotel. All five families will attend to witness the alliance." Vincent raised his wine glass in a mock toast. "Congratulations, my son. You're about to become the most powerful man in New York."

Dante stared at his father, remembering Tommy Marcelli's terrified face and wondering if this was how it felt to be trapped with no escape. "What if I refuse?"

Vincent's expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. "Then you're not my son, and you're not the heir to this family. Marco would be happy to take your place-he's always understood that personal desires come second to family obligations."

The threat was clear. Marry the Castellano girl and inherit an empire, or refuse and lose everything-possibly including his life. Vincent Romano didn't make idle threats, even to his own blood.

"When do I meet her?"

"Tomorrow evening. She's flying in from Switzerland for the engagement announcement." Vincent finished his wine and stood, straightening his tie. "Wear a good suit. First impressions matter, especially when you're meeting your future wife."

Dante watched his father leave, then sat alone in the private room with its red leather banquettes and oil paintings of Sicily. The restaurant continued its normal operations above-families celebrating birthdays, couples on romantic dates, tourists sampling authentic Italian cuisine. None of them knew they were eating dinner twenty feet above a room where men planned murders and arranged marriages like chess moves.

His phone buzzed with a text message from his sister Isabella: "Heard about the engagement. Sorry, big brother. Want to talk?"

Dante typed back: "Nothing to discuss. Family business."

But as he prepared to leave Giuseppe's, Dante couldn't shake the feeling that marrying a stranger from the Castellano family was going to complicate his life in ways he couldn't imagine. He'd spent years trying to modernize the Romano operations, to find ways to generate wealth without spilling blood. An alliance with Roberto Castellano-a man whose reputation for brutality made Vincent look restrained-would drag them deeper into the old ways of violence and revenge.

Still, he had no choice. In their world, family loyalty wasn't just expected-it was the difference between life and death. And if this marriage could prevent a war between the Romano and Torrino families, maybe it was worth sacrificing his personal freedom.

Dante walked out into the Brooklyn night, past the line of customers waiting for tables at Giuseppe's famous restaurant. Tomorrow night he would meet Lucia Castellano, the woman who would become his wife whether he wanted one or not. He wondered what kind of person agreed to marry a stranger for political reasons.

Probably someone as trapped by family obligations as he was.

As Dante climbed into his armored Mercedes, he made a mental note to have his security team run a complete background check on Lucia Castellano. In his experience, people who seemed too good to be true usually were hiding something dangerous.

He had no idea how right he was.

Sofia Martinez stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror of the Meridien Hotel's penthouse suite and barely recognized herself. The FBI's transformation team had worked for six hours to turn Special Agent Sofia Martinez into Lucia Castellano-mafia princess and future bride to one of the most dangerous men in America.

Her naturally dark hair had been styled into elegant waves that cascaded over one shoulder. Professional makeup artists had subtly altered her features with contouring and shadows, making her cheekbones more prominent and her eyes more mysterious. The burgundy silk dress hugged her figure perfectly while maintaining an air of sophisticated modesty that would appeal to traditional Italian sensibilities.

She looked like money. She looked like power. She looked like exactly the kind of woman who would marry into the Romano family for political alliance.

She looked nothing like the FBI agent who had killed three men in a warehouse forty-eight hours ago.

"Remember," Agent Torres spoke through her nearly invisible earpiece, "you've lived in Switzerland for ten years. Educated at Institut Le Rosey, fluent in French and German, degree in international business from University of Geneva. Your parents died in a car accident when you were sixteen, raised by your uncle Roberto Castellano until you moved to Europe."

Sofia touched the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist-a gift from "Uncle Roberto" that concealed a GPS tracker and emergency beacon. "I've memorized the entire backstory, Torres. The question is whether Dante Romano will buy it."

"He will if you sell it right. You're meeting at Marea restaurant, neutral territory. High-end seafood place on Central Park South-public enough to feel safe, exclusive enough for family business. Romano made the reservation for eight PM."

Sofia checked her Cartier watch-another prop from the FBI's evidence locker. 7:43 PM. In seventeen minutes, she would come face to face with the man she was supposed to marry, seduce, and ultimately betray.

"What if he recognizes that something's wrong?"

"Then you improvise and survive," Torres said grimly. "But remember-no matter what happens, you cannot break character. Lucia Castellano is sheltered, intelligent, but ultimately obedient to family wishes. She wouldn't know how to field-strip a Glock or kill a man with her bare hands."

Sofia slipped her feet into Italian leather heels and grabbed the Hermès clutch that contained her fake passport, credit cards, and emergency phone. "Understood. Lucia Castellano reporting for duty."

"Martinez?" Torres's voice softened slightly. "Be careful. We've been monitoring Romano family communications, and there's chatter about increased security for tonight. They're taking this alliance seriously."

"Good. That means they won't be expecting deception from their new family member." Sofia headed for the door, her heels clicking against marble floors. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

Fifteen minutes later, Sofia sat at a corner table in Marea's elegant dining room, watching Dante Romano approach through the crowd of Manhattan's elite. Her first thought was that the FBI surveillance photos hadn't done him justice-he was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with the predatory grace of a man who was comfortable with violence. His tailored charcoal suit probably cost more than most people made in a year, and his dark eyes swept the restaurant like a security professional checking for threats.

Her second thought was that he was absolutely gorgeous, which complicated things considerably.

"Miss Castellano?" His voice was deeper than she'd expected, with just a trace of Brooklyn accent beneath the educated polish. "I'm Dante Romano."

Sofia rose gracefully, extending her hand with the practiced poise of European finishing school training. "Please, call me Lucia. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Dante's hand was warm and calloused-the hands of a man who'd done physical work, not just given orders. His handshake lingered a moment longer than strictly proper, and Sofia felt an unexpected flutter of genuine attraction that she ruthlessly suppressed.

"I apologize for the circumstances," Dante said as he held her chair. "I imagine this arrangement is as awkward for you as it is for me."

Sofia allowed herself a small smile as she settled into her seat. "Awkward? Mr. Romano, I was raised to understand that marriage is a partnership between families, not just individuals. My uncle Roberto speaks very highly of your father."

"Please, call me Dante." He signaled the sommelier, who appeared instantly with a wine list. "And your uncle is a man of... impressive reputation. I look forward to working with the Castellano organization."

The waiter arrived to take their orders, and Sofia found herself genuinely enjoying the ritual of an expensive dinner. She ordered the lobster risotto and watched Dante's reaction when she switched effortlessly between English and Italian while discussing wine pairings with their server.

"Your Italian is excellent," Dante observed once they were alone. "Very Sicilian. Where did you learn?"

"From my nonna before she died," Sofia replied smoothly, drawing on childhood memories of her own grandmother. "She insisted I understand our heritage, even living so far from family."

"And what brought you back to America? Uncle Roberto mentioned you'd built a successful life in Switzerland."

Sofia had rehearsed this answer dozens of times, but sitting across from Dante's intense dark eyes made her suddenly nervous. There was an intelligence there that suggested he missed very little, and she had the uncomfortable feeling he was evaluating every word.

"Family obligation," she said simply. "Uncle Roberto has no male heirs, and the Castellano name needs to continue through alliance with a strong family. When he explained the benefits of uniting our organizations..." She shrugged elegantly. "Some things are more important than personal preference."

Dante nodded, but his expression remained thoughtful. "You don't sound entirely convinced."

Sofia met his gaze directly. "Would you be, in my position? I'm being asked to marry a man I've never met, move to a country I barely remember, and become part of a world that..." She paused delicately. "Well, that operates very differently from international business."

"You mean a world where people solve problems with violence instead of lawyers."

The blunt honesty surprised her. Sofia had expected Dante to maintain the polite fiction that the Romano family was purely legitimate. "I mean a world where family loyalty sometimes requires personal sacrifice."

Dante laughed, and the sound was genuinely warm. "You have a diplomat's gift for tactful language. Yes, Lucia, you're absolutely right. You're being asked to marry a criminal and become part of a criminal enterprise. The question is whether you can live with that reality."

Sofia found herself leaning forward, genuinely intrigued by this unexpected honesty. "And can you? Live with that reality, I mean?"

"I've been trying to change it for years," Dante admitted, cutting his osso buco with precise motions. "There are ways to generate wealth and power without leaving bodies in our wake. But changing a family business that's operated the same way for three generations... it's complicated."

"Change usually is." Sofia tasted her risotto and made an appreciative sound. "But sometimes the most difficult changes are the most necessary ones."

Dante studied her face with an intensity that made her suddenly aware of how dangerous this conversation was becoming. She was supposed to be a sheltered mafia princess, not someone who discussed organizational reform with criminal heirs.

"You're not what I expected," Dante said finally.

"What did you expect?"

"Someone more... traditional. Most women in our world are content to focus on home and family while their husbands handle business matters. You seem like someone who has opinions about how things should be run."

Sofia forced herself to blush slightly and look down at her plate. "I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn. Uncle Roberto always said I was too independent for my own good."

"Don't apologize." Dante reached across the table and touched her hand briefly. "I find intelligence attractive. If we're going to be married, I'd prefer a partner who can hold an intelligent conversation."

The simple contact sent an unexpected jolt through Sofia's nervous system. She looked up to find Dante watching her with something that might have been genuine interest, and for a moment she forgot that this was an undercover operation. He was treating her like a person instead of a political asset, which was more consideration than she'd expected from a mafia prince.

"Tell me about Switzerland," Dante said, withdrawing his hand and returning to his dinner. "What did you do there?"

Sofia launched into her carefully constructed backstory-international business degree, internship at a private bank in Geneva, consulting work for multinational corporations. She'd rehearsed these details so thoroughly that they felt like real memories, and Dante seemed genuinely interested in her fictional career.

"That experience could be valuable," he said when she finished. "The Romano family has been expanding internationally-partnerships with organizations in Eastern Europe, South America, Asia. Someone with your background could help us navigate the complexities of global business."

Sofia felt a chill that had nothing to do with the restaurant's air conditioning. Dante wasn't just making conversation-he was already planning how to use her supposed skills to expand criminal operations across multiple continents. The man sitting across from her might be charming and intelligent, but he was still a criminal who saw her as an asset to be exploited.

"I'd be honored to contribute however I can," she said carefully.

"Good." Dante smiled, but there was something calculating in his expression now. "Because if this marriage is going to work, we'll need to trust each other completely. In our world, secrets can be deadly."

The words carried an unmistakable edge of warning, and Sofia realized that despite the pleasant conversation, Dante Romano hadn't let his guard down for a moment. He was evaluating her just as carefully as she was studying him.

"Of course," Sofia replied smoothly. "Complete honesty is the foundation of any successful partnership."

The irony wasn't lost on either of them.

As their dinner continued, Sofia found herself caught between professional admiration and personal confusion. Dante was clearly intelligent, thoughtful, and surprisingly principled for a criminal. He spoke passionately about wanting to modernize his family's operations, about reducing violence and building legitimate businesses. Under different circumstances, she might have genuinely liked him.

But circumstances weren't different. She was an FBI agent whose job was to gather evidence that would destroy everything he was trying to build. The man across from her might be charming, but he was also a killer who'd inherited one of the most dangerous criminal enterprises in America.

"So," Dante said as they shared tiramisu for dessert, "what do you think? Can you see yourself becoming Mrs. Romano?"

Sofia looked into his dark eyes and felt a stab of something that might have been guilt. "I think we understand each other, Dante. And understanding is a good foundation for marriage."

"Even a marriage that's really a business merger?"

"Especially then." Sofia raised her wine glass in a small toast. "To successful partnerships."

Dante clinked his glass against hers, his eyes never leaving her face. "To successful partnerships. And to hoping this one doesn't get us both killed."

As they drank, Sofia wondered if Dante Romano suspected the truth about her identity, or if he was simply acknowledging the general dangers of their criminal world. Either way, his final words felt like prophecy.

By the time this was over, one of them would almost certainly be dead.

The only question was which one.