My Fake Mafia Husband Bought Me For Leverage — Until A Rival Gang Made The Fatal Mistake Of Kidnapping Me
Part 1
I was twenty-eight, an overworked forensic accountant living entirely outside the violent orbit of the city’s syndicate.
My younger brother Tyler had managed to rack up a staggering gambling debt at an underground casino.
The ruthless lenders gave him exactly forty-eight hours before they started breaking his bones.
Dan bought the massive debt.
In exchange, he presented me with an ironclad, non-negotiable contract.
Three years of marriage.
Three years of smiling at charity galas and providing a boring domestic cover for his violent enterprise.
At the end of the term, Tyler’s debt would be forgiven entirely.
When I first walked into Dan’s office, I wasn’t what anyone expected to stand beside the devil of the city.
I was unapologetically fat.
The other syndicate wives were surgically enhanced and starved into designer dresses.
I had thick thighs, a soft stomach, and carried my weight with stubborn dignity.
I didn’t shrink away from his terrifying gaze.
You understand the terms, he asked, his dark eyes raking over my full figure without an ounce of warmth.
I understand you own my brother’s life, and now you’re renting mine, I replied.
Dan married me in a private ceremony three days later.
For the first two months, we lived as ghosts in his sprawling, high-security mansion.
We slept in separate wings.
We spoke only when absolutely necessary.
Dan treated me like a piece of high-end furniture.
I kept to myself, spending evenings reading in the silent library.
I tried to pretend the heavily armed guards pacing the perimeter were just gardeners.
But proximity is a dangerous catalyst.
I started treating his staff with warmth, learning the chef’s name and asking the guards about their children.
The cold mansion suddenly smelled like fresh baking on Sunday mornings.
I found the massive commercial kitchen far too sad to stay empty.
Dan noticed the subtle changes.
He was a man of strict discipline, but I caught his gaze lingering on the curve of my hips.
He found himself fascinated by the soft swell of my throat when I caught him staring.
I was entirely real in a world made of plastic and lies.
The shift happened at the annual charity gala.
The gala was neutral ground where gangsters and politicians rubbed shoulders.
I wore a custom deep emerald gown that clung to my robust curves.
I gripped my champagne flute, feeling entirely out of place.
Across the ballroom, Craig, a loudmouthed lieutenant from a neighboring crew, leaned against the bar.
Look at Dan, Craig sneered, his voice carrying over the string quartet.
Guess he likes his meals supersized.
I can’t believe the boss is shackled to a whale.
I froze as an old familiar shame washed over me.
I lowered my head, ready to flee to the restrooms.
Before I could move, a heavy hand clamped onto the small of my back.
Dan pulled me flush against his side.
He walked me over to the bar, stopping directly in front of Craig.
The silence around the bar grew suffocating.
My wife is standing right here, Dan said, his eyes dead and black.
Apologize to her.
I’m sorry, Craig muttered weakly.
Dan grabbed Craig by the back of the neck and slammed the man’s face down onto the solid marble bar top.
The sickening crack of bone echoed through the sudden silence of the room.
Dan wiped a single drop of blood from his cuff.
My wife and I are going home, he announced.
In the back of the armored car, I sat trembling.
You didn’t have to do that, I whispered.
People look at me and they see a joke.
Dan wiped a tear from my jaw.
You wear my name, he murmured fiercely.
No one disrespects what is mine.
He kissed me then, a bruising kiss full of desperate, suppressed heat.
From that night on, the invisible wall between us shattered completely.
I moved into his bedroom.
The fake marriage became terrifyingly real.
Dan had finally found a weakness.
His brutal enemies were watching closely.
Brian was a vulture wrapped in an expensive suit, heading a rival outfit.
Brian needed heavy leverage to force Dan to the negotiating table.
His covert scouts brought back news that Dan rarely left my side.
Normal is about to get very expensive, Brian had laughed.
It was a crisp Tuesday morning in October.
I loved visiting a small bakery in the city.
It smelled like vanilla espresso and my old quiet life.
Kevin, my bodyguard, stood by the glass door watching the street.
A black unmarked van screeched to a halt onto the sidewalk.
Three men in tactical gear poured out into the bakery.
Kevin reached for his hidden weapon.
Two suppressed shots coughed rapidly.
Kevin went down hard.
Massive arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me off my feet.
I fought fiercely, kicking and scratching.
My elbow connected with a sickening crunch against one man’s nose.
A cloth soaked in something chemical and pungent was slammed over my nose and mouth.
The world tilted, the smell of vanilla fading into a terrifying dark abyss.
