Mafia Boss Laughed, “If You Can Beat My Champion, I’ll Marry You” —Waitress Stunned the Floor.

I crawled out from under him, stood, wiped blood o…

I crawled out from under him, stood, wiped blood off my cheek with the back of my hand, and walked out of the cage barefoot.

No applause.

No jokes.

No cute little sweetheart comments.

Just fear.

I picked up my shoes. Tied my apron back on. Went behind the bar.

Dominic stared at me like I had climbed out of the wall.

I grabbed my rag and wiped the same damn sticky circle off the mahogany.

Then I looked at him.

“I prefer spring weddings,” I said. “But we need to talk about catering.”

That was when his empire blinked first.

PART 3

Dominic Russo did not like being laughed at.

I could tell by the way he crossed the club after the fight, slow and quiet, with murder folded neatly behind his eyes.

His men dragged Nox out of the cage. His boots left dark smears on the mat.

The crowd parted from me like I had a disease.

Leo wouldn’t look at me.

Good.

I hoped his wrist hurt from trying to act important.

Dominic stopped across the bar.

His hands rested flat on the polished wood. I noticed one tiny scratch near his right cuff link. Funny what the brain grabs when things are dangerous.

“Who sent you?” he asked.

“Nobody.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I applied online,” I said. “Gary hired me because I can carry six drinks at once and don’t complain when rich drunks spill gin on my shoes.”

His jaw moved.

That little muscle jumping under the skin.

“You snapped my champion in front of three hundred people.”

“He should’ve tapped.”

“You embarrassed me.”

“You embarrassed yourself.”

A man behind him inhaled too fast.

Dominic leaned closer.

“If you’re federal, I’ll find out.”

“If I were federal, you’d already be in zip ties.”

“If you’re here to kill me—”

“You’d already be dead.”

That shut him up.

For two seconds.

Best two seconds of my week.

Then Gideon appeared at his shoulder. Silver hair. Perfect suit. Underboss energy. The kind of man who had never raised his voice because other people handled the screaming.

“Boss,” Gideon said. “The Russians are upset. They backed Nox heavy.”

“Clear the room,” Dominic said.

“And the girl?”

Dominic looked at me.

“The girl comes with us.”

I sighed and untied my apron again. “Am I fired?”

His laugh was short and mean. “Fired? Sweetheart, you just became the most expensive liability in my city.”

He took my arm.

Not like Leo.

Leo grabbed like a slob.

Dominic held like a man closing a vault.

I let him guide me out because there were twelve guns in the room and I only had two hands.

Outside, November punched me in the face.

Black SUVs idled in the alley. Exhaust rolled white under a busted security light. Somewhere in the distance, police sirens cried toward another poor neighborhood, probably too late to help anybody.

Dominic shoved me into the back seat and got in beside me.

Leather.

Gun oil.

Rain on tinted glass.

He said, “Tell me who you are.”

I watched streetlights slide across the window.

I had not said my real name in three years.

My real name was buried under a burned passport, a false death report, and a storage unit in Kentucky where I had left everything that made me human.

“I used to work for people worse than you,” I said.

Dominic’s face didn’t move, but his attention sharpened.

“Private logistics. Security. Dirty contracts dressed up as government work. I kept books. I moved information. Sometimes I moved people.”

His eyes narrowed.

“When they realized I knew where the bodies and money crossed paths, they tried to erase me.”

“The scar on your back?”

“Later.”

“Was that a yes?”

“That was me saying later.”

The SUV turned through iron gates.

Dominic’s estate sat at the end of a long driveway, stone and glass and money pretending it wasn’t built on fear.

Inside, his library smelled like old paper, scotch, and men who thought owning books made them civilized.

I dropped into a leather chair by the fireplace and pulled one knee up. My heel had a blister. My shoulder burned. My stomach growled so loudly Gideon glanced at me.

“Kitchen,” I said. “Do you people eat food or just threats?”

Dominic stared.

Then, weirdly, he told Gideon, “Bring her something.”

Five minutes later, I had a turkey sandwich on a china plate.

Dry bread.

Too much mustard.

Still better than the cold burger I would’ve eaten over my sink.

Dominic poured two scotches.

“You understand my problem,” he said.

“You made a stupid public bet.”

“The Bratva lost three million tonight.”

“Sounds like their problem.”

“They’ll make it mine. Unless I keep my word.”

I took a bite of sandwich. “So you’re actually going to marry the help?”

“It’s a business arrangement.”

“Romantic.”

“You wear the ring. You stand beside me. You become part of my authority. If they touch you, they touch me.”

“And if I say no?”

He smiled without warmth. “Then you leave this house before sunrise and the Russians find you before lunch.”

I chewed slowly.

He wasn’t wrong.

I hated that.

Protection was protection, even when it came wearing a devil’s face.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Living.”

“I’ve done that for free.”

His eyes flicked over me. “Name your terms.”

“One. Separate rooms. I’m not a prize from a carnival game.”

“Agreed.”

“Two. Secure server. No tracing. No questions unless I bring trouble to your porch.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind that already thinks I’m dead.”

“Fine. Gideon monitors outgoing traffic.”

“Three. My debts gone. Student loans. Medical bills. Back rent. The bank account I overdrafted buying antibiotics. Every dirty little chain tying me to the old life.”

Dominic barely paused.

“Done.”

The ease of it made me angry.

Years of my life had been crushed under bills, late fees, collection calls, landlords, bank clerks tapping keyboards with bored faces.

And he erased it like wiping crumbs off a kitchen counter.

“Saturday,” he said. “Private ceremony. Monday, gala.”

“You move fast.”

“I move before my enemies do.”

I finished the sandwich and wiped mustard off my thumb.

“Then here’s my first wedding gift,” I said.

He watched me.

“If your Russian problem is named Grigory, he’s skimming from his own boss through a shell company in Cyprus.”

Dominic went very still.

I smiled.

Not happy.

Not sweet.

Just awake.

“And if you want me to survive your house,” I said, “you’d better understand I don’t just break arms.”

PART 4

The ring shopping happened at breakfast, because apparently rich criminals ruin mornings too.

I sat at a mahogany table long enough to host Thanksgiving for a football team.

A cook I had never met set down eggs, toast, fruit, coffee, and a tiny dish of jam like we were all normal Americans with normal problems.

There was even a little flag on a side table near the window.

Very patriotic.

Very cute.

Very crime mansion.

Dominic read a financial paper at the other end of the table like he hadn’t blackmailed me into marriage before sunrise.

Gideon brought in a jeweler named Klein.

Klein carried black velvet trays and sweat stains.

He kept saying congratulations like the word hurt his tongue.

Diamonds glittered under the morning light.

Huge ones.

Ridiculous ones.

Rings designed for women who never had to throw a punch or reach into a jacket for a knife.

“Pick one,” Dominic said.

I slid on a five-carat diamond and made a fist.

The setting cut into my finger.

“No.”

Klein blinked. “No?”

“It catches.”

“Catches?”

“If I punch someone, it tears my knuckle. If I grab fabric, it snags. If I have to climb a fence, it gets me killed.”

Klein looked ready to call a doctor.

Dominic leaned back.

For the first time, his smile was almost real.

“Show her the bottom tray.”

There it was.

Brushed platinum.

Low profile.

Single square diamond set flush.

Practical.

Cold.

More handcuff than promise.

I put it on and closed my fist.

Smooth.

“That one.”

“Done,” Dominic said.

After that, a seamstress named Clara fitted me for the gala dress.

She was kind, which made it worse.

Kindness is harder to defend against than threats.

She measured my shoulders, stopped behind me, and went silent.

I knew what she saw.

The scar.

A jagged silver line down my back, puckered and ugly where a bullet had gone in and surgeons had gone digging.

The door opened.

Dominic walked in mid-sentence and stopped.

I didn’t cover myself.

Let him look.