I Hid Under a Cold-Hearted Mafia Boss's Table to Escape My Abusive Ex—Then He Stood Up, Broke His Bones, and Made Me His Fake Bride with a Million-Dollar Bounty on My Head

Three weeks after the destruction of the Falcone syndicate, the Pacific Northwest had settled into an unprecedented, absolute peace.

The rival families had unanimously voted to recognize Dante Varga as the sole, unchallenged Chairman of the Maritime Commission. The corrupt politicians had been arrested, the streets were quiet, and the Varga name was spoken with absolute reverence.

On a bright, crisp morning in late February, Khloe sat in the grand library of the Seattle penthouse, looking out over the calm waters of Puget Sound.

The room smelled of polished mahogany, fresh-cut lilies, and rich coffee.

The double doors opened, and Dante walked in.

He was dressed in a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit, looking immaculate, powerful, and completely recovered from his injuries. In his hand, he carried a sleek leather folder.

He sat down in the armchair opposite Khloe, placing the folder on the coffee table between them.

“The civil paperwork is complete,” Dante said, his voice quiet, devoid of its usual commanding edge.

Khloe looked at the folder. Her heart gave a painful, heavy thud. “The dissolution papers?”

“Yes,” Dante replied, his dark obsidian eyes studying her face with unreadable depth. “Along with the deed to a four-bedroom villa in Tuscany, and the security credentials for a bank account with five million dollars in unrestricted funds.”

Khloe stared at the folder, her throat tight with emotion.

“You kept your end of the bargain, Khloe,” Dante continued softly, looking down at his scarred hands. “You played the consort. You saved my life twice. You helped me secure my family’s legacy. You are completely free. Jared Vance is locked in federal prison for life. No one in this world will ever threaten you again.”

He looked up, meeting her gaze with a vulnerability she had never seen in him before.

“I am a dangerous man, Khloe. My world is filled with blood, enemies, and shadows. You deserve a normal, peaceful life under the Italian sun, far away from the monsters of Seattle.”

Khloe looked at the leather folder. Then, slowly, deliberately, she reached out, picked up the folder, and tossed it straight into the roaring fireplace beside them.

The parchment caught fire instantly, curling into black ash among the birch logs.

Dante’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “Khloe... what are you doing?”

Khloe stood up from her chair, walked over to him, and sat directly on his lap, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. She looked straight into his dark, beautiful eyes.

“I told you on Orcas Island, Dante Varga. I don't want a quiet villa in Tuscany. I don't want a fake contract or an offshore account.”

She reached down, taking his large, scarred hand and pressing it against her racing heart.

“I want the man who protected me when I was nothing. I want the man who bled for me in the dark. I want to be your wife. For real. Not for six months. Forever.”

Dante stared at her, his throat working as the final walls around his heart crumbled completely.

A breathtaking, radiant smile spread across his face—a smile that erased every scar, every shadow, and every year of loneliness.