Chapter 2
“Perhaps.”
His low laugh created an unfamiliar tightening in her stomach.
“Good. I do not release what becomes mine.”
He drew her closer.
“And now you are mine, even if you have not yet understood it.”
The dance floor was filled with couples moving to a classical waltz, but Ayla knew the attention of the ballroom remained on her and Matteo.
His hand was large and warm through the fabric of her dress.
“Relax,” he murmured.
“Everyone is staring. You called me your wife without warning.”
He guided her through a turn with such ease that her body followed automatically.
“You were being treated with cruelty, and I could not tolerate it.”
His gaze held hers.
“I had also seen you during a moment when you did not know anyone was watching.”
He described the café again: her blue dress, the disordered bun, the large bag she carried, the patient conversation with the elderly woman, the offer of transportation, and the telephone number given without expectation of reward.
“You were genuine in a world where almost nothing is genuine.”
His fingers tightened slightly at her waist.
“I could not forget you.”
“So this was an impulse because you remembered me?”
“It was strategy and desire combined into a decision made in approximately 3 seconds.”
His honesty was immediate.
“Calling you my wife was strategy because it would stop the humiliation. It was desire because now everyone knows you are under my protection.”
He stopped dancing and held her inside the circle of his arms.
“I have never pretended publicly about something this serious. I have never placed my reputation at risk for anyone.”
His fingers touched her chin.
“For you, I did it without hesitation. Now I intend to make the lie become truth.”
“You are arrogant, presumptuous, and assuming things you have no right to assume.”
“You are fascinated.”
His smile deepened.
“I see it when your breathing changes as I move closer, when you tremble at my touch, and when your pupils widen while I speak.”
Ayla’s face became hot.
“I admit nothing.”
“An adorable lie.”
He took her hand and intertwined their fingers.
“Come. We should leave before you faint from staring at me while pretending you are not.”
Outside the hotel, a black limousine waited at the entrance.
Ayla’s surprise made Matteo laugh.
“You have a limousine?”
A tall man with a dangerous appearance and amused eyes opened the rear door.
“The boss always has a limousine, a driver, bodyguards, and almost anything money and power can acquire.”
He offered Ayla his hand.
“Kyle Torres. Capo, right-hand man, and official witness to the madness that occurred inside.”
“Kyle,” Matteo warned. “Concentrate on your responsibilities.”
“Yes, boss.”
Before Ayla entered, Kyle leaned closer.
“He never does this. You are important to him in a way I have never seen.”
The limousine contained soft leather seats, discreet lighting, chilled champagne, and an integrated refrigerator.
Matteo sat beside Ayla, his thigh touching hers.
“Where do you live?”
“Why?”
“Because I am taking you home safely.”
He regarded the matter as obvious.
“Tomorrow, we need to speak without an audience or performance. Only honesty about what happened and what happens next.”
“What happens next?”
“We determine how to make the situation work.”
His fingers played with a loose strand of her hair.
“Every person in that ballroom now believes you are my wife. News travels quickly.”
He considered her closely.
“I protect what belongs to me. We have 2 options. We can maintain the appearance until the matter resolves naturally, or we can make it real.”
Ayla stared at him.
“Are you asking me to pretend to be your wife, or are you asking me to marry you? We have known each other for approximately 1 hour.”
“I am deciding which option I prefer.”
He answered without embarrassment.
“That depends partly upon what you feel when you look at me.”
He touched her chin.
“Tell me.”
“I feel confused because this is absurd and happened too quickly. I feel fascinated because you are unlike anyone I have known.”
She took a breath.
“I feel irritated because you assume you have already made every decision.”
Her voice softened.
“I also feel grateful because you protected me during the worst humiliation I have experienced and defended me when nobody else ever did.”
Victory and satisfaction entered his smile.
“Then allow me to decide temporarily. I will collect you for lunch tomorrow. We will learn who the other person is without masks, lies, or an audience.”
His hand rested possessively against her knee.
“No games. Only complete honesty about who I am and what I want.”
A sensible response would have been refusal.
Instead, Ayla agreed.
“Lunch tomorrow. No additional surprises involving public declarations of marriage.”
“I promise nothing. I become unpredictable when protecting what is mine.”
Kyle called from the front of the vehicle for an address.
Ayla gave it.
As they moved through New York, she understood that Matteo was dangerous for reasons extending beyond the rumors of organized crime.
He made her feel too intensely and too quickly.
The most frightening part was that she did not want to escape.
When they reached her building, Matteo left the limousine first and helped her onto the sidewalk.
“Tomorrow at 12:00.”
He kept her hand in his.
“I will take you somewhere private.”
“12:00.”
He kissed her fingers slowly.
“Until tomorrow, mia moglie.”
“I remain unmarried.”
“Not yet.”
He smiled with complete certainty.
“You will be sooner than you believe.”
Ayla watched the limousine disappear, her heart unsteady and her thoughts circling what had happened.
She slept approximately 3 hours.
The sound of her apartment door opening woke her.
Kitty entered using the key she kept for emergencies and marched directly into the bedroom while holding her telephone like evidence in a criminal investigation.
“What happened?”
She showed Ayla the screen.
“Every gossip site in the city has photographs of you. The headlines describe Matteo Cipriani’s mysterious wife.”
Ayla sat on the bed in pajamas, her eyes swollen from the combined effects of exhaustion and emotion.
“I know. I am attempting to understand it.”
Kitty sat beside her.
“Begin at the beginning and omit nothing.”
Ayla described the humiliation, Mabel’s insults, Matteo’s intervention, his declaration, the dance, the limousine, and his plan for lunch.
Kitty listened in unusual silence.
“Let me understand.”
She counted the details.
“An Italian mafia billionaire saw you being humiliated, called you his wife, frightened every person who insulted you, danced with you, took you home, and arranged lunch because he wants to continue?”
“That is an accurate summary.”
“And he saw you 3 weeks earlier helping an elderly woman?”
“Yes.”
Kitty’s expression softened into the look she wore while watching romantic films.
“This is the darkest romantic story I have ever heard. He remembered genuine kindness and could not watch anyone attack you.”
“It is madness.”
“And dangerous.”
Kitty became serious again.
“I understand that. His world concerns me.”
She gripped Ayla’s shoulders.
“But he defended you publicly. A man intending to use or quietly injure you would not necessarily do that.”
“What if I enter something I cannot escape?”
“Then I investigate everything, and if I learn he is dangerous to you, I remove you even if I have to drag you away.”
Kitty smiled faintly.
“For now, you attend lunch. You ask questions and learn what exists beneath the power.”
The next hours passed while Kitty searched Ayla’s wardrobe and selected another light-blue dress.
She helped with makeup and hair until Ayla barely recognized the poised woman in the mirror.
At exactly 12:00, the intercom sounded.
“Amore, I am waiting downstairs.”
Kitty pushed her toward the door.
“Learn the truth.”
Matteo stood beside the limousine wearing dark trousers, a white shirt, and sunglasses. When he saw Ayla, he lowered the glasses and looked at her with unmistakable appreciation.
“You are beautiful. That blue should be illegal.”
He kissed her fingers.
Inside the limousine, he maintained a respectful distance that left her both relieved and faintly disappointed. He held her hand while she watched the city pass.
They stopped before a small Italian restaurant in Manhattan.
The dining room was empty.
“Is it closed?”
“I rented the entire restaurant.”
He led her inside while Kyle remained outside.
“We require privacy.”
He pulled out her chair.
Ayla stared at him.
“You rented an entire restaurant for lunch?”
“I would do it again. I do nothing halfway when a person matters.”
He sat across from her.
“How did you sleep?”
“Badly. The articles and calls have not stopped.”
“Turn the telephone off. Better, change the number. I will arrange a private line available only to those who matter.”
“How do you solve every problem so easily?”
“Money acquires solutions, power opens doors, and influence removes obstacles.”
He took her hand.
“But there is something I must explain fully.”
Ayla’s pulse accelerated.
“You are Matteo Cipriani, owner of hotels, casinos, and real-estate investments.”
She lowered her voice.
“You are also connected to the Italian Mafia.”
“You investigated me.”
“Kitty did.”
He nodded with approval.
“She is intelligent and protective.”
He did not evade the question.
“I am the 3rd-generation Don of the Cipriani family. I own legitimate hotels, casinos in Las Vegas and Atlantic City, and real estate. I also control illegal businesses I will not describe in detail today.”
He held her gaze.
“I have a code. I do not harm innocent people. I do not participate in human trafficking. I do nothing that violates the principles my father gave me before he died.”
“Have you killed anyone?”
“Yes.”
His answer was immediate.
“In self-defense, while protecting my family, and during situations in which the choice was kill or be killed. Never an innocent person and never for pleasure.”
He squeezed her hand.
“That truth should frighten you, but I promised honesty.”
“Do you have a girlfriend or an actual wife concealed somewhere?”
“No. I have never married. I have never maintained a serious relationship longer than several months.”
He paused.
“In my world, relationships create vulnerabilities. I did not want one until you disrupted everything I believed.”
“You do not know me well enough to want marriage.”
“I know the important things.”
His conviction remained irritatingly calm.
“You are genuinely kind, strong enough to endure a poisonous workplace without losing that kindness, and authentic inside a world of performance.”
He leaned closer.
“You are intelligent, observant, and sarcastic when nervous. You make me want protection, honesty, and something real.”
Tears formed in Ayla’s eyes.
Nobody had described her with such care.
“This is too intense.”
“I know. I am intense.”
He allowed a slight smile.
“Ask whatever else you need.”
“Why are you so certain of everything? Why do you assume you are right?”
Matteo laughed without menace.
“Because I built an empire after inheriting the family at 20. My father died suddenly, and everyone expected me to fail.”
His eyes darkened with memory.
“My uncles wanted my position. Rivals considered me vulnerable. I learned to make decisions before most men my age had learned responsibility.”
He spoke without vanity.
“I survived, expanded the organization, and earned authority through intelligence and force. Confidence develops when everyone expects your defeat and you remain standing.”
“Are you lonely beneath all of it?”
The question silenced him.
May you like
“Yes.”
The admission was quiet.
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