Married At Gunpoint: The Mafia Boss Chose Me

Riley Collins's POV:

Each step up the staircase weighed on me, my body aching while my mind spun with the demands Jackson had pressed upon me. There was no escaping the truth: I would soon be forced to choose whose side I was truly on. For now, though, I just needed to catch my breath.

Crossing the threshold of my room, I came to a halt.

Waiting on the bed was an outfit unlike any I'd seen before.

I moved closer, curiosity overtaking caution. The dress was crafted from silky, luxurious fabric dyed a rich, intoxicating shade of wine. The design was striking—a daring neckline, a slit climbing high along the thigh, and tailoring so perfect it felt almost personal. Running my fingers across the fabric, I caught myself grinning.

Elegant, understated, undeniably alluring.

This was a world away from the plain, conservative dresses I'd received in the beginning.

Lifting the gown, my breath caught at the sight of the designer label.

That price tag was the stuff of fantasy. I wouldn't have even imagined owning something this extravagant.

A small voice inside me pleaded— maybe Luca deserves some understanding.

I tried to shake off the confusion, but the lines between Jackson and Luca were starting to blur. Maybe I needed to reconsider everything I thought I knew.

I slipped into the bathroom and let the shower run hot. Steam curled around me, and for a while, I just stood beneath the water, hoping it would wash away the chaos in my head.

Steam clung to my skin as I stepped out, wrapped in nothing but a towel. I almost dropped it when I saw him.

A sharp gasp slipped out. "Oh—"

Luca stood right in front of me, the dress draped across his arms.

"What are you doing in here?"

"I'm standing in my own room. In my own home. With my wife," he answered with steady calm. "Isn't that right?"

I stumbled over my words. "Y-yes, but... I'd like some privacy, if that's possible."

Instead of leaving, he took a step closer. Then another.

"You don't honestly think you'll win me over by acting like this, do you, Riley?" His mouth curled into a sly smile. "Always so distant..."

That taunt sent heat rising to my cheeks. My patience snapped. I let the towel drop to the floor, meeting his gaze with a steady challenge.

"If you want me dressed, then hand it over, boss."

He didn't pass me the dress. Instead, he closed the gap between us, so near I could catch the faint, woodsy notes of his cologne.

Without a word, he began to help me into the gown, slipping the silky fabric over my shoulders and carefully smoothing it down my back. My breathing hitched, each movement winding me tighter.

"Are you ready to take on the name Mrs. Black?"

His words stopped me in my tracks. His stare held a weight that made it impossible to look away.

"I was forced into this marriage, boss."

He kept working the dress onto my body, each motion slow and deliberate, as if every step was some private ceremony.

"Listen carefully." His voice stayed even, but the meaning behind it pressed hard. "Will you stand beside me as Mrs. Black? The one who holds this house. The one I trust above anyone else. Is that what you want?"

A shiver ran through me, though I tried not to let it show.

"I don't even know what you're really asking, Luca."

"Say 'boss,'" he insisted, more commanding now.

"Right... sorry, boss. Slipped my mind."

He nudged me softly, guiding me back until I landed on the bed. My eyes went wide. For a moment, I braced myself, expecting him to make a move.

But he didn't.

Instead, Luca knelt at the edge of the bed and traced a line along my thigh. Then his hand found a small box tucked just out of sight. When he opened it, he revealed a stunning pair of high heels. He cradled one shoe like it was a promise, slipping it onto my foot with the care of a man reciting an old, secret vow.

"In our world," he muttered, slipping the first shoe onto my foot, "the eldest son is supposed to inherit everything. That's tradition. But my mother had other plans. She talked my father into keeping it a secret—never telling anyone which son was actually born first. She believed the right to lead had to be earned, not given."

He eased the second shoe onto me, his movements gentle.

"My father never named an heir. When he died, all he left behind was confusion— and a bitter war between brothers that never seemed to end."

"I'm sorry for all you went through, boss," I whispered, meaning every word.

He glanced at me, then quickly looked away.

"Don't be sorry. Just prove I can count on you. That's all that matters."

"That's what you want? Someone you can trust?" My voice trembled a little on the last word.

"Exactly. Jackson used our family's chaos to his advantage. After my father's funeral, he showed up with a lawyer who turned out to be a fraud. He faked a will and forced me out of everything. From that moment on, it felt like power only belonged to whoever could destroy the most enemies. I played along— I carried out all the dirty work, convinced I was honoring my father's wishes for a whole year. But it was all a setup, every bit of it."

Everything he revealed crashed over me, leaving my thoughts scrambled.

"There's more you should know," he continued, voice low. "Turns out, my father left behind two wills. The lawyer who showed up today has the real one. Nobody, not even Jackson, realized my father switched attorneys just a week before he passed. The moment my mother told me the truth, everything fell into place. Jackson had planned to get rid of me— and he was already arranging to marry you. He saw what was coming long before I did."

Rising to his feet, he straightened his jacket, casting a lingering look my way.

"I have no tolerance for betrayal, Riley. I need to know where you stand. Once you choose, there's no going back."

My mouth opened, but no words came. I wanted to tell him I was loyal. I wanted to defend myself, but nothing came out.

He signaled for silence with a simple gesture.

"I'll be waiting in the garden. I have to reshuffle the security staff. When I get back, I expect your decision."

Then he left me alone, the weight of his ultimatum pressing in from all sides.

Was I ready to take on the name Mrs. Black? If only I could get to that marriage document— maybe then I'd finally know the truth about where I stood.