~ Niamh ~
"Oh, I should probably save your contact after this call." Massimo sighed, the tension clearly easing off him now that he knew who the caller was.
He paused, listening as the caller spoke, then replied, "Yes, they're with me." He handed me the phone. "It's your escort, Ronan."
Massive relief washed over me. I don't think I've ever been so eager to hear from someone in my twenty-eight years on earth.
Maybe he had found a way to keep my son and me safe without me having to marry a monster!
I grabbed the phone from Massimo's hand and took a few steps away from him, needing distance from his sexual magnetism and his scent that always seemed to cloud my judgment.
"Ronan! Where are you? Are you okay? God, it's good to finally hear from you!" I rushed.
"I'm fine, Niamh. I'm safe and you are too," Ronan's voice was calm, his familiar Irish accent soothing my nerves.
"But I'm not safe here! You have to get me and my son out of here," I told him, my voice hushed but desperate.
"Niamh, that's the safest place for you to be right now," Ronan said. "I did the best thing I could do to ensure you and your son's safety, and that was taking you two to his father."
"Here can never be the safest place for me," I interjected, my heart sinking. "Why didn't you even tell me? This isn't what we planned, Ronan."
"I couldn't because I knew you wouldn't agree, and there was no time to make you see reason," Ronan replied. "Look, Niamh, I have to go, but I want you to know that this is the best shot at keeping you and little Matteo alive."
"Best shot? You must be joking, right?" I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn't believe that Massimo was my best shot. "Can you imagine that they're proposing I should marry him if I want my son safe?"
"Look, Niamh, you have to go through with whatever they propose as long as it ensures that you and little Matteo are safe. I think the marriage proposal will be great if they pull it off perfectly, so you should go through with it," Ronan said.
"What?" My mouth hung open in total shock.
"Please, Niamh," he begged, his sigh heavy through the line. I knew he was exhausted from playing double agent for the past week. "You know you and Matteo have to be alive when your father wakes up from his coma, right?"
"I know," fresh tears filled my eyes at the mention of my father.
"Then go through with this, Niamh. I failed your father at El Paso five years ago, and I won't repeat that mistake. I want to make things right this time, so help me," he pleaded. "Please."
"Alright," I whispered reluctantly, the word feeling like a death sentence.
Ronan ended the call with a promise to keep in touch, and I broke down into tears, wondering why I had to live such a life.
But Ronan was right. I had to ensure that Matteo and I were there when my father opened his eyes.
I furiously wiped my tears when I realized Massimo was standing behind me and wheeled around to see his hand stretched out for his phone.
I handed it back, my fingers brushing his for a split second, sending a spark of unwanted heat through me.
"Is there no other way?" I asked, totally subdued by the fact that this nightmare marriage was the only solution.
"No, there isn't," he said coldly. "I can't afford to lose my son and have you turned into a sex slave by the Romanovs."
"Your son?" I scoffed, the memory of him taking my virginity and vanishing without a trace slicing my heart. "You seem to have forgotten that you never intended on taking things further with me. God, you're no different from the Romanovs!"
He assessed me coolly with those piercing dark eyes and then said with a note of finality, "He's my son, Niamh, and you'll have to become my wife."
With that, he turned away and walked out of the room, never once looking back.
He didn't even bother to hear my final decision.
But then, did he need to? It was obvious I had no other option now that Ronan had dashed my only hope.
I slumped onto one of the sofas and cried my heart out until Luis and Cecilia walked back in. I wiped my eyes and gave them my attention.
"Your room is ready, ma'am," Cecilia announced.
"I'll be using the same room as my son," I stated, rising to my feet.
"But there are enough rooms in the house, and one was specially prepared for you, ma'am," Cecilia protested, exchanging a look with Luis.
"I don't care about the rooms; I'm staying wherever my son stays," I said icily. "Now go prepare my bath for me in whatever room he is and let me know when you're done."
I was a mafia princess, and I knew how to handle servants. Especially when I was angry. And right now, I was furious.
Cecilia nodded shakily and hurried away. I turned my attention to Luis, who looked nervous all of a sudden.
"Your food is ready, ma'am," he said.
"I'm not hungry," I said. There was no way I could stomach anything with my world crashing down.
"But…"
"I believe I made myself clear." I cut him off with a stare that made him swallow his words and scurry away.
When Cecilia returned, I followed her through the mansion. The interior design took my breath away; we passed through wide corridors lined with gold-framed oil paintings of Italian landscapes and stern-faced Valentino ancestors. The floors were polished marble that echoed with every step of my heels, making the house feel like a beautiful, expensive prison.
She showed me the room, and I was instantly impressed. It was vast, decorated in soft creams and deep blues, with a plush king-sized bed and a balcony overlooking the grounds.
Matteo was already fast asleep on the bed, perfectly tucked under the thick, high-thread-count sheets.
I smiled, immensely relieved that he was safe.
I shifted the sheets to check if he'd been cleaned up, and he had, but his outfit made me chuckle.
Cecilia obviously couldn't find clothes his size, because he was wearing a ridiculously oversized black t-shirt that covered his toes, the sleeves reaching past his tiny wrists.
I covered him back up, still amused, but also wondering who the shirt belonged to. I desperately hoped it wasn't Massimo's.
I went to the bathroom, which was a masterpiece of white marble featuring a deep jacuzzi tub, and hurriedly took off my clothes and settled into it for a long, hot soak. The steam carried the scent of the expensive oils Cecilia had provided, helping to numb my mind.
Later, dressed in the silk nightwear provided, I settled into the bed and pulled Matteo close, wrapping a protective arm around his small frame. He stirred but didn't wake.
God, he looked so peaceful—a perfect mix of my features and the man I was now forced to marry—and I couldn't help but just stare at him.
I was determined to keep that peace intact, even if it meant going through with the marriage.
Massimo was right, and I hated to admit it. I had to sacrifice whatever feelings I had towards him if I truly loved my son and wanted him alive.
And I did. God knows that my life was invalid without him.
I desperately hoped I wouldn't regret my decision in the long run. Wait, scratch that—I was regretting my decision already.
How was I supposed to put up with Massimo—an infuriatingly sexy monster whom I happened to hate and crave in equal measure—for a lifetime?