“Father, why are we here?” I ask for what feels like the millionth time. I’m sitting in a large banquet hall, up on a raised dais with my father and brother. Looking out over the hall, there has to be at least 300 people here. Bigger than some of my friends’ weddings. And on the other side of my father, sharing a table with us is Don Rafel Luciano, the head of the Italian mafia in this part of the city. My family has a well off, though somewhat small publishing house here in New York, Rothschild's Reads. The business was started by my great grandfather when he came to America as a young man. It was a point of personal pride that my family did not allow the Italian mafia to get its fingers into our business ever during our history. So why the hell are we sitting here at a banquet hall and sharing the stage with them? “I told you, Quinn. We’re doing what is best for the company and for the family. This is about a merger,” Father snaps at me. He’s been like that a lot lately

A week?! It feels like all of the air has been knocked out of my lungs. Had I not been sitting, I think I would likely have fallen down. It sounds like the words of the conversation around me are being spoken through water and it takes me several seconds to process them. “A w-w-week,” my brother sputters. “Why so soon?” “We will have all of the technology, domains, and legalities taken care of by then. Then we can start rolling out the second phase of the project, which is where Rothschild's Reads will come into play. We will need your help with identifying and signing authors, as well as editing services for those that we do sign and all of the copyrighting that goes with it,” Don Luciano answers my brother, his tone clipped. “I should think that you would want to get some cash flow into your company as soon as possible.” Through it all, my father just stands there. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at the floor and waits for the conversation to be over. There’s a knoc

I’m livid. In what world would any self respecting woman be willing to follow this contract? I can’t even look at my fucking “fiancé ” while all of this is going on, or my father or brother. My eyes are solely on Don Luciano in front of me. I know that my face is stony, my eyes flashing with anger. The pinched expression on Emilia’s face lets me know exactly what she thinks about his contract as well. Still, she doesn’t say anything to help me. Stefan starts to speak up. “I don’t think that you can truly expect my sister to - “ “I would like to speak with Don Luciano, my father, and my fiancé alone, please,” I say, interrupting him. “Quinn - “ Father starts, but the Don is the one who interrupts him. “Go,” he says to everyone else. Immediately, the lawyers stand and walk out of the room. Emilia stands as well, that pinched expression on her face until she turns to my brother. “Come, Mr. Rothschild. Won’t you allow me to show you the library. I’ve heard that you love r

I’m standing in Kleinfeld’s Bridal Salon, Don Luciano having rented out the whole place. It’s just me, Grayson, and Emily, my best friend. My wedding party is full of members of the Luciano family, their only concessions to our family being my brother on Dante’s side and Emily being my maid-of-honor. And each and every Luciano wanted to come to today’s appointment, none more than Dante’s mother, Emila, and his sister, Bianca. I don’t know how Grayson did it, but he managed to have their dress fittings happen at the same time as my appointment, playing it off as a scheduling error. With so little time between now and the wedding, there was nothing that could be done. Oh no, I’m so upset… Emila was rather upset, but I just reminded her that she would be seeing me in the dress in less than a week, so it isn’t really that big of a deal. It’s not like this will be like a real marriage, right? The one thing that the Lucianos did require was that I have a guard follow me around ev

Emilio drives us to Warren Tricomi, one of the best hair salons in the city. On our wedding day, they will be sending several hair stylists, makeup artists, and manicurists to take care of us onsite and all of the women will be having their own consultations. But with my schedule at work and in preparation for this shitshow, I mean my wedding day, I have to do this appointment on my own. Poor Em is going to be doing it with the Lucianos tomorrow. I do not envy her. The entire ride to the salon, I stare out the window. It’s only a three mile rip, but in true New York fashion, it takes about 20 minutes. I manage to finish the whiskey that Dante gave me. He takes the glass from me. “Do you want another?” I just shake my head, keeping my gaze facing the window. I’m not seeing anything that we pass by, my mind speeding through the information that I’ve learned. When Don Luciano claimed me as his son’s fiancee, people saw me as a weakness. Death threats were sent to my famil