Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 6

Aria's POV

"How do you know so much about Damian Cavalieri?"

I forced myself to meet her concerned gaze, my heart hammering against my ribs. How could I possibly explain what had happened that night? How could I tell her that I'd spent the most intimate—and terrifying—hours of my life completely at his mercy?

Fifteen days ago.

The diagnosis had shattered my world in an instant.

"I'm sorry, Miss Rossi," Dr. Martinelli had said, his voice gentle but final. "Jessica has a rare kidney disease. Without immediate treatment, she has perhaps six months."

Six months. The words had echoed in my skull as I'd stumbled out of the hospital, my carefully constructed plans crumbling to dust. The scholarship money was gone, spent on Jessica's initial treatments. My part-time job at the café barely covered our basic living expenses.

Marco, my boyfriend of two years, had listened to my desperate pleas for help with the cold detachment of a stranger.

"Aria, be realistic," he'd said, not even looking up from his phone. "I can't risk my family's reputation getting involved with charity cases. My father is considering me for a position at his firm."

That night, after finding him in bed with Claudia Benedetti—whose father owned half the restaurants in Florence—I'd found myself at the hotel bar downtown, drowning my sorrows in cheap wine.

The alcohol had burned away my inhibitions and common sense in equal measure. When the bartender had finally cut me off, I'd stumbled outside into the cool night air, my vision blurry and my thoughts scattered.

A black car had pulled up to the curb as I swayed on the sidewalk, trying to remember how to call a taxi.

In my drunken state, I'd assumed it was a taxi I'd somehow successfully summoned. I'd climbed into the passenger seat without a second thought, barely registering the expensive leather interior or the imposing figure behind the wheel.

"How much?" I'd slurred, digging through my purse for money.

The man had turned to look at me, and even through my alcohol-hazed vision, I'd been struck by his commanding presence. Dark hair, strong jawline, eyes that seemed to see straight through me.

"How much for what, piccola?" His voice had carried a slight Italian accent that made my stomach flutter.

But I'd been too drunk to process his words properly. All I could think about was Marco's betrayal, the way he'd looked at me like I was worthless. This stranger was handsome, powerful—everything Marco pretended to be.

"You're him," I'd whispered, reaching out to touch his face. "You came back."

Before he could respond, I'd leaned across the center console and kissed him. My hands had wandered to his chest, his shoulders, anywhere I could reach.

"Let's make love," I'd breathed against his lips.

He'd pulled back, studying my face with an intensity that should have sobered me instantly. Instead, I'd seen only what I'd wanted to see—desire, acceptance, maybe even affection.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he'd said quietly.

"I know exactly what I'm asking for," I'd insisted. "Please. I need... I need to feel something other than this pain."

He'd driven us to a luxury hotel—one of those places I'd only seen in magazines. The suite had been larger than the entire apartment I'd shared with Marco, all marble and silk and understated elegance.

He'd carried me to the bed and laid me down with surprising gentleness. But when I'd tried to undress him with clumsy, drunken fingers, he'd caught my wrists.

"You're not in control here," he'd said, his voice carrying an authority that made my breath catch. "If we do this, we do it my way."

I'd nodded eagerly, too lost in the moment to understand what I was agreeing to.

He'd produced silk ties from somewhere—expensive ones that felt like liquid against my skin as he'd bound my wrists to the headboard. When I'd protested, tried to pull away, he'd simply secured my ankles as well, leaving me spread and vulnerable beneath his dark gaze.

"I like training disobedient little girls," he'd murmured in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "Teaching them to be compliant."

The riding crop had appeared as if from nowhere, its leather surface cool as it traced from my collarbone down between my breasts. I'd felt myself growing wet, my body responding to his dominance in ways I'd never experienced before.

When he'd finally entered me, the pain had been immediate and shocking. I'd cried out, suddenly aware of just how large he was, how completely he filled me. His hand had closed around my throat, not enough to truly hurt but enough to make breathing difficult.

"Look at me," he'd commanded, his voice rough with control. "When you're with me, you look at me."

I'd obeyed, meeting his dark eyes even as tears streamed down my face. The combination of pain and pleasure, of fear and arousal, had been overwhelming. I'd never felt so completely owned by another person.

Even now, standing in this sterile hospital hallway, I could still feel the phantom pressure of his hands on my throat, still remember the way he'd made me beg for release even as I'd sobbed from the intensity of it all.

That was why I could never see Damian Cavalieri again. Not because I was afraid he'd hurt me—though he certainly could—but because I was afraid of how my body had responded to him. How I'd surrendered completely to his control and loved every terrifying second of it.

"I don't know him," I said firmly. "I just... I could tell from the way everyone reacted. The fear in their eyes when they talked about what happened to Valentina."

"I understand," Sofia said gently. "You're right to be scared. Men like that don't forgive or forget."

I nodded, grateful that she'd accepted my explanation. "I'll find another job. There are always places hiring for cleaning, waitressing..."

"Aria, be realistic. With your looks and no connections, the only places that will pay enough are—"

"I know." I cut her off before she could finish. "I know what my options are."

We stood in silence for a moment, watching through the window as nurses adjusted Jessica's IV lines. My little sister looked so small and fragile, so dependent on machines to keep her alive.

"I'll figure something out," I said finally. "I have to."

Later that evening, I returned to the Moon Bar to collect my belongings. The other girls watched me with a mixture of pity and relief—pity that I'd lost my job, relief that it hadn't been them.

"Should have kept your hands steady," Carla muttered as I packed my locker.

"Should have stayed away from the VIP room," another girl added.

I kept my head down, ignoring their comments. They weren't wrong—I had been clumsy, unprepared for this kind of work. But their mockery still stung.

As I walked home through the darkened streets, my phone buzzed with a news alert. I glanced at it absently, then stopped dead in my tracks.

MONTROSSO FAMILY TO HOST CHARITY GALA THIS SATURDAY

The article mentioned that they were hiring temporary staff for the event—maids, servers, coat check attendants. The pay was listed as three hundred euros for a single night's work.

Three hundred euros. Enough to cover almost a week of Jessica's treatment.

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding. The Montrosso family was the second most powerful crime family in Florence, rivals and occasional allies to the Cavalieris. Working for them would be just as dangerous as working at the Moon Bar—perhaps more so.

But Jessica needed that money. She needed it more than I needed safety.

I clicked on the application link before I could lose my nerve.

But I never thought I would encounter him again at the charity gala, and once again we had a chaotic relationship.