Chapter 2 - The Billionaire's Proposition
The back of the Rolls-Royce Phantom was as silent as a tomb, insulated entirely from the chaotic, freezing Chicago night. I sat pressed against the buttery leather door, my hands folded tightly in my lap, trying to process the sheer velocity at which my life had just derailed. Less than an hour ago, I was a struggling pediatric nurse crying over a slice of dry wedding cake. Now, I was hurtling through downtown Chicago with a ruthless mafia-adjacent billionaire who had just publicly claimed me as his wife.
Giovanni poured two glasses of sparkling water from the car’s built-in console, offering one to me. "Drink. You look pale."
"I look like a woman who is being kidnapped," I shot back, though I took the glass. The water was crisp and freezing. "Giovanni, you cannot be serious about this. Your aunt will look up the public records. She'll know we aren't married."
"Which is why my lawyers are currently drafting the paperwork, and a private judge is waiting at my penthouse to sign the license," he replied, completely unbothered, checking a message on his matte-black smartphone. "By midnight, the marriage will be ironclad."
"No!" I said, my voice rising in panic. "I am not marrying a stranger! I have a five-year-old daughter, Giovanni! I have twelve-hour shifts at the hospital! I can't play games with high society to get you out of a bad date!"
Giovanni locked his phone and turned to face me. The ambient streetlights flashing through the tinted windows illuminated the sharp, predatory angles of his face. "This isn't a game, Jessica. Isabella’s family runs a rival shipping conglomerate. If I marry her, her father gains a board seat in my company, effectively staging a hostile takeover from the inside. My traditional Sicilian aunt believes a Fierro man must be married to take the mantle of CEO officially. I needed a wife immediately to block the merger. You needed an ally."
"An ally doesn't demand marriage," I argued, though my defenses were weakening under the sheer weight of his presence.
"Tyler left you three days after you told him you were pregnant," Giovanni stated, his voice devoid of judgment, presenting it only as a fact. "You work double shifts. You live in a one-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood that isn't safe for a child. You buy your shoes at thrift stores and skip meals so your daughter can have new coats. I know this because I had my security detail pull a preliminary background check on you while we were dancing."
I gasped, feeling incredibly violated, yet strangely seen. "You had me investigated in three minutes?"
"I am thorough," he said simply. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded legal document, resting it on the center console. "This is a contract. We remain married for two years. You and Lily will move into my penthouse. You will be completely protected by my security. You will have unlimited access to my accounts. You can quit your grueling shifts, or work them because you want to, not because you are starving. When the two years are up, we divorce amicably, and you walk away with ten million dollars deposited into a trust for Lily."
My brain short-circuited. "Ten million dollars?"
"It is a fraction of what Isabella’s family would steal from me," he reasoned, his amber eyes softening as he looked at my worn, tired hands. "I saw the way your ex-husband looked at you tonight. I saw him belittle you. Marry me, Jessica, and I swear to you, Tyler Brooks will never look down on you again. And Lily will never want for anything in her entire life."
The car glided to a smooth halt outside my dingy apartment building in Pilsen. The contrast between the half-million-dollar vehicle and the graffiti-covered brick building was jarring.
"I have to check on Lily," I whispered, my mind reeling.
"I will come with you," he said, already opening the door.
My best friend, Sarah, was asleep on the lumpy couch when we walked in. Lily was curled up in my tiny bed, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit. I walked over, brushing the dark curls from my daughter's forehead, a fierce, overwhelming wave of love and desperation hitting my chest. I was so tired of struggling. I was so tired of Tyler’s child support checks bouncing.
Giovanni stood in the doorway of the bedroom, his massive frame taking up almost the entire space. He looked at Lily, and the cold, ruthless billionaire melted away. A profound, quiet respect settled over his features.
"She is beautiful," he whispered.
I looked at my daughter, then at the man offering to change our stars. I took a deep breath, walked out of the bedroom, and picked up the pen resting beside the contract on my cheap laminate kitchen counter.
May you like
"Two years," I said, my hand trembling as I signed my name on the dotted line.
Giovanni took the pen from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine, sending that same dangerous jolt of electricity straight to my heart. "Two years, Mrs. Fierro. Pack a bag. We are going home."
