You Cannot Afford Me Now,Fabiano

Tomorrow, I am supposed to walk down the aisle and marry the most lethal mafia boss on the East Coast. But right now, I am trapped inside a locked glass conservatory.

His childhood friend turned on the industrial ceiling sprinklers, laughing as the cold water rapidly filled the room.

She knew about my crippling phobia of drowning. I looked through the glass at my fiancé, Fabiano, begging him to save me.

Instead of helping, he just leaned against the terrace railing, sipping his bourbon while his men recorded my terror on their phones.

“Stop making a scene and embarrassing me,” he warned through the intercom, annoyed by my panic.

Then, his childhood friend smiled and whispered a truth that froze my blood.

“I didn't just guess your little phobia. Fabiano gave it to me.”

For three years, I laundered his dirty money, secured his legitimate supply chains, and loved him with my life.

I had confided my deepest trauma to him in the dark, and he had turned it into a parlor game for his mistress.

How could the man who promised to be my shield watch me drown without an ounce of pity?

The fear of the rising water was suddenly burned away by a cold, clarifying rage.

I picked up a heavy iron stand, smashed the bulletproof glass with my bleeding hands, and triggered my private tactical team.

Since he thought I was just a disposable accountant, I would show him what happens when you cross the woman who actually owns his empire.

Chapter 1

Siena POV

In the morning, I am supposed to walk down the aisle and marry the most lethal mafia boss on the East Coast. But at this moment, the intercom above my head crackles with a voice that leaves a film of ice in my veins.

“Beg on your knees like the commoner you are within thirty minutes, or we lock the doors and let the industrial sprinklers drown you.”

I look through the reinforced glass of the penthouse conservatory, a structure built into the center of the stone terrace. My gaze searches for my fiancé, for some sign of rescue. I see only Fabiano Romano swirling the bourbon in his glass and instructing his men not to kill me just yet.

Fabiano is the Underboss of the Romano Famiglia.

He is a man who wiped out two rival syndicates before his twenty-fifth birthday—a man whose name commands obedience in the criminal underworld.

He stands on the sprawling terrace of the Pinnacle Hotel ballroom, wearing a custom black suit that sets off the breadth of his shoulders and the wild authority he carries in his very posture.

For three years, I stood by his side, laundering his dirty money and securing his legitimate supply chains.

I had believed we were building something more than a portfolio of shipping routes and offshore accounts.

Now, I am trapped inside this glass cage on the eve of our wedding.

The heavy deadbolts on the conservatory doors clicked shut five minutes ago.

A cold spray blasts from the industrial sprinklers embedded in the ceiling, soaking my designer silk gown and plastering my hair to my face.

I wipe the water from my eyes and stare at the terrace.

Dozens of Made Men, Capos, and cartel associates are gathered around the glass walls of my prison.

Their phones are raised, the small flashes of light capturing the spectacle.

Viviana Falcone stands at the front of the crowd.

She is the spoiled mafia princess of the Falcone Famiglia, Fabiano's childhood friend, and the woman who orchestrated this trap under the guise of a pre-wedding celebration.

She holds a remote control in her manicured hand; her other hand depresses the silver button of the external microphone panel. She smiles at me through the thick pane.

Her voice echoes through the two-way intercom system wired into the conservatory.

“You always acted so untouchable, Siena,” she taunts.

“Let us see how long that resilience lasts when you are stripped of your tailored suits and your fancy spreadsheets.”

The moment my fingertips touch the glass, condensation makes the joints of my knuckles ache with a stinging numbness.

The water pressure from above is relentless, beating down on my shoulders and making each breath a struggle.

I look past Viviana and lock eyes with Fabiano.

He is leaning against the stone railing of the terrace, a lit cigar resting between his fingers.

His pupils are like two dry wells, reflecting no light.

He takes a slow, deliberate sip of his bourbon, watching me shiver under the downpour.

“Fabiano, open the door.”

My voice is a tremor against the small microphone near the door frame.

He does not move.

Beside him, one of his top lieutenants chuckles and claps him on the shoulder.

Fabiano exhales a cloud of thick gray smoke and glances at his men.

“Just make sure she does not die.”

His voice comes through the crackling intercom, as smooth and sterile as a scalpel.

“A girl from the outer fringes needs to learn that the Romano Famiglia inner circle is not easy to breach.”

The cartel guests whistle and cheer at his words.

They call it a traditional initiation test for an outsider.

They think this is a game.

Viviana dangles the remote control in front of the glass, tapping it against the pane.

“The game has just begun, Siena,” she purrs.

“Get on your knees and beg me to stop, or we will see how much water this room can hold.”

I stare through the blurring water at the man I love—the man who promised to protect me from the shadows of this world.

He takes another drag of his cigar and turns his head away.

For three years, I had ignored every cold dismissal, every veiled insult, convincing myself that his affection was simply guarded. Now, the blindfold was ripped away forever.