Page 9

"I've chosen these ones very carefully." He smiles at Sunny, who is looking between us like we've switched languages. "Two birds, brother. One stone."

I look at her.

And instead of dismissing it as I should, I take the proposition apart in my head.

The capos won't stop insisting their don take a wife and produce an heir. Eventually, I will run out of time and need to choose a wife quickly. And she will be a connected option, the niece or daughter of someone, a woman raised for it. Someone who will tell me what I want to hear, someone who wants to please me.

Or I could consider this woman in front of me. With her fiery eyes, plush lips, and a murderous glare that makes me want to push all her buttons just so I can see what she does next.

What John Marco is proposing is an efficient solution.

I'm still considering it, and that tells me the decision is already made. Because I know an opportunity when I see it.

I need someone who is strong. And the firecracker who is looking at me as if she could make me spontaneously combust through sheer will alone would be ideal.

I look at Sunny and realize I'm nodding.

John Marco presses. "You need a wife, Dante. Take her and put a ring on it."

Sunny blinks. "I'm sorry. You need a what?"

She looks at John Marco, then back at me.

I hold her gaze. “A wife, Miss Meadows.”

She looks confused. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“It looks like you’re it,” I say.

She scoffs. "Is that some kind of sick joke?"

"I assure you, Miss Meadows, this is no joke."

“Please, Mr. Di Zaro, please leave my daughter out of it,” Joseph begs. “This is my debt. My mistake. Sunny is a good girl. She’s not involved.”

“You should have thought about that before you stole from me.”

“I’m begging you. Do what you will with me. I deserve it. But let her go. She won’t say anything, will you, Sunny?”

“Dad, what are you saying? Let’s all just calm down.”

I lift my brows. She just entered the negotiation phase, and I can’t help but admire her optimism that this is somehow going to work out in their favor.

“I’m sure we can come to a reasonable conclusion,” she says.

“We have,” I say. “You’re going to be my wife.”

The more I look at her, the more the idea makes sense. With her sharp mouth, her refusal to cower, and her complete disinterest in impressing me, the plan clicks into place.

A connected family would give me a wife who worships me. Who fears me. Who bends every time I enter a room.

This woman just mouthed off to me while I hold her father's life in my hands.

She would convince no one that she married me for power.

Which means everyone would believe she married me for something else.

True love. Which is what I want my capos to believe.