Chapter 1 - The Counter-Proposal
The quiet hallway behind the Grand Ballroom smelled of old mahogany, stale coffee, and the faint, unmistakable scent of expensive bourbon.
"I'll marry you instead."
Nikolai Moretti’s voice was smooth as velvet, but it cut through the silence with the precision of a scalpel. He stood illuminated beneath the warm hallway sconces, his six-foot-three frame broad, imposing, and entirely uncluttered by the performative desperation that plagued his younger brother. His dark gray eyes held mine, unblinking, cool, and frighteningly focused.
I let out a soft, breathy laugh that lacked any real humor. "Is this a joke to you, Nikolai? A fun little way to rub salt in my wounds before you go back to running the city?"
"I don't make jokes about marriage, Evelyn. Nor do I waste my time on petty cruelty," Nikolai said, taking a single, slow step closer. He didn't crowd me; he moved with the controlled grace of a predator who didn't need to rush. "Julian thinks he just secured his political ascension by aligning himself with the 'spoiled, beloved' Hart sister. He believes your father’s implicit endorsement of Serena gives him the soft power he needs to win over our father's inner council."
"And what do you think?" I asked, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through my blood.
"I think Julian is an idiot," Nikolai stated matter-of-factly, taking a slow sip from his crystal glass. "He traded the brain of the Hart family for its prettiest hood ornament. You built your father’s logistics infrastructure from scratch, Evelyn. You managed his supply chains. You hid his tax inconsistencies. Serena can't even arrange a dinner reservation without three assistants and an emotional breakdown."
My heart gave a sudden, violent thud against my ribs.
For twenty-four years, my family had treated my sharp mind as a convenient utility—a silent engine keeping the Hart empire afloat while Serena was paraded around as the prized gem. My mother called me 'useful.' My father called me 'dependable.' Neither of them had ever called me brilliant.
Yet here was the head of the Moretti crime syndicate, listing my worth like an asset manager reviewing a high-value portfolio.
"What are you offering, Nikolai?" I asked, leaning my back flat against the wallpaper, watching him carefully.
"An alliance," he said. "The council vote takes place in twenty-one days. My father is stepping down as Don, and the commission will crown either Julian or me. Julian’s stunt tonight was meant to blindside me—to show the older capos that he has the Hart fortune in his pocket. If you walk back into that ballroom on my arm, as my fiancée, you break his narrative before the champagne even goes flat."
"And what do I get out of this?" I pushed. "Aside from a front-row seat to a mob war?"
Nikolai’s dark eyes flashed with an icy, dangerous intelligence. "You get complete independence. You get fifty percent of my personal real estate portfolio placed into an irrevocable trust in your name the moment we sign the contract. You get protection from your family's financial leeching. And most importantly..." He paused, his lips curving into a slow, wicked smirk. "...you get to watch your mother, your father, and my pathetic excuse for a brother realization that they chose the wrong side."
The offer hit me like a cold wave. It was absurd. It was reckless. It was the kind of dangerous decision that would ruin my social standing forever.
And yet, as I listened to the muffled sound of my sister's fake, breathy laughter leaking through the ballroom doors, a cold, dark spark ignited deep within my chest.
My mother wanted me not to embarrass the family.
My father wanted me to quietly swallow my humiliation for the greater good of their financial merger.
"Two conditions," I said, stepping away from the wall, raising my chin high.
Nikolai raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused. "Name them."
"First," I said, "the marriage contract is strictly a business partnership until I decide otherwise. No forced intimacy, no public displays that I haven't agreed to."
"Agreed," Nikolai said without hesitation. "I don't force women into my bed, Evelyn. Especially not my wife. And second?"
"Second," I said, my voice hardening into pure steel, "when we destroy Julian's bid for the throne... I want my father's logistics company bankrupt and under my direct control."
Nikolai staring at me for three long seconds. Then, a dark, low chuckle rumbled from his chest. He set his whiskey glass down on a nearby side table, stepped directly into my personal space, and offered me his hand.
May you like
His palm was warm, calloused, and massive against mine.
"You really are the better sister," he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed the shell of my ear. "Fix your hair, Evelyn. We're going back inside."
