Micheal smiled triumphantly, his broad chest puffing with pride as though he had conquered a kingdom. The man had always carried himself like a general, shoulders square, jaw firm, his once-black hair now streaked with gray that only added to his air of self-importance. His dark eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. After hearing about Zara's little escapade with Salvatore the night before, he knew he had to act fast—and he did.

Salvatore, being the sly snake he was, had taken the deal, a wicked smile adorning his sharp, almost too-handsome face. He was lean, deadly, with that unsettling calmness that only men who had killed without remorse could wear so casually. His olive-toned skin and slicked-back raven hair gave him the look of a predator waiting in the shadows. Of course, he had given too much in the deal, but if it meant acquiring Salvatore's support, then Micheal believed the sacrifice was worth it.

"I guess you did get a better deal," Zara started, her voice low, like she was admitting defeat. Her words were soft, but they carried an undercurrent of steel.

Salvatore raised an eyebrow, his eyes—those unreadable gray orbs—narrowing slightly, questioning.

*Was she giving up? That easily?*

He tried to hide his disappointment, though a flicker of it darted across his face before he masked it again. *He would benefit either way,* he told himself, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his stomach. For a man who had always prided himself on control, the unexpected sting of disappointment unsettled him.

"I have a better offer though," Zara continued, straightening her back, her chin lifting imperceptibly. Her beauty wasn’t the fragile kind—she was striking, commanding. With her tall, slender frame and the quiet power she exuded, she looked every bit the ruler she claimed to be. Her pitch-black eyes, fathomless and unyielding, seemed to slice through the room itself, daring anyone to look away. "One you wouldn’t dare refuse. But before then, I’ll make some things clear."

She paused deliberately, her gaze cutting to Micheal.

"From today henceforth, as punishment for disobeying the first clause of having an access card to the borders—which states: the border can only be used by he or she to whom it has been issued, and if used by another, the owner will be penalized by losing the right to the card—Micheal Morano, your access card is invalid from now henceforth."

Micheal’s nostrils flared, but Zara did not falter.

"Of course your shares are yours to sell, and your daughter yours to give," she added smoothly, "but to whom, is the question."

Salvatore could hardly contain himself. This was epic. He loved her comeback, how she let Micheal believe he had won, only to let her voice ring authoritatively as she passed the punishment. The corners of his mouth twitched, his predator’s amusement barely kept in check.

But what would she do about the marriage? How would she counter that?

"I have the right to give my belonging to whoever I see fit!" Micheal bellowed, his voice booming in the room like a clap of thunder, his face contorting with rage.

Zara tilted her head, calm in the face of his fury. "Exactly, Micheal. The key word there is belonging. The access card is not a belonging—it is a privilege, offered by me, the ruler of the Morano empire. And only I am allowed to grant it. Anybody who tries to go against that ruling could be prosecuted for treason."

She nodded toward Luca.

Luca, calm as ever, proudly stepped forward, his stormy eyes gleaming with pride as he brought out his tablet. How dare Micheal think he could outsmart Zara? With the composure of a man who served loyalty itself, he presented the sleek device, letting the glow of the screen do the talking.

Zara allowed Micheal to see the very rule she had quoted before she delivered her final remark to end that segment of the argument.

"Next time you are given the book of rules," she said coolly, "make sure you do not just skim past them."

Micheal’s jaw clenched, his knuckles tightening around his cane, but he said nothing.

Turning back to Salvatore, Zara continued, "Don D’Amico, I mentioned offering a better deal, didn’t I?"

Salvatore raised an amused eyebrow, trying his best to maintain his calm demeanor. Inside, however, every fiber of him tingled with curiosity. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his long fingers drumming soundlessly against the armrest, waiting.

Zara gave Micheal a quick glance. The man still stood with pride, his arrogance unshaken. Invalidating his access card was not enough to break the deal. She had to place all her cards on the table.

This wasn’t about the villa anymore. If Micheal had thought of using Salvatore’s army to oust her from her position, then that meant even she could use his army to her will. Salvatore could be the key to all her problems—or he could be the floodgate to another batch of nightmares.

He was a strong alliance, yes, but also an unpredictable one. With his backing, she could reduce her enemies to ashes. Yet his alliance might only be a plot, a carefully spun web to destroy her. After her time passed, he could serve as the formidable protector her younger brother needed… or he could be the very threat her brother would need protection against.

*The greater the risk, the better the reward,* she told herself firmly. If she wanted to win this battle, she needed to use every weapon at her disposal.

Drawing in a slow, measured breath, she met Salvatore’s piercing gaze head-on.

"Salvatore D’Amico, the don of the D’Amico empire," she declared, her voice steady and unwavering, "would you accept my proposal and take my hand in marriage?"

Nobody had expected it. The shock was visible on every face in the room. Micheal’s mouth fell open in horror, Luca’s stormy eyes flickered with disbelief, and even the guards stationed at the walls stiffened.

But the greatest reaction was Salvatore’s.

The man who had built his reputation on calmness, who faced bullets and betrayal without flinching, now looked genuinely startled. His mask cracked, even if just for a heartbeat. The place grew quieter than a graveyard, the tension tenfold thicker.

"Is this a joke?" Salvatore asked finally, his voice losing some of the cool detachment it always carried. His words were sharp, but his eyes betrayed something else—an edge of intrigue.

Her offer had completely taken him aback. And yet… a tiny part of him, a rebellious part, wasn’t so surprised. In fact, it was thrilled.

Why?

He couldn’t say.

Zara’s lips curved faintly, her chin lifting with pride. "Last night is proof that we are perfectly capable of cohabiting with each other. And quite frankly," her pitch-black eyes glinted like sharpened steel, "there is no alliance more profitable than the one I offer.'

Despite himself, Salvatore chuckled.

Such arrogance — though not a baseless one.

Allowing himself the thrill of observing Micheal’s stunned expression, he swallowed back the smile threatening to break.

*Now this… this is checkmate. The killer move.*

And her mentioning last night? That was the cherry on the cake.

As a businessman, her offer was more than he could ever secure. As a Don, she was the perfect Donna. As a man… well, that wasn’t supposed to matter.

“Last night was…” he trailed off, fully aware of how many ears strained to catch his words. Catching her eye, he caught the flicker of humor she tried to mask.

*They would make a crazy pair,* he thought.

“Well, you did give me a better offer, Donna. Or should I say… fiancée?”

His proclamation was both soothing and unnerving. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her palms slick with sweat.

Was this a wise move, or was desperation blinding her judgment?

Was she using the devil to fight a ghost?

Or digging her own grave?

“I’m sorry, Micheal,” Salvatore added, his tone almost playful. “The goods belong to the highest bidder.”

He extended his hand to Zara. His words struck a chord, and her father’s voice echoed in her mind:

*In our line of business, Zara, the joy is not in winning over the angel. It’s in taming the devil.*

She would just have to tame the devil then. Six months should be more than enough.

Lifting her head high, Zara slipped her hand into his, praying he couldn’t feel how clammy her palms were.

“Next time, Micheal,” she said coldly, “I wouldn’t tolerate Evelyn throwing herself at my fiance.”