A sharp, laugh broke from her throat. She looked at him like he was the punchline of a very dark joke. "And you think I'm just going to accept this? That I'll play the doting wife and scatter rose petals at your feet just because you asked?"
"I highly doubt that." He began to pace behind her chair, circling her like a shark. "Let's be logical for a second. I'm wealthy, I'm easy on the eyes, I'm educated, and—"
"And a narcissistic prick," she cut in, her voice flat.
He paused for a heartbeat, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before he brushed it off. "As I was saying... I'm single. And here's the reality: I need a wife. A strong one. Given that my line of work is... complicated, shall we say?" He leaned over the back of her chair, his mouth close to her ear. "A foul-mouthed, sharp-tongued woman like you? You'd make a perfect partner in crime."
She stiffened, her eyes snapping toward his reflection in the mirror. "Did you just call me a foul-mouthed woman, you bastard?"
"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about," he said, his voice dropping into a low, appreciative hum. "I need a wife who can hold her own, someone who doesn't need me standing over her shoulder to get what she wants. A woman who takes what's hers and doesn't ask for permission."
Elena rolled her eyes, a sharp, dismissive scoff escaping her lips. "Oh, how touching. Truly. But what the hell does that have to do with me? There are a thousand 'strong women' out there, Luca. Why does it have to be me?"
He stepped behind her, his hands coming down to rest heavy and possessive on her shoulders. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispered, "Because you're just like me, sweetheart. You aren't any better than I am. A girl in her twenties with a rap sheet long enough to wrap around this building..."
She stiffened, her breath catching. "What?"
"I did my homework, don't look so surprised," he continued, his tone smooth as silk. "A girl that no sane man would dare approach. And then there's the grandmother... the poor old woman who's desperate to see you in a white dress before she kicks the bucket. She's terrified of leaving you all alone in this godforsaken world, isn't she?"
She swallowed hard, a cold spike of dread piercing her chest as he slid a photo onto the vanity. It was her grandmother. Elena snatched it from the table, her knuckles white as she crumpled the edges of the paper in a silent, trembling rage.
"By the way," he added, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, "I heard about the engagement. Such a shame he called off the wedding at the very last second. Must have hurt."
She whirled around, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated venom. "Don't you think you've gone a little too fucking far?"
"Poor thing," he murmured, his voice laced with a mock innocence that set her teeth on edge. "I'm just stating the facts. Why the long face? You can't outrun the truth forever, Elena. And I heard the news—the wedding falling through gave your grandmother a heart attack, didn't it? She's been struggling ever since. That poor, fragile old woman."
Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of the vanity, the mention of her failed wedding a jagged glass shard in her side. She forced her expression into one of cold, stony indifference. "What, are you trying to play the pity card now? Using my grandmother to pull at my heartstrings? Try a different angle, Luca. And where the hell are you getting all this shit from?"
"Pity?" He chuckled, a dark, low sound. "Like I said, I'm just reminding you of your reality. You need a man who can make that old woman happy before she goes—a man who accepts your past, your 'hobbies,' and that godawful personality of yours that no sane person could live with. And me? I need a wife who can tear my family apart from the inside. Don't you see? It's a fucking masterpiece of a deal. Plus, I'll happily bankroll those twisted little experiments of yours. Whatever freakish drug you're trying to cook up, the tab is on me."
She turned to face him fully, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. They were so close their noses were almost touching, her breath hot against his skin, but her eyes remained fixed on his with a sharp, lethal intensity.
"You sound more like a sleazy salesman pushing a defective product than a man proposing a marriage," she spat, her voice a low, dangerous silk. "You should quit the mafia and go into trade. With a pitch like that, I'm sure they'd hire a piece of shit like you in a heartbeat."
A playful, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest. "So, do we have a deal? It's not like your other options are overflowing with luxury, are they?"
She reached out, offering her hand with a sharp, confident smile that didn't quite reach her predatory eyes. "Actually, you had me at 'filthy rich.' So, Luca Vitali... we have ourselves a deal."
He laughed, clearly relishing her bluntness. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me. Treat yourself to whatever the hell you want, Madame Vitali. My money is yours now, sweetheart." He caught her hand, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles while his eyes remained locked onto hers with terrifying intensity. "I'll be back later. I've got some blood to spill."
She didn't offer a word in return, merely watching his back as he strode out of the suite with the effortless grace of a king.
The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, her expression flattened into something cold and lethal. She reached deep into the thick waves of her hair, pulling out a microscopic Bluetooth earpiece she'd kept hidden with surgical precision.
She tapped the button, the connection crackling to life instantly.
"Elena! Fuck, girl, are you okay? I lost your signal ages ago. Where the hell are you?" The female voice on the other end was frantic, borderline hysterical.
Elena leaned back in the velvet chair, twirling a lock of hair around her finger with a wicked, slow-burning smirk. "Relax, babe. I'm perfectly fine... but you wouldn't believe whose goddamn house I'm sitting in right now."