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

Morning arrived with the gray, washed-out light of a Pacific Northwest winter.

Khloe woke in the sprawling king-sized bed of her suite, the scent of Dante’s cedar cologne still lingering in the air. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she hadn't had a single nightmare about running through dark alleys.

She slipped into a comfortable cashmere sweater and dark leggings, walking barefoot into the grand kitchen.

The aroma of freshly brewed Colombian coffee and toasted sourdough filled the open space. Standing by the marble island was Paulie, reviewing a tactical floor plan on an encrypted tablet alongside a younger guard named Leo, whom Dante had recently promoted to the personal detail.

“Morning, Miss Khloe,” Paulie greeted her with a respectful nod. “Mr. Varga is in the private library concluding a conference call with the New York syndicates.”

“Good morning, Paulie,” Khloe smiled, pouring herself a cup of black coffee. “Is the city quiet?”

“Quiet on the surface,” Paulie grunted, scratching his stubbled jaw. “Falcone went into hiding after the gala fiasco. But his bank accounts are moving massive sums to offshore mercenary groups. The boss wants everyone on high alert.”

Khloe took her coffee and walked toward Dante’s private study at the end of the east corridor. The heavy mahogany door was slightly ajar.

Through the crack, she saw Dante sitting behind a massive antique desk, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the intricate black-ink sleeve tattoos that snaked up his arms. He was speaking in rapid, fluent Italian into a secure phone line, his tone firm, authoritative, and cold.

Beside the desk stood Leo, the young guard, holding a silver tray with a fresh crystal decanter of Dante’s favorite twenty-year-old bourbon.

“Leo,” Dante said without looking up, switching back to English. “Leave the drink and bring the transport manifests for the Everett rail line.”

“Right away, Mr. Varga,” Leo replied, setting the decanter and a crystal glass onto the corner of the mahogany desk.

Khloe watched from the doorway as Leo turned to leave. Something in the young man’s posture caught her attention. His hands were trembling slightly, and as he walked past the bookshelf, he nervously wiped his sweaty palms against the seam of his tactical trousers. His eyes flicked frantically toward the security cameras in the hallway.

Khloe’s instincts, sharpened by two years of hyper-vigilance under Jared’s abusive regime, screamed a warning.

Leo exited the study, barely glancing at her as he hurried down the corridor toward the service lift.

Khloe pushed the study door open.

Dante hung up the satellite phone and looked up, the tension in his face instantly softening as his dark eyes found hers. “You’re awake early.”

“I couldn't sleep,” Khloe said, stepping into the room and setting her coffee mug on the edge of the desk.

Dante reached out, his hand wrapping around the crystal decanter to pour himself his morning measure of bourbon.

“Wait!” Khloe gasped, her hand darting out to grab his wrist.

Dante froze. His dark eyes flicked from her hand on his wrist up to her wide, terrified hazel eyes. “What is it?”

“Don't drink that,” Khloe breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Dante’s brow furrowed. “Khloe, it’s my private reserve—”

“Look at the rim of the decanter,” she interrupted, her voice shaking with adrenaline. “And look at the stopper. There’s a faint, oily residue on the crystal. And Leo... his hands were shaking when he brought it in. He wiped his palms on his pants and couldn't look at the hallway cameras.”

Dante didn't dismiss her. He didn't laugh. He slowly released the decanter, his expression hardening into terrifying, lethal stone.

He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a small electronic chemical testing swab used for narcotics screening, and dragged the cotton tip across the rim of the decanter. He inserted the swab into a pocket digital reader.

Three seconds later, the reader beeped twice with a shrill, red warning: POTASSIUM CYANIDE DETECTED.

A lethal dose. Enough to stop a man’s heart within forty seconds of entering the bloodstream.

Dante stared at the digital screen. The silence in the room became so heavy, so suffocating, that Khloe felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Dante looked up at Khloe. His eyes weren't just cold; they held a profound, terrifying awe. If she hadn't walked through that door at that exact second, he would have been dead on the floor before Paulie could have reached the room.

He reached out, his large, calloused hand cupping the back of her head, pulling her forehead against his chest. He kissed the crown of her hair, holding her with a fierce, possessive strength.

“You just saved my life, little mouse,” Dante whispered against her ear, his voice vibrating with raw intensity.