The black Bentley showed up at my apartment complex at precisely seven PM. It was as clean and shiny as it possibly could be, and it stood out like a sore thumb in my crap neighborhood. I was watching from the third-floor window and I noticed as people gawked. The driver was a very big man in an expensive-looking suit, and he opened the door and looked up at the building with a frown on his face.

As I rested my forehead on the window watching him from upstairs, my mother's voice came from the room behind me.

"Are you sure you're ready for this job, sweetie? It hits you so unexpectedly."

Lies upon lies. I told my mother that I'd been offered a live-in position with a successful family. I told her that I was helping run their house and social calendar and pay was wonderful, with full benefits that included full medical for family members, and that I'd have weekends off to visit them.

All technically true, if you sort of squinted when they defined "family" and glanced away from the part about contract marriages and viewing murders.

"The Marchettis are strongly suggested," I told them, and it was technically so in its own screwed-up way. Everyone in the city was familiar with the Marchetti family. Just that they talked of them in fearful respect rather than because they were too afraid to give them respect.

My mom, the once beautiful Maria Rossi stood by the side of the door, leaning on her walker. Six months of chemo had made my mother thinner than when she used to be a very curvy woman. It even took the Color from her once bright red hair and made it white, but her green eyes still held that fierce spirit to live that had hardened me.

"You look beautiful, baby." Maria's smile was aglow with pride as she examined my face.

I did not know what to wear when I was meeting my fiancé's devil. I had searched through the closets, and my room was absolutely messed up. The clothes in my closet lacked taste and were simple.

It held nothing but work attire, tacky blouses, and a single black interview outfit I'd bought two years ago. I chose dark wash jeans and a cream-colored sweater that brought out my eyes, and my best pair of shoes. I felt woefully underdressed for the world I was entering.

"I should go," I told her, trying not to hug her so tight. The woman was so delicate in my arms, I feared hugging her tight for fear she might break. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Mrs. Patterson next door offered to check in, and I enrolled in this cancer charity. My hands are full." Mom stepped back, her hands cupping my face. "You deserve this opportunity, sweetie. You've sacrificed so much for me."

If only you could see, I considered, my heart breaking before the trust in my mother's eyes.

The driver greeted himself as Enzo when I reached the sidewalk, his thick Brooklyn accent somehow making him seem approachable despite the imposing figure he cut.

"Mr. Marchetti apologizes for not sending for you himself," Enzo said, swinging open the back door of the Bentley and gallantly taking my hand so that I might enter. "Family obligations had to be dealt with."

Family business. I shivered at what that might entail.

The inside of the Bentley was the most lavish I've ever seen. I looked out the window and watched as my mother stood crying behind the car. I waved frantically at her until she disappeared from view. The farther away they drove from my old part of town, the farther away my old life became. Soon enough, I'll be a wife in Marchetti's world. We drove through ever more expensive subdivisions, past mansions that seemed to grow larger and more elaborate with each passing mile. The driver pulled up at last to a massive iron gate, with the Marchetti coat of arms upon it, which is a raven perched on a crown of thorns. I edged forward in my seat, my nose against the glass as I looked at the mansion within.

The gate finally opened, and the car passed through.

The house was imposing and Gothic, like something out of a romance novel. There were manicured grounds in every direction and a round fountain that stood tall at the front courtyard. "Home sweet home," Enzo said with amusement as he assisted me descending from the automobile.

The closer we got to the front doors, the harder my heart was racing in my chest. When we were climbing the very huge steps, the front doors opened in front of us before we could even get to them. A woman in her sixties walked out of the doorway, her face serious. She was dressed in a black dress that I knew was the uniform at the Marchetti manor.

"Welcome, Miss Rossi. I'm Mrs. Castellano, house manager." She spoke with a thick Italian accent. "Mr. Marchetti is waiting for you in his study."

We climbed a spiral staircase to the second floor.

Mrs. Castellano stooped at a thick oak door and knocked twice.

"Come in."

Even through the thick door, Kaius's deep voice sent shivers down my spine. Mrs. Castellano opened the door and stepped aside, motioning me in.

"I'll have your belongings brought to your room," she whispered “There's dinner at eight."

His office was exactly what I had imagined it would be. Every piece of furniture possessed the same dangerous masculine energy that he carried wherever he went. My gaze skittered over the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stacked with books, to the tall handsome guy sitting behind the huge desk.

We exchanged glances and he was evaluating me before he motioned to me to sit. He'd removed his suit and was wearing dark trousers and a white button-down shirt that spanned his wide shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to show muscular forearms streaked with what appeared to be old scars.

"You arrived," he told me without emotion, breaking his eye from mine to the tablet in front of him.

"Did I have an option?"

"There's always an option. The question is whether you're willing to live with the consequences." He glanced up then, and my breath snagged in my throat.

At first, when I saw him in the casino, I was so shaken with fear and the need for survival that I didn't stand a chance to notice how extremely handsome he was. Here, though, in the soft glow of his study, Kaius Marchetti was breathtaking. The chill chiseled planes of his face were softened by the dim lighting in the room, and he was nearly human. Nearly.

Until you looked into his eyes. Those storm-grey eyes that could pull me under their depths.

"Drink?" He moved to a crystal decanter on a side table.

"I don't particularly—"

"You do tonight." He poured two glasses of what looked like whiskey and handed one to me. "Trust me, you'll need it."

Danielle drank the glass, her hands shaking. The whiskey burned her throat but coursed warmth through her chest, easing some of her anxiety.

"We need to establish some ground rules," Kaius said, walking over to lean against the front of his desk. "First, in public, you are all about me. You would need to touch me as if you really want to, stare at me as if you are head over heels in love with me, you know, the whole theatrics. Can you do that?"

A warmth crept up the back of my neck. I didn't know if I could be fine with him touching me, especially his hands—hands that I saw take lives last night. Even now, I shudder at the recollection. "Yes." A falsehood.

"Second, in the comfort of your own home, we will both keep our distance. You have your space, I have mine. There are no hints at intimacy other than that needed for appearances."

"Understood."

"Third, you will learn etiquette, fashion, and the social graces of my realm. You'll attend events with me, host dinner parties, and be the perfect mafia wife." His smile was sharp. "Think of it as an extended acting engagement."

"What if I'm not good enough?"

"Then we have issues." He swallowed the whiskey in one long, hard gulp. "My enemies will see weakness, and weakness in my universe is a death sentence. For both of us."

Shocks of electricity slithered along my back. I accepted the heavy burden of that responsibility settling on my shoulders. It was to mean that I not only had to take care of myself surviving, but him too.

"Why would you want a fake wife?" I asked. "You could marry anyone."

Something dark passed over his face. "Because the woman I am to marry would kill me in my bed if she thought it would serve her interests. And the family council is pressuring me to father an heir to continue the line."

"Gemma Celestini?"

His brows leapt up. "You have heard of her?"

"Everyone gossips. Even the cleaning ladies hear rumors." I reached for my whiskey, taking another sip, and gaining courage. "They say she's lovely. And lethal."

"Both true. They also say she's loved me since we were children, and that's the only reason that she hasn't tried to kill me yet." Kaius scooted back from the desk, getting up to pour himself a fresh drink. "Marriage to you buys me time to get into position and remove her as a threat once and for all."

"And then what do I do when I no longer have a fake wife?"

"You disappear with enough money to start anew anywhere on the planet. New identity if needed." He stood in front of me once more, his expression empty. "Unless, that is, you come to find you like being a Marchetti."

Before I could ask what he had been implying by that, Mrs. Castellano's voice came through an intercom system.

"Mr. Marchetti, dinner is served."

"Showtime," Kaius declared, setting down his glass and walking towards me. "Let's see if you can convince my people that you're irretrievably in love with me."

He offered his arm with a gentleman's politeness I hadn't expected from him, and I forced myself to accept it. The moment my hand on the flesh of his forearm, a spark of electricity traveled through me like a shot of current. His muscles tightened under my fingers, and I wondered if he'd felt it, too.

"Just remember," he told me softly as he moved toward the door, his voice rough and stroking my neck, "in this house, the walls have ears and people's allegiance can be extremely unreliable. Trust no one completely, not even me."

"Especially not you," I whispered back.

His laughter was cruel and really amused. "Clever girl. You just may survive this alive after all."