Three-year-old Mia Rossi stood in the middle of the white marble floor in red shoes and a pink cardigan buttoned wrong at the throat, one hand on her hip and a battered stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her other arm.

"You didn't save us! You put a target on our backs!" Elena shouted, her voice echoing through the grand study twenty minutes later.

She had handed Mia over to Marco, who was currently downstairs feeding the toddler ice cream under heavy guard. Now, Elena stood across from Aleandro, her hands trembling with adrenaline and pure fury.

"Carmine Valenti would have dragged you into an alley in Queens by nightfall, Elena," Aleandro said calmly, pouring himself a fresh glass of whiskey. "He uses debt as an excuse to break people. If you were just a maid, I couldn't protect you outside this house without raising suspicion among the other families. But as my fiancée, you carry the full military protection of the Moretti empire."

"I am a housekeeper!" Elena cried out, pressing her hand against her burning forehead. "I clean your floors! I wear a fifty-dollar uniform! How is anyone going to believe I am engaged to a billionaire crime boss?!"

Aleandro set his glass down, walking slowly toward her until he stood so close she could smell the expensive cedarwood and leather scent of his cologne.

"They will believe it," Aleandro murmured softly, "because starting today, you are moving into the master wing. You will wear the clothes I buy you. You will wear the ring I put on your finger. And whenever we step out in public, you will look at me like I own your world."

Elena swallowed hard, her pulse skyrocketing. "And when Carmine finds out it's a fake?"

"It won't be a fake to the outside world," Aleandro said, his dark voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "Carmine is looking for weakness. He thought I was vulnerable because I had no family. By claiming you, I showed him I have something worth killing for. If you walk away now, he will know it was a trick. He will hunt you down just to prove I lied."

Elena felt the room spinning. She was trapped. Trapped by her late husband's debts, trapped by Carmine's cruelty, and trapped in the net of the dark, breathtaking man standing right in front of her.

"What do I have to do?" she whispered quietly, yielding to the reality of her situation.

Aleandro’s eyes softened slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet jewelry box. He clicked it open, revealing a flawless seven-carat oval diamond ring that sparkled like liquid fire under the study lamps.

He took her left hand. Her fingers were small, soft, and trembling.

Slowly, deliberately, Aleandro slid the cold platinum band onto her ring finger. The fit was absolute perfection.

"First," Aleandro whispered, his thumb lightly stroking the sensitive skin of her wrist, "you stop calling me Mr. Moretti. My name is Aleandro."

Elena shivered at his touch, her breath hitches in her chest. "Aleandro..."

"Good," he murmured, his grey eyes dropping to her lips for a agonizing second before looking back into her eyes. "Second, we have a charity gala at the Plaza Hotel tomorrow night. The bosses of all five families will be there. Carmine will be watching us like a hawk. If you make one mistake, if you look at me with fear instead of devotion, the war starts before dessert."

"I don't know how to be a high-society bride," Elena pleaded, looking down at the massive diamond weighing down her hand. "I don't belong in that world."

Aleandro reached out, his long fingers gently catching her chin, lifting her face until she was forced to look directly into his piercing gaze.

"You belong wherever I put you, Elena," he said fiercely. "Tomorrow night, you are the most protected, most envied woman in New York. Act like it."

By 9:00 AM the next morning, the estate turned into a battleground of luxury.

Aleandro had hired a team of top Manhattan stylists, tailors, and jewelers, who flooded the master suite with racks of designer gowns, silk shoes, and velvet boxes of emeralds and diamonds.

Elena sat in front of a vanity mirror while three women worked frantically on her hair and makeup. They transformed her wild auburn waves into an elegant, glowing undo, enhancing her cheekbones and bringing out the striking hazel of her eyes.

When they finally unveiled the main dress, Elena lost her breath.

It was a midnight-blue silk gown with a sculpted off-the-shoulder neckline, a fitted waist, and a modest slit that revealed sleek satin heels. It was sophisticated, breathtakingly expensive, and impossibly regal.

Downstairs, Mia was bouncing on the sofa in a miniature white lace dress, wearing a tiny silver tiara that Marco had secretly bought for her at a toy store.

"Mommy looks like a princess!" Mia gasped, clapping her hands wildly as Elena descended the grand staircase.

Elena smiled softly, holding the skirt of her gown, but her stomach was tied in nervous knots.

At the bottom of the stairs stood Aleandro.

He was wearing a custom black tuxedo that accented his broad shoulders and towering frame, his dark hair combed back neatly. When his eyes caught sight of Elena, he completely froze.

The cold, calculated expression he always wore cracked open. His eyes swept over her—from the slope of her bare shoulders to the fit of the blue silk against her curves—and a dark, intense hunger flared in his gaze so strongly that Elena felt a wave of heat rush to her cheeks.

Aleandro walked to the foot of the stairs, extending his hand to her.

"You are stunning, Elena," he said, his voice lower and thicker than usual.

Elena placed her gloved hand in his, feeling the immense strength radiating from his fingers. "I feel like an imposter."

"You look like a queen," Aleandro corrected smoothly. He turned to little Mia, crouching down in his tuxedo without a second thought. "And what about my security chief?"

Mia puffed out her tiny chest. "I'm guarding the house while you take Mommy to the party!"

Aleandro let out a low rumble of laughter, reaching out to tap the tip of Mia's nose. "Good girl. Marco will be right outside your door." He looked up at Marco, his tone turning into steel. "If a single fly comes near this wing, kill it."

"Understood, Boss," Marco nodded grimly.