ONE YEAR WASN'T ENOUGH
A desperate waitress accepts a marriage contract with a dangerous mob boss for half a million dollars. What was supposed to be a one-year business arrangement becomes something neither of them expected.
The champagne flute trembled in my hand.
Everything here cost more than I'd earn in a lifetime.
The silk, the orchestra, the diamonds. Pure suffocation.
I'd been invisible at the Regent Hotel for 6 months.
That's what poverty does. It makes you a ghost.
My feet screamed inside cheap heels. My arms ached in silence.
A woman snapped her fingers without looking at me.
I refilled her glass. She didn't acknowledge I existed.
Then the room's atmosphere shifted. Conversations softened.
Heads turned toward the entrance with mixture of curiosity and fear.
He stood in the doorway flanked by two men in dark suits.
Young, maybe 30, but wore authority like second skin.
Dangerous. Beautiful. The kind of handsome with warning labels.
The crowd parted automatically. No one came close.
His gaze swept the room and locked onto me.
The impact was physical. In that moment, nothing else mattered.
I looked away first, heat flooding my cheeks.
I ducked toward the kitchen doors, heart hammering.
You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.
Who is he? The man in black with the guards.
Dante Moretti. Don't stare. Don't talk. Don't get in his way.
What does he do? Nothing legal, I'm guessing.
And nothing you want to know about. Now go. Table 7.
An hour later, one of his guards approached the bar.
Mr. Moretti requests fresh scotch. Macallen 25. Neat.
The crystal tumbler felt absurdly heavy in my hands.
I found him by the terrace doors, phone pressed to his ear.
He spoke rapid Italian, his profile sharp and sculpture-like.
Your scotch, sir. I extended the tray carefully.
He turned. Up close, devastation on a human face.
Thank you. That's excellent scotch, Elena.
His fingers brushed mine for the briefest second.
I pulled back too quickly, nearly dropping the tray.
Your name?
Elena Russo.
Elena. He tested the word in his mouth carefully.
Be careful walking home tonight. This neighborhood isn't safe.
His guard appeared, whispering something urgent at his ear.
His expression hardened to stone. He left without finishing the drink.
Past midnight, I walked toward the bus stop six blocks away.
Footsteps behind me. Too close. Growing closer.
My pace quickened. They matched it perfectly.
I broke into a run. My cheap heels weren't made for it.
I crashed hard. Concrete scraped skin and bone.
Hands grabbed my arms, hauling me up off the pavement.
I screamed, twisting, kicking against them.
We just want to have some fun, he said, breath reeking of alcohol.
Headlights appeared suddenly. A black SUV screeched to a halt.
Men in dark suits poured out, moving with military precision.
One slammed my attacker against the wall hard enough to break ribs.