Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 60

Damian’s POV

The gala was in full swing—Florence's elite mingling with carefully selected members of Italy's most powerful families, their conversations a delicate balance of social pleasantries and veiled business negotiations.

But where the hell was Aria?

I'd specifically instructed her to be my dance partner tonight, had watched her transformation from frightened girl to breathtaking woman in that white dress. The image of her amber eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance was burned into my memory from our encounter in the fitting room. She'd looked like an angel—albeit a terrified one—when I'd left her with the stylists.

She wouldn't dare disobey me. Not after what I told her about the consequences of violating our contract.

"Damian, darling!"

Adriana's voice cut through my thoughts like fingernails on glass. She materialized beside me with that practiced grace that had been drilled into her since childhood, resplendent in black silk that clung to her curves like liquid shadow.

"You look absolutely magnificent tonight," she purred, her fingers trailing possessively along my arm. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Surely you have time for one dance with an old friend?"

I stepped away from her touch, my eyes continuing to search the crowd. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh?" Her voice carried a dangerous edge beneath the sweetness. "Anyone I know?"

Before I could answer, Antonio approached with that warm smile that had always reminded me of my grandfather. Despite everything—the politics, the expectations, the pressure—I genuinely respected the man.

"Damian, my boy," he said, clasping my shoulder with paternal affection. "You seem distracted tonight. Everything alright?"

"Fine," I replied curtly, though my jaw was tightening with frustration. Where was she? I'd been explicit about my expectations.

Today was her twenty-first birthday.

The knowledge struck me like a physical blow. Twenty-one years old today, and instead of celebrating with friends, instead of marking this milestone with joy and freedom, she was trapped in our contract, forced to attend a gathering where she knew no one, wearing clothes bought with my money, playing a role I'd assigned her.

Christ. She's just a kid.

And I'd never even acknowledged it. Never asked about her birthday, never thought to make this night about anything other than my own control and her compliance. The mafia doesn't do subtle, doesn't hide in shadows when it comes to claiming what's ours. I should have made this her night—should have let her shine, made her the center of attention, given her the kind of celebration she deserved.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The thought slammed into me with uncomfortable force. I should be thinking about business, about securing the Montrosso alliance, about the dozens of strategic conversations I needed to have tonight. Instead, I was standing here obsessing over some girl's birthday.

Why did I keep thinking about the way she'd looked in that white dress?

She was just another transaction in a world full of them. Someone who'd taken my money and agreed to my terms because she had no other choice. Her feelings, her birthday, her desires—none of it should register as significant.She's a contract. A business arrangement. Nothing more.

But even as I told myself that, I could picture exactly how I would have done it—ordered the finest champagne, had the chef prepare something special, made sure every person in that ballroom knew they were witnessing something important. Twenty-one was a milestone. It deserved acknowledgment, celebration, recognition.

Instead, she'd disappeared.

"Lorenzo," I called sharply to my bodyguard, who materialized instantly at my side. "Find her. Now."

"Sir?"

"Aria Rossi. She should be here, but I don't see her anywhere. Check every room, every corridor, every goddamn closet if you have to."

Lorenzo nodded.

"Damian," Adriana interjected, her voice taking on a petulant edge. "You're being terribly rude. I asked you for a dance."

I turned to her with barely contained irritation. "Not now, Adriana."

Her perfectly composed mask slipped for just a moment, revealing something sharp and vindictive underneath. "I don't understand your fascination with the help. Surely someone of your position should be more... selective about the company you keep."

"Careful," I warned, my voice dropping to the tone that made smart people back away. "You're walking on dangerous ground."

But Adriana had never been particularly smart when it came to reading warning signs. She moved closer, pressing herself against my arm with calculated intimacy.

"Damian, we've known each other since we were children. Our families have been planning this alliance for years. Why are you wasting time on some nobody when you could have everything you've ever wanted right here?"

Everything I've ever wanted. The irony would have been amusing if it weren't so infuriating. Adriana represented everything I was supposed to want—beauty, connections, a perfect merger of power and bloodlines. She was the logical choice, the strategic match that would strengthen both our families.

So why did the thought of binding myself to her make my skin crawl?

"What exactly do you think I want?" I asked, genuinely curious to hear her answer.

"Power. Respect. A wife who understands this world, who can stand beside you at events like this without embarrassing you." Her fingers traced patterns on my chest through the expensive fabric of my tuxedo. "Someone who won't flinch when business requires... difficult decisions."

The calculating coldness in her voice crystallized something I'd been trying to ignore. This was exactly what my father had done—married for strategic advantage, treated his wife like a business asset until she'd withered away from loneliness and neglect. I'd watched my mother fade, watched her become a ghost in her own home while he pursued younger, more exciting companions.

I'd sworn I would never become him.

"Damian," Adriana said, her voice taking on a more serious tone as she studied my face. "I have to ask... what exactly is your relationship with that girl? Aria Rossi?"

I kept my expression neutral, but something cold settled in my chest at the way she said Aria's name. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you've been distracted all evening, scanning the crowd like you're looking for someone specific. And I saw how you watched her earlier." Her eyes narrowed with calculating interest."She's more than just a servant to you, isn't she?"

"My business relationships are exactly that—business," I replied .

"Business?"

Before she could pursue the matter further, Lorenzo appeared at my elbow. "Sir," he said quietly, leaning close so only I could hear. "We need to talk. Privately."

"What is it?" I demanded.

Lorenzo's jaw was tight as he met my eyes. "Sir, we found evidence of a struggle in the service corridor behind the ballroom. Broken jewelry, signs that someone was dragged. And this."

He held out a small, white flower—a jasmine blossom from the arrangements adorning the gala. But this one was crushed, its petals stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood.