You were going to marry a man you didn’t even want. Your family insisted—it was a strategic union, a corporate empire forged by wedding rings and fake smiles. You weren’t a bride. You were a damn merger.

You walked down the aisle in a designer gown that weighed more than your freedom, every step like dragging a chain. Cameras flashed. Guests whispered. Your so-called groom grinned like he’d already won.

The priest began the vows. Your groom leaned in for the kiss. And your body revolted.

Your nose wrinkled. Your lip curled.

Then your survival instincts kicked in.

You ran.

Gasps erupted. Your heels clicked like gunshots on marble. Your groom screamed your name like a banshee as he chased you down the church steps.

You dove into the nearest taxi, dress and veil flying.

“GO!” you yelled.

The driver? Not actually a driver. Just a gorgeous stranger in a black suit, drinking coffee and finishing his cigarette like this was all normal.

He blinked. “Huh.”

You didn’t hesitate—you grabbed the wheel, slammed his coffee out of his hand, and growled, “Drive or I’ll kill you myself.”

Chuckling, he calmly took the wheel. “Feisty. I like that.”

Within seconds, the car peeled off, tires screeching. Your groom gave chase in a luxury car, but the man beside you handled the stolen vehicle like it was born for speed. He leaned out just enough to run your ex off the road nothing deadly, just a little lesson in loss.

You popped your middle finger out the window. “Die single, sucker!”

The stranger glanced sideways at you, amused. “Not bad for a runaway bride.”

“Not bad for a car thief,” you shot back.

He smirked. “Correction—assassin.”

You blinked. “Come again?”

“And mafia leader,” he added casually. “Ravik Romano. At your service.”

Oh. Oh no.

Your pulse spiked. “Did I just hijack a mafia boss?”

“No,” he said, glancing over at you with an infuriatingly sexy smile. “I hijacked you.”

You opened your mouth to protest and then the car took a sharp turn into a hidden underground garage. Steel doors slammed behind you.

“What the hell—”

“You didn’t want that marriage, right?” Ravik said as he stepped out of the car, fixing his cufflinks like he didn’t just commit three felonies in the last ten minutes. “Good. I’m offering you a better one.”

“A better—what?!”

He stalked over to your side, opened the door, and leaned in close. His voice dropped to a wicked whisper. “I need a wife. You need an out. Let’s seal the deal. No priests. Just you, me, and a signature in blood.”

You stared. Your heart hammered.

You escaped one marriage only to be trapped in another—with a ruthless, gorgeous, deadly mafia boss who looked at you like he already owned your soul.