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MIRELLA

“Maybe I should run away or kill myself?”

Funny words, but who was going to pull the trigger? I thought about it for a moment before shrugging the thought away.

I am going to do this. I had no choice. My father was counting on me.

The gown felt heavy, but not as heavy as my heart. I stood at the altar, hands trembling as I clutched the bouquet. The veil obscured my face, but it couldn’t hide the tears threatening to spill.

I forced my gaze forward to him, my husband-to-be, my father’s best friend, the man I was marrying out of duty, not love. His eyes held pride; mine held nothing.

This wasn’t a fairy tale.

It was a merger disguised as a wedding, and for the sake of my father, I was the sacrificial lamb.

The past weeks leading up to this moment had been the worst days of my life. My father’s business had hit its all-time low, forcing him to declare bankruptcy. It was a moment, though he dreaded it, we had seen coming from miles away. It started with a reckless financial decision he had made. His severe gambling addiction after my mom died from cancer had played a vital role in it, and now, it has cost me my life. Two weeks ago, Don Carlos, his business partner and best friend, had offered to help. He had only one condition.

I would be his wife.

That was it. Marry the old, ruthless Mafia Don, and all our problems disappear. It wouldn’t have been so dreadful, but I hated Don Carlos to my bones. I loathed, abhorred, and despised him.

And, of course, there was last night, the only night I’d felt real in weeks. I had wandered away from my own last-minute engagement party like a ghost, invisible in a sea of masked faces—irony at its finest, really.

Everyone else had on a mask, and I was the one no one noticed. I’d downed a glass of champagne—or three. I remembered him—the stranger—a man in a dark tuxedo who stood just outside the light, watching me with eyes that seemed familiar. It was familiar in a way that ached in me, stirring something up from the depths.

It was like the moment he caught my eye, the room faded around me. Maybe it was just the champagne, but his gaze was captivating. Too captivating.

“Are you lost?” he asked, his voice smooth as the whiskey I’d have preferred over champagne.

I raised an eyebrow. “I might ask you the same thing.”

He chuckled, low and rich. “No mask,” he observed, nodding toward my bare face. “Risky move.”

“Maybe I like a little risk,” I shot back, feeling uncharacteristically bold. Blame it on the overly priced wine.

His smile widened. It was a smile that melted my soul in a way I had never experienced before. It penetrated deep into me, tearing me bare. “Or maybe you’re just tired of hiding.”

I blinked, and for a second, his gaze softened, like he could see right through me—through all the pretenses and straight to the ache underneath. Then, he casually looked away as if he hadn’t just laid me bare in a single sentence. He ran a hand over his hair, the tailored suit fitting him so well it was almost criminal.

“What’s a woman like you doing, all alone at her own party?” he asked, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Oh, you noticed that, did you?” I laughed a little bitterly. “Congratulations. You’re officially the first person here to realize I exist.”

“Well, I have a knack for spotting hidden gems,” he replied, inching a bit closer. I could smell his cologne that lingered in the air—a woody musk smell that captivated me and had me on a choke hold. But it wasn’t just the cologne.

It was the way he looked at me—it made my pulse quicken, a dangerous thrill replacing the emptiness in my chest. He raised his glass, leaning in. I couldn’t help but wonder who he was behind the mask and why those eyes seemed like ones I had known all my life.

“Now tell me. I am curious. Why does the most beautiful woman in the room look like she’d rather be anywhere else?”

There it was again—something in his tone that cut right through my defenses. The way he called me beautiful—like it was a fact, not a compliment. And I, with all my stubborn dignity, felt a flush creep up my cheeks.

“Well,” I began, my voice a touch shaky, “for one, I have no idea who half these people are.”

He laughed, and it was such a genuine sound it startled me. “So, if I offered to whisk you away from all this—‘strangers’ for a moment, would you take me up on it?”

“Whisk me away?” I narrowed my eyes, skeptical but intrigued. “Is that a line you use on every woman at a masquerade?”

“No,” he said, his voice dropping to a soft, almost serious tone. “Just the one I can’t seem to look away from.”

For a second, I was speechless and lost in the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the room. It was unsettling and exhilarating all at once. His hand reached out, a silent invitation, and despite every logical part of my mind screaming not to trust him, I found my hand slipping into his.

He led me to a quieter part of the room, where the music faded to a hum. The world outside seemed to disappear. His hand was warm against mine, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in ages. His hands lingered on mine, his palms protective of mine in a way that I could almost swear screamed, “You are mine.”

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice a gentle tease to my ears, sending a sensation through every nerve and neuron in my body, “Is it customary for brides-to-be to spend their engagements lurking in the shadows?”

“Depends on the bride, I suppose,” I responded, finding my voice and feeling the urge to pull away, but my body betrayed me as it settled in perfectly, right in his touch. “Besides, what do you know about engagements anyway?”

“Enough to know when someone’s heart isn’t in it,” he replied, watching me closely. “Or is there another reason why you’re standing here with me instead of celebrating with your fiancé?”

My breath hitched at the question. The word “fiancé” felt like a foreign label, distant and cold.

“I could ask the same about you,” I shot back. “Why isn’t someone like you dancing with some mysterious masked woman?”

“Maybe because I was waiting for you,” he said with a glint in his eyes, that same gaze that seemed to see far too much. “It’s a shame, though. Such beauty deserves more than melancholy.”

“Oh?” I tilted my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. “And you think you’re just the remedy, do you?”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, his voice playful but earnest. “But let’s test the theory. What would it take to make you smile, truly smile?”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I hadn’t thought about that in…well, I didn’t remember. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. This man—this stranger—was getting far too close to the truth, and it terrified me. But at the same time, I couldn’t look away.

“Is that why you’re here?” I asked, trying to deflect with a bit of sarcasm. “To rescue sad brides-to-be?”

“If she is worth rescuing,” he answered so sincerely it caught me off guard.

His gaze softened, and I felt his thumb brush gently over the back of my hand. The touch was so small, so delicate, but it sent shivers down my spine. Suddenly, I was hyper-aware of the closeness between us, the warmth of his hand, the depth in his intense brown eyes looking down on me as his muscular frame towered over me.

“Listen,” I began, my voice barely a whisper. “Do you even know who I am?”

For a moment, his expression flickered, almost hesitant. Then he leaned in, his lips hovering near my ear.

“I don’t care,” he murmured, voice low and intimate. “I’m here for you, not for anyone else.”

The words melted over me, filling a void I hadn’t even known was there. I swallowed, realizing my hand was still in his, realizing I hadn’t even wanted to pull away.

“Do you always do this?” I asked, trying to shake off the intensity. “Charm women out of their own lives?”

“The ones who look like they’re desperate for an escape,” he quipped, the playfulness back in his eyes. “Besides, I am not trying to charm you. Our hearts are already intertwined with one another. Can’t you see it? This was meant to be.”

I laughed despite myself. The sound was surprising, even to me. “Well, you’re certainly…persistent.”

“Is that a problem?” he asked, his eyebrow quirking up.

“No,” I said, feeling a thrill run through me. “Just…unexpected.”

“Well, tell me. If you had one wish, what would that be?” he winced, eyes dropping to my lips for a fleeting second before returning to my gaze.

I closed my eyes, allowing my heart to take the lead for the first time in weeks, and the words that came out of my mouth defied every sense of logic I had known, “I would wish to disappear,”

“Say the word, and I will make it happen,”

I took in a deep breath, “Take me away.”

And in that moment, the weight of everything else—my father, the arrangement, the fact that this was my engagement party—faded. All that mattered was the way his hand felt in mine, the warmth of his gaze, and the reckless feeling building in my chest as he led me away.

I paused at the entrance as he pulled open the door of what seemed to be an apartment, and he gave me a nudging smile.

“Are you sure?” he asked, pulling me ever slightly to him, his hands resting on the small of my back.

I felt pretty light. It would seem the liquor I had earlier was kicking in.

“My head wants me to say no,” I confessed. He remained silent. “But my heart wants to know what you taste like,” I added, and his lips curved into a smile.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to make love to you in the dark,” he spoke in a confidence I would kill for. He knew what he wanted, and right then, I knew he wanted me.

“But I want to see what you look like,” I muttered, my hands reaching for his mask, but his hands caught mine midway. I rolled my eyes, knowing I couldn’t fight the fire burning inside me. It did not help that his words had turned me on more than I wanted to admit and had weakened my knees.

“Not now, Cherry,” I heard him say right before he spun me around, his mouth crashing on mine.

I wanted to take pride in the fact that I fought him off with everything in me, but I did not. I melted against him, his lips exploring mine in a way no one had ever, his hands gently caressing my face as we made our way inside the room. I paid no attention to my environment. It was dark, but he knew his way around. It was almost mechanical for him.

I let him kiss me, and I kissed him back with the same fervor.

“You taste like sin, sin mixed with apples,” I teased, and he tugged at me, caressing my hair and pulling it backward with one sweep of his fingers.

“You taste like cherries, my Cherry,” the thought of being his felt oddly comforting.

His eyes were dark in the room, but the brown in them still made their way to the light penetrating through mine, and his lips were red from kissing me. His hooded gaze remained on my face, and then he reached for my dress.

I heard it tear, slipping away to pool around my feet.

“You are everything I ever wanted. I waited for this moment all of my life,” he drawled, his eyes on my breasts. I wanted to ask what he meant, but his mouth touched the tips of my nipples, and I gasped out in pleasure. His wet tongue teased them a little bit more, seeming to enjoy the sound of me moaning to the raw pleasure he provided.

My throat clamped closed, and my chest heaved with effort.

“Who… who–you…?” I tried to ask, but my words failed me

I was unable to complete my statement before he flipped me over one shoulder, carrying me to what I made out in the darkness to be a bed.

He dropped me on my back, spreading my legs wider for his preview.

“I am going to take every bit of you now, Cherry,” he stated in that low tone, searing me with a glance before his head lowered, and a loud gasp escaped my throat.

I slapped a hand to my mouth to stop myself from screaming as the sensations of his tongue ricocheted up my spine and down my legs and settled into my toes, which curled in pleasure.

He rose to his feet after some minutes, reached for his pants, which he discarded to the far end of the room, and then he flipped me over on my knees, one hand coming to circle my throat.

“Your safe word is Cherry,” he whispered, but I couldn’t utter a single coherent word till we were done. After we climaxed, that was when I saw a dragon tattoo slightly below his elbow. I was intrigued because, below the tattoo, there was a calligraphed name, Jacqueline. Who was she to him? Did I just have sex with someone who had someone else in his life, someone so important he tattooed her name on him?

Now, I was standing at the altar, drowning in misery, caught between vows I never wanted to make and a life I didn’t choose. My head still pounded from last night’s mind-blowing sex, and I could almost smell the stranger’s cologne lingering in my memory. I’d left him at dawn, slipping back into the life I thought I could control.

“Mirella Gallo, do you take Don Carlos as your lawfully wedded husband?”

I blinked, jolted back to reality by the priest’s voice. He was looking at me expectantly, waiting for my answer. My gaze shifted to Don Carlos, standing there with his stiff posture and his gray hair combed back. He looked at me with such confidence, so sure that this was the answer to everyone’s problems—his, mine, my father’s. The last time I’d felt this trapped was probably in school detention.

Duty, I reminded myself, for my father, who was gripping his hat tightly in the front row as though it were the only thing holding him together. He was relying on me, counting on me. And Don Carlos? Well, he was here to save us from financial ruin, wasn’t he?

I took a deep breath, glanced one last time at my father’s pleading eyes, and finally nodded.

“Yes, I do.”

It came out weaker than I’d intended, barely a whisper, but I’d said it. There was a collective sigh from the guests, a relieved murmur in the pews. My father visibly relaxed, and I could almost feel the weight lifting from his shoulders.

The priest turned to Don Carlos, and I felt a strange sense of finality, of something that couldn’t be undone. I was now bound to a man who, only yesterday, I could barely look in the eye without a shiver of dread.

“Do you, Don Carlos, take Mirella Gallo as your lawfully wedded wife?”

I watched him, holding my breath as he looked down at me. Something in his expression shifted, and for a moment, he was no longer the polished, generous savior who had agreed to marry me. He looked amused. His lips curled, slowly forming a grin that chilled me to my core. It wasn’t a smile of affection or even respect. It was the kind of smile you might give to a defeated enemy.

“Why should I take this… whore as my wife?”

His words hit me like ice water. A gasp rippled through the guests, a wave of shock I could feel pressing against me. The priest froze, his eyes darting between us in utter confusion, and my father looked as if he’d just been stabbed.

But me? My heart… stopped.

What had he just called me?