Dante's POV
I stood in City Hall wearing my best suit, waiting for my fake bride. Julian held the marriage license, looking amused.
"You're actually going through with this," he said.
"I always follow through."
"Most people take longer than a week to get married."
I checked my watch. 1:45 PM. Isla was late. "Most people aren't me."
"What if she doesn't show?"
"She'll show. She wants revenge more than safety." I straightened my tie. "People like us—people who've been betrayed—we don't back down."
Julian studied me. "You actually like her."
"I respect her. There's a difference."
Before he could argue, the doors opened. Isla walked in, and I forgot how to breathe.
She wore a simple cream dress—elegant, her honey-blonde hair in soft waves. She'd done her makeup perfectly, emphasizing those emerald eyes. She looked nothing like the broken girl from the bar. She looked like someone worth fighting for.
Dangerous, because this was business. Nothing more.
"Sorry I'm late," Isla said breathlessly. "Traffic."
"You're here. That's what matters." I offered my arm. "Ready to become Mrs. Salvatore?"
She hesitated, then took it. "Ready as I'll ever be."
The ceremony was quick, efficient, cold. A tired judge read vows in monotone. We repeated words like a grocery list.
"Do you, Dante Salvatore, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do."
"Do you, Isla Monroe, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do." Barely a whisper.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
I turned to Isla. Her eyes were wide, nervous.
"We should make it look real," I murmured. "For the photographers outside."
"There are photographers?"
"I may have tipped off a few journalists." I cupped her face gently. "Follow my lead."
I kissed her.
It was supposed to be quick. Professional. For show.
But the moment my lips touched hers, something shifted. She tasted like mint and fear and determination. Her hands gripped my jacket like I was solid ground.
I deepened the kiss before I could stop myself.
When we pulled apart, Isla's cheeks were flushed. My heart beat too fast.
"That was..." she started.
"For the cameras," I said quickly. "Good performance."
"Right. Performance." She wouldn't meet my eyes.
Julian cleared his throat. "Congratulations. If you'll just sign here..."
We signed the certificate. My handwriting, then hers. Making it official. Legal. Real, even though nothing about it was real.
Outside City Hall, twenty photographers waited. Cameras exploded with flashes.
"Mr. Salvatore! Over here!"
"How does it feel to be married?"
"Is this revenge against Marcus Wellington?"
I pulled Isla close. "My wife and I are very happy. We appreciate your interest, but we'd like privacy."
"How long have you been together?"
Isla tensed. We hadn't discussed this.
"Long enough to know she's the one," I said smoothly. "When you know, you know."
"Isla, any comment on your ex-fiancé's reaction?"
Her grip on my hand tightened. I felt her fear.
Then something changed. Her spine straightened. Her chin lifted.
"I don't think about my ex-fiancé," she said clearly. "I'm too busy being happy with my husband."
The cameras went wild.
I guided her to the car. The moment the door closed, Isla let out a shaky breath.
"I can't believe I just did that."
"You were perfect." I meant it.
"I was terrified."
"Couldn't tell. You looked like you owned the world."
She laughed, slightly hysterical. "I'm married. To you. This is insane."
"Technically insane. Strategically brilliant." I pulled out my phone. "We're already trending. Two million tweets."
Isla leaned over. Her shoulder pressed against mine. She smelled like jasmine.
Focus, Dante.
"Look at this one," I showed her a tweet. "'Dante Salvatore just married Isla Monroe and I'm LIVING for this revenge arc.'"
"They think I married you for revenge."
"You did. Among other reasons."
"The money," she said quietly. "Ten million dollars."
"Plus watching your enemies fall." I handed her a folder. "Julian finished investigating your stepfather's finances."
Her face went pale. "This can't be real."
"Leonard Monroe has been embezzling from your trust fund for eight years. 2.3 million dollars."
"That's my mother's money."
"And we're going to get every penny back." I pointed to another document. "Plus, he's been laundering money through his art gallery. The IRS is very interested."
"He's going to prison?"
"If we play this right, yes. Patricia too."
"And Victoria?"
"Victoria's crimes are social, not legal. But we have plans." I showed her a compiled video. "Those emails Alessa found? We're releasing them tomorrow. Every news outlet will run the story."
The video showed Victoria's emails—weeks of planning Marcus's seduction. Deliberate, calculated cruelty.
"The world will see exactly who she is," I said. "Not the perfect golden child. A manipulative snake."
Isla's eyes filled with tears. "Why are you doing all this?"
"I told you. I need a wife."
"That doesn't explain everything."
I was quiet, watching Manhattan stream past.
"My father had two sons," I finally said. "Me, the bastard. And my half-brother, the legitimate heir. Guess which one got everything?"
Isla turned to face me.
"When my father died, he left his fortune to my brother. Everything. I got nothing because I was the shameful secret. Not worthy of the family name."
"Dante..."
"I built my own empire from nothing. Became richer than my father ever was. More powerful." I met her eyes. "But I never forgot what it felt like to be dismissed. So when I see someone else being crushed by people who should protect them, I understand."
"This isn't just business."
"No," I admitted. "It's personal. Your stepfamily reminds me of my father. I want to destroy them because they deserve it. And because I know how sweet that revenge will taste."
Isla did something unexpected.
She hugged me.
A genuine, desperate hug. Like she'd been holding herself together and finally found someone who understood.
I stiffened. I didn't do comfort. Didn't do emotions.
But slowly, I hugged her back.
"We're going to make them pay," I said. "All of them. Together."
"Together," she whispered. "I like that."
The car stopped at the penthouse.
"Mrs. Salvatore," I said, offering my hand.
She took it, smiling. "That's going to take getting used to."
We rode the elevator in comfortable silence. When the doors opened, Isla paused.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just realized—for the first time in years, I don't feel powerless."
"You can fight back." I loosened my tie. "Starting tomorrow, we go to war."
"What's tomorrow?"
"Press conference. We announce our marriage officially."
"More cameras."
"More chances to show the world you're not a victim." I poured scotch, handed her a glass. "Think you can handle it?"
Isla raised it. "To revenge?"
I clinked my glass against hers. "To revenge. And to their end."
We drank.
Somewhere across Manhattan, Marcus and Victoria were panicking. Leonard and Patricia were scrambling.
But they were too late.
The game had started.
And Dante Salvatore never lost.