He Chose the Mafia Princess, So I Chose Her Father Chapter 01
Roman lost the Bellini succession three days later.
His father named a cousin as heir and sent Roman to
manage a warehouse in Milwaukee.
Arianna was charged with conspiracy, unlawful restraint, and arranging the attempted assault.
Corrado refused to make the case disappear.
Chicago understood the message.
Being born a Carbone did not protect you from betraying one.
Roman came to St. Catherine’s Hospital before he left the city.
He waited outside my mother’s treatment room with
the watch I had bought him still inside its small box.
One of the hotel staff must have found it after the
engagement party.
“I should have chosen you,” he said.
“You should have respected me. That came before
choosing.”
“I can fix this.”
The old promise,
Repair later.
“No, Roman. You regret losing Corrado’s support. You regret losing the position. You regret that the woman
you hid became someone he would defend in public.”
“I regret losing you.”
“Then live with it.”
I took the gift box from him and placed it in a trash can.
Not dramatically.
Not angrily.
I simply no longer needed it.
My mother completed her first treatment cycle that
spring. The employee insurance covered most of it. My
salary covered the rest.
Corrado never called either one a gift.
He also did not ask me to move into his bedroom.
For six months, he did something much harder for a
man accustomed to owning every room he entered.
He waited.
He took me to dinner where people could see us.
He attended my research presentation and sat in the
back row so the attention remained on me.
When he wanted to kiss me, he asked.
When I said no, he stopped.
When I said yes, he made me remember the hotel
suite, the rain, and every reason waiting had cost him
sleep.
Felix improved slowly.
Some days he spoke for an hour. Some days he wanted
silence. We stopped measuring success by how normal
strangers thought he looked.
At the end of the university year, I accepted a
permanent position directing a Carbone–funded
sensory learning program.
The contract placed the program under an independent
board.
That clause had been mine.
Corrado signed without changing a word.
The family held its summer dinner at the Palazzo
Carbone.
The last time I had entered that ballroom, I had worn
red for Roman.
This time, I wore black for myself.
Corrado stood at the head of the room. Felix sat beside
him, arranging four breadsticks into a perfect square.
One chair remained empty on Corrado’s right.
Every person in the ballroom knew who it was for.
Corrado did not send a guard to collect me.
He did not call my name.
He simply looked at me and waited.
The first man I loved had hidden me because he
believed power mattered more than I did.
The second man had enough power to take anything he
wanted.
But he left the choice in my hands.
I crossed the ballroom.
Felix smiled when I sat down.
Corrado touched the back of my hand.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly,
I turned my palm over and threaded my fingers
through his.
“Yes.”
Across the city, Roman Bellini could regret me for the
rest of his life.
I was done living inside his mistakes.
For the first time, I was not anyone’s secret.
Roman lost the Bellini succession three days later.
His father named a cousin as heir and sent Roman to
manage a warehouse in Milwaukee.
Arianna was charged with conspiracy, unlawful restraint, and arranging the attempted assault.
Corrado refused to make the case disappear.
Chicago understood the message.
Being born a Carbone did not protect you from
betraying one.
Roman came to St. Catherine’s Hospital before he left
the city.
He waited outside my mother’s treatment room with
the watch I had bought him still inside its small box.
One of the hotel staff must have found it after the
engagement party.
“I should have chosen you,” he said.
“You should have respected me. That came before
choosing.”
“I can fix this.”
The old promise,
Repair later.
“No, Roman. You regret losing Corrado’s support. You regret losing the position. You regret that the woman
you hid became someone he would defend in public.”
“I regret losing you.”
“Then live with it.”
I took the gift box from him and placed it in a trash can.
Not dramatically.
Not angrily.
I simply no longer needed it.
My mother completed her first treatment cycle that
spring. The employee insurance covered most of it. My
salary covered the rest.
Corrado never called either one a gift.
He also did not ask me to move into his bedroom.
For six months, he did something much harder for a
man accustomed to owning every room he entered.
He waited.
He took me to dinner where people could see us.
He attended my research presentation and sat in the
back row so the attention remained on me.
When he wanted to kiss me, he asked.
When I said no, he stopped.
When I said yes, he made me remember the hotel
suite, the rain, and every reason waiting had cost him
sleep.
Felix improved slowly.
Some days he spoke for an hour. Some days he wanted
silence. We stopped measuring success by how normal
strangers thought he looked.
At the end of the university year, I accepted a
permanent position directing a Carbone–funded
sensory learning program.
The contract placed the program under an independent
board.
That clause had been mine.
Corrado signed without changing a word.
The family held its summer dinner at the Palazzo
Carbone.
The last time I had entered that ballroom, I had worn
red for Roman.
This time, I wore black for myself.
Corrado stood at the head of the room. Felix sat beside
him, arranging four breadsticks into a perfect square.
One chair remained empty on Corrado’s right.
Every person in the ballroom knew who it was for.
Corrado did not send a guard to collect me.
He did not call my name.
He simply looked at me and waited.
The first man I loved had hidden me because he
believed power mattered more than I did.
The second man had enough power to take anything he
wanted.
But he left the choice in my hands.
I crossed the ballroom.
Felix smiled when I sat down.
Corrado touched the back of my hand.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly,
I turned my palm over and threaded my fingers through his.
“Yes.”
Across the city, Roman Bellini could regret me for the
rest of his life.
I was done living inside his mistakes.
For the first time, I was not anyone’s secret.
For one year, Roman Bellini kept me hidden.
He swore he would claim me once his family named him heir. Instead, he stood beneath a hundred crystal
lights and announced his engagement to Arianna Carbone, daughter of Chicago’s most feared mafia
boss.
Arianna handed me a glass of champagne and smiled
like she had won.
The drink was drugged.
The men waiting upstairs were hers.
But they never made it to the room she had prepared for me. A stranger stopped them at the elevator, broke one man’s wrist, and carried me into his private suite.
By morning, I had spent the most forbidden night of my life in his bed.
By noon, I knew his name.
Corrado Carbone.
Arianna’s biological father. Roman’s future
father–in–law. The Don every criminal family in
Chicago bowed to.
Roman traded me for Corrado’s power.
He never imagined I would become the one woman
Corrado refused to hide.
TESSA
Roman Bellini told me to wear red when he finally
made me his.
So I spent half my rent on a satin dress and walked into
the Palazzo Carbone believing the lie I had waited a year to hear.
Tonight, he would tell everyone about us.
That was what he had promised.
The top floor of the hotel glittered above Chicago. Crystal lights hung over men who carried guns
beneath custom suits. Their wives wore diamonds
large enough to settle my mother’s debts. Armed guards watched every elevator.
The Carbone family owned the hotel.
They also owned half the freight moving through the city, three private casinos, and enough judges to make inconvenient charges disappear.
Roman wanted their support.
For the past year, he had claimed that was the only
reason I had to remain his secret.
“Once my father names me heir, none of these people
can tell me who to love,” he had whispered against my
mouth. “Then I’ll put you beside me where you belong.”
I believed him because I loved him.
I also wrote the speeches that had made his father notice him, corrected the development proposal that brought him into the Carbone circle, and stayed awake
beside him through every crisis.
In private, I was his good–luck charm.
In public, I was Tessa Ward, the scholarship student who sometimes helped with his paperwork.
The music stopped.
Roman stepped onto the small stage at the center of
the ballroom.
He looked beautiful in black. Dark hair. Sharp smile. A
Bellini ring on his right hand.
His gaze found mine.
My heart climbed into my throat.
“Tonight isn’t only about the agreement between our families,” he said. “It’s about the woman who made it
possible.”
My fingers closed around the small gift box in my purse.
Inside was the watch I had saved six months to buy him.
Roman lifted one hand.
A spotlight moved across the ballroom.
For one breath, it touched the hem of my red dress.
Then it slid past me.
It stopped on Arianna Carbone.
Applause exploded.
Arianna walked toward the stage in a white silk gown.
She was tall, dark–haired, and raised to believe every
room belonged to her. Men stepped aside before she
reached them.
Roman took her hand.
“Arianna has agreed to become my wife.”
The gift box slipped from my fingers inside my purse.
Someone beside me whispered that the Bellinis had
finally secured their future.
Onstage, Roman pushed a diamond ring onto Arianna’s finger.
Then he kissed her.
Not a polite kiss for the cameras.
His hand went to her waist. Hers curled around his
neck. The same mouth that had been between my thighs three nights ago opened for another woman while Chicago’s most powerful families cheered.
I called him.
saw my name, and declined the call.
Arianna noticed.
Her eyes moved through the crowd and landed on me.
She knew.
I understood that from the small curve of her smile.
I turned before the tears could fall.
“Tessa.”
Her voice stopped me near the ballroom doors.
Arianna approached with two glasses of champagne.
Up close, she looked even calmer. No guilt. No concern.
“Roman has told me how much you helped him at the university,” she said.
Not that I had been in his bed for a year.
Not that he had promised to marry me.
I looked at the glass she offered.
“I should go.”
“Please.” Her smile softened. “I don’t want tonight to
be uncomfortable. Roman had a life before me. I can be
mature about that.”
She pressed the stem into my hand.
Across the room, Roman watched us.
He did not come closer.
He did not look worried.
He looked relieved that Arianna was cleaning up his mess.
I lifted the champagne.
“To your future,” I said.
Then I drank.
Arianna’s smile widened.
The first wave of dizziness hit before I reached the elevator.
The floor shifted beneath my heels. Heat crawled up
my neck. I pressed one hand against the wall and tried
to focus on the glowing numbers above the doors.
“Too much champagne?”
A man in a hotel security jacket caught my elbow.
Another appeared on my other side.
“Let go of me.”
My words came out thick.
“We’re helping you upstairs. Miss Carbone booked a
room where you can recover.”
Miss Carbone.
Fear cut through the fog.
I tried to pull away. My knees folded.
One man laughed as he lifted me.
“Easy. Save the fight for the camera.”
Camera.
I opened my mouth to scream.
The private elevator opened behind us.
The men froze.
Four armed guards stepped out first.
Then came the man they were protecting.
He was older than Roman. Broader. Black hair touched
with silver at the temples. His charcoal suit had no visible label, but every man in the corridor went still
when he appeared.
His eyes moved from my torn dress strap to the hand
locked around my waist.
“She drank too much,” one of the men said quickly.
The stranger looked at my face.
“No,” he said.
His voice was quiet.
That made it worse.
“She was drugged.”
The man holding me reached inside his jacket.
He never touched his gun.
The stranger caught his wrist, twisted once, and drove
him into the marble wall. Bone cracked. The second man tried to run.
One of the guards put him on his knees.
The stranger took me before I hit the floor.
I clutched his lapel. Cedar, smoke, and rain filled my lungs,
“Who are you?” I whispered.
His arm tightened beneath my knees.
“The man whose hotel they chose for their last mistake.”