Chapter 2

Lorenzo

The glass door swings open with a soft chime, and I step into the office Miss. May wanted me to meet her at.

The air inside is cool and smells faintly of vanilla, a stark contrast to the bustling chaos of New York just outside.

I move quickly across the plush carpet, my polished shoes sinking slightly as I approach her mahogany desk.

"Mr. DiGiovanni," she greets me, standing up and extending a perfectly manicured hand.

Her voice is smooth, almost soothing, but I don't have time for pleasantries.

"Miss May, I need a wife," I state flatly, as I take a seat in the plush leather chair opposite her.

"Mr. DiGiovanni, I assure you, we have exactly what you're looking for," she says, her voice smooth and professional. She opens a sleek tablet and taps a few times. "Why don't you tell me what qualities you seek in a spouse?"

"Someone who can hold her own, looks the part, and has a family background that will satisfy certain... expectations." My words come out clipped, but Miss May nods in understanding.

"Very well," she murmurs, swiping through profiles.

The first image appears—a raven-haired beauty with piercing blue eyes.

"Maria," Miss May indicates, "Harvard graduate, speaks five languages, impeccable pedigree."

"Decent," I mutter, not entirely convinced.

She swipes again, revealing another woman—this one a statuesque blonde with a dazzling smile.

"Elena," Miss May continues, "Philanthropist, excellent public speaker, comes from old money."

"Not bad," I concede, leaning forward slightly.

But then Miss May slides to the next photo, and my breath catches in my throat.

Anastasia Hawthorne.

"Her family are British billionaires," Miss May starts, but I cut her off.

"Royal blood," I say, staring at the familiar face on the screen. "Her father is William Hawthorne, second cousin to the King of England."

"Correct," Miss May affirms, eyebrows raised, clearly impressed by my knowledge. "She's a rare gem and one of my newest girls. Now, I will be blunt with you. She didn't give me that information. I did a background check on her and discovered this information, so, I feel obligated to notify you about that."

Hmm . . . is Anastasia running from something?

I nod, appreciating her honesty. "Isn't her father the Duke of Kent?" I ask, trying to recall the finer details.

"That sounds right," Miss May replies, but her voice fades into the background.

My mind is already racing ahead.

Anastasia Hawthorne could be the key to placating the elders within the mafia, and securing my family's future.

Her lineage alone would elevate our status to untouchable levels.

Levels no other mafia family could reach.

"Tell me more about her," I command, my eyes locked on the screen.

"Of course," Miss May says, her fingers deftly navigating the tablet.

As the information unfolds before me, one thing becomes clear—Anastasia Hawthorne is perfect.

My fingers drum against the table as I stare at Anastasia Hawthorne's photo.

Still, I can't help but wonder why someone like her would be on a service like this?

A woman with royal blood and billions in her family's coffers shouldn't need to resort to being a "wife for hire."

The thought nags at me, making it hard to focus on Miss May's voice.

"She's been living in New York for over a year," Miss May says, oblivious to my internal turmoil. "It seems she prefers a more independent lifestyle."

"Independent?" I mutter under my breath, still perplexed.

There's got to be more to this story.

"Is there any reason given for why she's on here?" I ask, trying to mask my curiosity with a veneer of casual interest.

"She was very hush hush about her reasoning," Miss May replies, scrolling through the details. "She didn't tell me anything specific, but I believe she's trying to get some space between her and her family. A fresh start."

A fresh start.

That could mean anything—or everything.

My mind races through possibilities, each one more intriguing than the last.

Whatever her reasons, I need to know them. More importantly, I need her.

"All right," I say, leaning back in my chair and meeting Miss May's eyes. "Set it up. I want her to be my wife."

"Are you sure?" she asks, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Yes," I say firmly. "She's everything I'm looking for."

"Very well," Miss May replies, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You won't be disappointed."

But one thing is certain: I have to meet Anastasia Hawthorne.

Only then will I get the answers I'm looking for.

As she notes down my decision, I can't help but think about the implications.

Anastasia Hawthorne—her name alone carries weight.

The bloodline coursing through her veins isn't just royal—it's practically legendary.

It has the power to elevate our family to untouchable heights, cementing alliances that would otherwise be impossible.

The room is dimly lit, casting shadows on Miss May's face as she continues to type away on her sleek computer.

I watch her fingers dance over the keys, sealing my fate with each stroke.

She finally looks up at me, her eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and approval. "I'll make the necessary arrangements."

"Good," I reply, standing up and straightening my suit jacket, my mind already racing ahead to the next steps.

This marriage won't just be a union; it will be an empire-building strategy.

I take one last look at the photo of Anastasia on the screen.

Her eyes, deep and enigmatic, seem to be hiding secrets that I am now determined to uncover.

Whatever her reasons for being here, they pale in comparison to what we can achieve together.

"Thank you, Miss May. I will have my banker wire over your fee by the end of the day." I say, turning to leave.

Her smile lingers in my peripheral vision as I step out into the bustling streets of New York, my mind laser-focused on the path ahead.

This is more than just a marriage of convenience.

It's a calculated move in a game where power is the ultimate prize.

And with Anastasia by my side, I'm certain we'll be unstoppable.

Not to mention, the elders and other families can't tell me I've made a bad choice.

I've picked a bride whose name carries more weight than my own.

I stride out of the office, the clacking of my dress shoes echoing through the corridor.

The bright lights of New York greet me as I step onto the sidewalk, a symphony of car horns and distant conversations filling the air.

The black town car is waiting at the curb, engine purring like a contented beast.

I slide into the back seat, the leather cool against my skin. "To The Velvet Room," I instruct the driver.

He nods, merging into the traffic with practiced ease.

As the city blurs past, I pull out my phone, scrolling through emails and messages, but my thoughts keep circling back to Anastasia Hawthorne.

What secrets lie behind those aristocratic eyes?

And how did she end up in a Wife for Hire agency? That question alone is enough to drive me crazy.

The car pulls up to The Velvet Room, an opulent whiskey and cigar bar known for its discretion.

I step out, adjusting my suit jacket, and make my way inside.

The familiar scent of aged whiskey and rich tobacco envelops me, a comforting reminder of countless meetings and deals sealed within these walls.

"Lore, over here!" Luigi"s voice cuts through the ambient murmur of the bar.

He's seated in a corner booth, his expression serious but welcoming.

I approach, sliding into the plush leather seat across from him.

"Lu," I acknowledge, calling my brother by his nickname.

I signal the waiter for our usual—a bottle of Lagavulin and two glasses.

The two of us come to New York once a month, and given the fact we're high-dollar members at this club, we're well known.

The waiter nods and disappears into the dimly lit interior.

"How did it go?" Luigi asks, leaning forward, curiosity etched on his face.

His eyes search mine, looking for any hint of hesitation or doubt.

He knows all too well of the stressors, about everyone trying to pin a wife on me, including our own mother.

"Smoothly," I reply, my voice steady. "Everything is set in motion."

"I'm glad to hear it," he says, exhaling a breath he didn"t realize he was holding. "Everyone will be happy to hear the eldest DiGiovanni son will be off the market soon enough. Next up, they will be pressuring you to have children."

The waiter comes back with two glasses and pours our drinks before walking off once more.

I grumble, "Yeah, I know." my fingers tracing the rim of the empty glass before me.

The ghosts of our parents" volatile marriage flicker in my mind, a stark reminder of what I'm risking.

I don't want the type of marriage they have, and it's why I've never wanted to get married.

But for the famiglia, for the power we need to maintain, it's a risk I have to take.

I lift my glass, meeting Luigi"s gaze. "To the future," I toast, the amber liquid catching the light.

"To the future," Luigi echoes, clinking his glass against mine.

We drink, the warmth of the whiskey spreading through my chest, solidifying the decision I've made today.

This is more than just a marriage—it's a strategic alliance.

And with everything at stake, failure isn't an option.

"Who's the lucky lady?" Luigi asks, curiosity piqued.

"Anastasia Hawthorne," I reveal, watching his eyes widen slightly.

Luigi cocks his brow, "Is that a coincidence, or are we talking about the Anastasia Hawthorne?"

Licking my lips, I smirk. "The one and only."

"Royal blood? That's . . .ambitious," he chuckles, shaking his head. "You really don't do things halfway, do you? I'm surprised you're getting married in the first place, that you're even caving in."

"Never have, never will," I smirk, leaning back in my chair.

Anastasia Hawthorne—my wife to be.

"Listen, Luigi," I begin, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "If it wasn't for all this pressure, and the threat of the mafia being taken from me, I wouldn't even be considering marriage."

"Really?" Luigi asks, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you might've been ready to settle down."

"Settle down?" I scoff, leaning forward as I light one of the cigars on the table.

The cigar smoke curls between us, forming a hazy curtain. "You know better than anyone that our parents" marriage was a nightmare. Our mother was a saint, always giving, always trying to fix things. But our father—" I pause, feeling the old anger rise up like bile. "He was a cruel bastard who deserved to die."

I think about what he did to my sister Caprice more often than not.

He used her as a ‘bonus' for his business dealings, letting any powerful man use and abuse her as they saw fit.

There came a time when she was pregnant and as soon as the baby was born it was ripped from her arms and given to the birth father.

Only, years later the father died and my niece was adopted by a lovely couple.

No one knew my sister was her mother, and until last year none of us had any idea what happened to her.

"True," Luigi concedes, nodding slowly. He taps his cigar into the ashtray, eyes never leaving mine. "But what makes you think your marriage to Anastasia will be any different? It could be the same, you know."

"First off, I'm not our father . . . and I believe she's not like anything I'm used to," I say firmly, though doubt flickers at the edge of my thoughts. "This isn't about love or family. This is about power and survival. The elders want stability, a show of strength. Anastasia Hawthorne's bloodline gives us that."

"Fair point," Luigi says, taking another sip of his whiskey. "But just remember, Lore, power comes with its own set of complications."

"Believe me, I've grown to know it over these past few years." I reply, setting my glass down with a definitive thud. "But it's a risk I will gladly take."

"Then here's to calculated risks," Luigi says, lifting his glass once more.

"To calculated risks," I echo, clinking my glass against his.

As the warmth of the whiskey spreads through me, I can't shake the feeling that I'm stepping into a game far more complex than I ever imagined. But I've come too far to turn back now.

Anastasia Hawthorne is the ace in my hand, and as soon as I marry her, I've won the game.