“You’ll Leave After the Wedding,” The Mafia Boss Said — But He Never Kept His Promise Spotlight8

CHAPTER 1

The snow fell in silent sheets outside the hospital windows, blanketing the world in white as I finished my twelve-hour shift. My scrubs clung to my body, still damp with sweat despite the December chill. Three cardiac arrests, one successful. The weight of the two we had lost hung on my shoulders as I trudged toward the staff locker room.

“Emma, you look dead on your feet.” Nurse Martinez glanced up from her charting. “Go home before you collapse.”

I managed a weak smile. “Just need to change and I’m out of here.”

My fingers trembled slightly as I dialed the combination to my locker. Exhaustion. Just exhaustion, I told myself, ignoring the gnawing hunger that had become my constant companion these past months.

The meager hospital salary barely covered rent and student loans, leaving little for luxuries like properly stocked groceries or heating that actually worked. The mirror inside my locker door reflected a stranger. Hollow cheeks, dark circles beneath once-bright blue eyes, blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun. Twenty-seven, and I looked forty.

I changed quickly, exchanging scrubs for worn jeans and layers of sweaters. My apartment would be freezing tonight.

Outside, the hospital’s employee exit spilled into the service area where ambulances occasionally idled. Tonight, the space was occupied by something entirely different — a gleaming black Bentley, its windows tinted to impenetrable darkness, engine purring with quiet power. I almost walked past it, assuming it must be waiting for someone important. No one I knew drove anything more luxurious than a ten-year-old Honda.

The rear door swung open as I approached.

“Miss Matthews.”

The driver’s voice cut through the snowfall, deep and formal. He wore a black suit despite the hour and weather, standing rigid beside the open door. Behind him, I caught glimpses of another man, larger, scanning the perimeter with practiced efficiency. I stopped, clutching my bag closer to my body.

“I’m sorry. You must be mistaken.”

“Emma Matthews, night shift nurse, cardiac unit.” His tone conveyed certainty, not question. A chill that had nothing to do with the snow slithered down my spine.

“How do you know my name?”

“My employer wishes to speak with you. It concerns your father.”

My father? The words hit like a physical blow. Daniel Matthews had disappeared three years ago, leaving behind nothing but debts, broken promises, and a daughter struggling to finish nursing school while working double shifts. The police investigation had gone nowhere. Eventually, I had stopped hoping for answers.

“What about him?” I asked, my voice suddenly hoarse.

“Please.” The driver gestured to the open door. “Mr. Castillo prefers not to keep his matters waiting.”

Castillo. The name registered faintly. Whispers in hospital corridors when certain patients arrived with mysterious gunshot wounds and no questions were asked. Rumors of businesses throughout the city that operated under his protection. A name spoken with equal parts fear and reverence.

I should have walked away. Every instinct screamed danger. But three years of unanswered questions held me in place.

“Five minutes,” I said. “That’s all.”

The interior of the car enveloped me in warm leather and the subtle scent of expensive cologne. Across from me sat a man who could not have been more than thirty-five, though power radiated from him in waves that made age irrelevant. Alexe Castillo defied the image my mind had conjured of an aging crime lord. He was devastatingly handsome — olive skin, sharp cheekbones, eyes so dark they appeared black in the dim light. His suit probably cost more than six months of my salary.

“Miss Matthews.” His voice carried the barest hint of an accent I could not place. “Thank you for joining me.”

“You mentioned my father,” I said, skipping pleasantries. “Do you know where he is?”

Something flickered across Castillo’s expression. Amusement, perhaps, or appreciation for my directness. “I know exactly where your father is.” He reached for a crystal decanter, pouring amber liquid into two glasses. “Drink?”

“No. Just information, please.”

He set one glass aside, sipping from the other. “Your father worked for me. Not directly, of course. Several layers of separation, but ultimately he was handling certain financial matters under my supervision.”

The car began moving, tires crunching softly on snow. I tensed, looking out the window. “I didn’t agree to go anywhere.”

“Just to drive while we talked.” His smile did not reach his eyes. “The hospital parking lot lacks discretion.”

“What do you mean he worked for you? My father was an accountant at Peterson Financial.”

“A convenient front. Your father had talents that were wasted on legitimate tax preparation.” Castillo studied me with unsettling intensity. “Three years ago, he made a decision that disappointed me greatly. He redirected funds that were not his to redirect.”

My throat tightened. “Are you saying he stole from you?”

“I’m saying he betrayed my trust.” His voice remained soft, which somehow made his words more threatening. “And in my world, Miss Matthews, betrayal has consequences.”

The implications settled over me like ice. “Did you kill him?”

The question hung between us, filling the car’s luxurious interior with sudden tension. Castillo did not answer immediately, taking another measured sip of his drink. “Your father is alive,” he said finally. “Currently enjoying an extended stay at a property I maintain in South America. The climate is significantly more pleasant than this.” He gestured to the snowfall outside.

Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by suspicion. “If this is true, why tell me now? It’s been three years.”

“Because it’s time for your father’s debt to be settled. And you’re going to help make that happen.”

“I don’t have money,” I said automatically. “I can barely make rent.”

A laugh escaped him. Genuine, warm, entirely at odds with the situation. “If I wanted money, Miss Matthews, I wouldn’t be speaking with a hospital nurse who buys her clothes at Target.” His eyes flicked over my worn sweater, missing nothing. “No, what I require is something only you can provide.”

He reached into his suit jacket and removed a small velvet box. When he opened it, a diamond ring caught the passing street lights, scattering prisms across the car’s interior. The stone was enormous, obscene in its opulence.

“I need a wife, Miss Matthews. Temporarily.”

I stared at the ring, then at him, certain I had misheard. “Excuse me?”

“A marriage. Purely for appearances. I have certain business interests that would benefit greatly from the appearance of domestic stability. A six-month arrangement, after which you’ll be generously compensated and free to resume your life. Your father’s debt will be considered paid in full, and he’ll be free to return to the country.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m rarely anything but.” Castillo closed the ring box with a soft snap. “You would want for nothing during our arrangement. Your financial worries would disappear. Think of it as a six-month vacation from your current circumstances.”

“And if I refuse?”

His expression did not change, but the temperature in the car seemed to drop several degrees. “Then our conversation about your father takes a different direction.”

A threat, veiled but unmistakable. My father might be a thief who had abandoned me. But he was still my father, the only family I had left.

“Why me?” I asked. “You could have anyone.”

“Precisely the problem.” Castillo’s eyes held mine. “The women in my social circle have agendas, entanglements. You’re unattached. No complications, no existing connections to my world. Perfect for what I need.”

“And after six months?”

“You’ll leave after the wedding serves its purpose. With enough money to start a new life anywhere you choose. My word on that.”