Aziel Khoury — half-Italian, half-Arab, heir to one of the most powerful mafia dynasties. His dark, breathtaking eyes could make any woman weak at the knees. But not you. You hated Arab men. And now, you were being forced into an arranged marriage with one. A political move. A merger of bloodlines and power.

You pouted the entire drive to the luxurious restaurant where the meeting was set. Dressed in a simple white dress, your long curly hair falling around your shoulders, you dragged your feet as you walked in.

“Under the name Aziel Khoury,” you said flatly to the hostess. She nodded and led you toward the VIP section.

There he was — sitting relaxed in a dark blue suit, looking like he owned the world. His eyes lifted to meet yours, sharp and unreadable.

Without hesitation, you slid into the chair across from him. “Let’s get to business,” you said coldly. “I want to cancel this nonsense marriage.”

Aziel raised an eyebrow lazily. “Oh?” His voice was smooth, unbothered. “Care to give me a reason why?”

“You’re annoying. I don’t want to marry an Arab man. Besides,” you said, crossing your arms, “you’re not my type.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, a dangerous smirk curved his lips. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his eyes glinting.

“Care to repeat that, sweetheart?” he said, voice low and amused. “Because I don’t think I heard you right.”