Sophie's POV
The silence in the hotel suite was thick. Damien Santiago stood before me, his presence an almost physical force, his grey eyes unwavering.
"Before I tell you what I need protection from," I began, my voice clear and steady, "I need you to understand something. I'm not just some woman you picked up at a gala. I'm a woman who has already died once."
His expression remained impassive, but I saw a flicker in his eyes. "Elaborate."
"My name is Sophie Callahan," I stated. "And if you've been paying attention to the news, you'll know that Sophie Callahan died in a tragic car accident a few weeks ago. Her body was never recovered, but her death was confirmed, and her ashes were given to her family."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "So, the rumors of your demise were greatly exaggerated. And you staged it yourself. Impressive."
"Necessity is the mother of invention," I said, a dry retort.
"I killed Don Lorenzo Romano. In self-defense, but the world won't see it that way. My father, Nathan Callahan, was arranging my marriage to him for a business deal. I refused to be a pawn. Things got... messy."
He listened, his gaze never leaving mine.
"So, you killed a Don, faked your death, and now you want the protection of another Don. A rather bold strategy, Sophie Callahan."
"I don't do things by halves," I countered, meeting his intense stare.
"I need immunity from the Romano family's retaliation, from any other syndicates who might want answers, and frankly, from the FBI. You, Damien Santiago, are the only man who can offer that kind of comprehensive protection. In exchange, I offer you a wife. A convincing one. For two years. No money changes hands. Just a mutual exchange of services."
He leaned back, assessing me, a flicker of something almost like respect in his eyes.
"You're not just smart, you're fearless. I like that. Very well. I accept your terms. Protection and a fake happy relationship, for two years, in exchange for being my contract wife. But know this, Sophie: once you're under my roof, you're mine. No going back. No second thoughts."
"I understand the terms," I replied, a shiver running down my spine. "When do we start?"
He pulled out his phone, making a quick, terse call. Within minutes, a small team arrived, including Marco, who gave me a suspicious, wary look. Legal documents were drawn up, meticulously outlining every clause of our arrangement: the duration, the public appearances, the lack of intimacy, the mutual benefits. I read through every word, ensuring there were no hidden traps.
We both signed, the ink a stark black against the crisp white paper. Two copies. My fate was sealed. I was no longer Sophie Callahan, the dead woman. I was Sophie Santiago, the contract wife of the most powerful Don in Italy.
"You'll move into my home tonight," Damien informed me, his voice now back to its usual controlled tone. "My current residence. You'll meet my family soon enough, but for now, we establish your presence there."
Moving into his house felt unreal. It wasn't just a house; it was a fortress, a sprawling palazzo. It was huge. I tried to act normal, to project an air of belonging, even though every fiber of my being screamed that I was an imposter.
Just as I was starting to settle into my designated wing, my burner phone rang. Aaron. My stomach clenched. I knew this conversation wouldn't be easy.
I answered, my voice carefully neutral. "Aaron."
"Sophie! Are you alright? Where are you? I've been worried sick. I heard about the Santiago gala, I knew you'd be there. Please tell me you're safe." His voice was a mix of frantic worry and barely controlled anger.
I took a deep breath. "I'm safe, Aaron. I made a deal. I'm married."
Silence. A stunned, disbelieving silence. Then, his voice, low and dangerous.
"Married? What the hell are you talking about? Sophie, you're supposed to be dead! We had a plan! We were going to get married!"
"I know, Aaron. But things changed. I needed more than just to disappear. I needed protection. Real protection. And Damien Santiago offered it. It's a contract marriage. Two years. In exchange for immunity."
"A contract marriage?" he exploded, his voice rising, fury barely contained.
"You married a Santiago? The heir to the Santiago empire? The man I've been trying to put away for years? Are you insane, Sophie? Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I know exactly what I've done," I said, my voice hardening.
"I secured my survival. You couldn't offer me that, Aaron. You're an FBI agent. You're bound by rules. The mafia doesn't play by rules. This is the only way I can stay alive, stay out of prison, and stay out of the crosshairs of every crime family in Italy."
"I was going to come back for you!" he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.
"We had a future! You just threw it all away for a devil's bargain!"
"I didn't throw it away, Aaron. I bought myself time. Time to figure things out. Time to survive. And you can't stop me. You have orders, rules, and a job. This is beyond your jurisdiction now."
The line went silent again, heavy with his unspoken rage and betrayal. The conversation ended abruptly, with a click that sounded like the severing of a lifeline. I placed the phone on the bedside table, feeling a profound sense of isolation.
A few days later, just as I was beginning to adjust to the unsettling rhythm of life in the Santiago palazzo, Damien burst into my room, his face taut with a controlled fury I hadn't seen before. He held up his phone, displaying a picture of me, my face unmistakable despite the subtle alterations I'd made. Then, he flicked on the large flat-screen television on the far wall.
The news anchor's voice, grave and authoritative, filled the room.
"Breaking news tonight: sources close to the Romano family reveal shocking details regarding the supposed death of Sophie Callahan, daughter of Nathan Callahan, who was reported deceased weeks ago. Our investigation has uncovered evidence suggesting that Sophie Callahan is, in fact, alive. We repeat, Sophie Callahan is not dead."
My blood ran cold. The screen showed a recent photo of me. My fake death, the elaborate charade, the carefully constructed anonymity it was all useless. I wasn't just alive; I was exposed. My carefully built illusion had shattered, and the world was about to come crashing down.