Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 37

Damian's POV

I watched her internal struggle, she was weighing her principles against her sister's life, and we both knew which would win.

But then she did something unexpected.

Instead of signing, she set the pen down with deliberate precision and raised those amber eyes to meet mine.

"Why does it have to be me?" she asked, her voice steadier than it had been all morning. "And don't give me some bullshit answer about compatibility or convenience. You could have your pick of any woman in Florence. Sophisticated women who understand your world, who wouldn't need to be... managed... like this."

I felt my eyebrows rise involuntarily. Where had this backbone come from? An hour ago she'd been cowering in that copy room, allowing Victoria to treat her like hired help. Now she was questioning me directly, as if she had any right to demand explanations.

"You're here to sign a contract, not conduct an interview," I said coolly, but she pressed on.

"Because you don't just need any woman to carry your child. You need someone specific. Someone with no family connections to complicate things, no social standing to protect, no resources to fight back with." Her voice grew stronger with each word. "You need someone desperate enough to agree to this arrangement, but not stupid enough to cause problems later."

The accuracy of her assessment was... irritating. And impressive, despite myself.

"You need someone who's not completely naive about your world, but also not ambitious enough to try to leverage this pregnancy into something more permanent." She leaned forward slightly. "That's a very specific type of woman, Mr. Cavalieri. And we both know you haven't found anyone else who fits those criteria."

Clever little thing. The thought struck me with unexpected force. Someone had been coaching her—this level of insight didn't come naturally to orphaned bar girls. But who? And how much did they know about our arrangement?

"Interesting theory," I said, settling back in my chair with calculated nonchalance. "Tell me, who exactly has been filling your head with these insights?"

A flash of alarm crossed her features before she masked it. "Does it matter?"

"Everything matters when it comes to protecting my interests." I studied her face, cataloging each micro-expression. "I need to know who else is involved in our transaction, who else might have knowledge that could become... problematic."

"It was just advice from a friend. Nothing more complicated than that."

"A friend. How touching. And what exactly did this friend advise you to say?"

Aria's cheeks flushed, but she held my gaze. "To remember that you chose me for reasons beyond my desperation. That even in this situation, I have something you need."

She was right, of course. Finding the perfect surrogate had proven far more challenging than I'd anticipated.

The socialites in my circle were either too ambitious—seeing pregnancy as a pathway to permanent attachment—or too connected to other powerful families. I couldn't risk a woman whose relatives might demand involvement in my heir's upbringing. The prostitutes and bar girls who populated Florence's underworld were either too damaged by drugs and violence or too volatile to trust with something so precious.

But Aria... Aria was an anomaly. Beautiful enough that my child would inherit attractive features, intelligent enough to follow complex instructions, but simple enough in her motivations that she could be controlled. Her desperation made her compliant, but her fierce protectiveness toward her sister suggested she would protect my child with equal devotion during the pregnancy.

Most importantly, she had no one. No family connections to complicate things, no powerful protectors to interfere, no resources to fight back if the arrangement needed to be... adjusted.

She was perfect for my purposes. Which didn't mean I had to admit it to her.

"You seem to have developed some rather inflated ideas about your bargaining position," I said, standing and moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a commanding view of Florence. The city spread out below me like a chess board, every building and street a piece in games of power I'd been playing since childhood.

"Have I?" Her voice carried a challenge that made my hands tighten behind my back. "Because if I'm so easily replaceable, why are we having this conversation at all? Why not just find someone else who'll sign your contract without questions?"

The audacity of it was breathtaking. It should have been laughable.

Instead, I found it strangely compelling.

"You think you understand the game we're playing. But you have no concept of the stakes involved. One word from me, and your sister's medical care disappears. One phone call, and you'll never find work in this city again. I could destroy what little life you've built with less effort than it takes to light a cigarette."

"But you won't. Because then you'd have to start over. Find another woman, investigate her background, establish leverage over her. That takes time you don't have, doesn't it?"

"Your grandfather isn't getting any younger," she continued, "And from what I understand, family succession doesn't wait for convenience. You need an heir soon, or your position becomes... vulnerable."

"Who told you that?"

"Does it matter? The point is, you need me as much as I need your money. Maybe more."

"Careful, piccola." The endearment carried warning now. "You're walking into dangerous territory."

"I'm already in dangerous territory," she shot back. "I'm sitting in a mafia don's office discussing carrying his child. How much more dangerous can it get?"

Much more dangerous, I thought grimly.

I moved back to my desk. But as I reached for the contract, intending to tear it up and end this conversation permanently, she spoke again.

"Six months," she said quietly.

"What?"

"Give me six months to conceive through medical procedures. If it doesn't work by then, we'll... we'll try your way." Her cheeks flamed red, but her voice remained steady. "That's my counter-offer."