"Not at all, Mr. De Rossi," Alisha replied. "Dante did more than just pay to be his wife."
At her response, every eye at the table turned to her. Dante, mid-sip, nearly choked.
A thick silence hung over the dining room as Mr. De Rossi narrowed his eyes, clearly expecting her to elaborate.
"And what does that an?" he asked.
Alisha kept her cool. "I ant Dante pursued for a long ti before I agreed to marry him," she said with a soft smile.
She didn’t care whether he believed her or not. This marriage wasn’t for his approval—it was for the press.
Mr. De Rossi gave her a long, calculating look, but Alisha didn’t flinch. When he realized she wouldn’t back down, he returned to his food with a displeased grunt.
"Dante, my dear," Mrs. De Rossi chid in, "you should have told about the wedding. I would have loved to be there. Why did you keep it a secret?"
Dante stood, walked over, and kissed her cheek. "I didn’t want anything to go wrong. But Alisha and I could always have a second wedding later—just for the family."
She gave him a side-eye, her irritation softening slightly.
Alisha raised a brow, surprised at how easily Dante could switch into the role of a doting son.
As Dante returned to his seat, a sudden click of heels echoed from the marble floor.
"Was I late to dinner?" a familiar, saccharine voice asked.
Dante’s face tightened. He looked at his father, whose grin betrayed that this wasn’t a surprise for him.
Of course, this dinner wouldn’t be peaceful.
A woman in a scarlet gown strolled in, exuding confidence. She kissed Mr. De Rossi on the cheek, then greeted Mrs. De Rossi in the sa way Dante had earlier.
Alisha watched her every move. There was sothing about her—too perfect, too poised.
The woman locked eyes with Alisha and smirked.
"Dante," she said, tone laced with venom, "I expected you to replace with soone more... capable. But you picked soone from the streets?"
Alisha’s eyes narrowed. Replace? That sounded like sothing a bitter ex would say.
"Hi, I’m Jennifer Reyez," the woman said smoothly.
Alisha’s stomach twisted. The na Reyez rang a bell—political power, just like the De Rossis. Their families must have once tried to rge through marriage.
"I’m Alisha De Rossi," Alisha replied sweetly. "And I can already tell you lack manners. Next ti you talk to like that, you’ll regret it."
Jennifer scowled and turned to Dante, expecting him to intervene.
Instead, he faced his father. "Why is Jennifer here? This was supposed to be a family dinner."
Jennifer’s expression soured.
Dante had just called her an outsider.
"I didn’t believe it when you said you were married," Mr. De Rossi said. "And I still don’t. I’ve never even heard of your wife’s last na before."
"I’m actually an orphan," Alisha replied.
Jennifer snorted. "That explains the dress. Anyone with proper upbringing wouldn’t wear sothing so... inappropriate to dinner with her in-laws."
Alisha smiled coldly. "Says the woman who’s still chasing her ex. Shouldn’t you be embarrassed, Jennifer?"
Mylo coughed to stifle a laugh.
Alisha hadn’t signed up to battle an obsessive ex, but here she was.
Jennifer opened her mouth, but Mr. De Rossi cut her off. "Since you’re married, when do you plan on having a child?"
Dante tensed beside Alisha.
She knew about his omission from the contract—the child clause. Because of her miscarriage, it had been left out. He’d never ntioned it since.
"We’re taking our ti," Alisha said, placing a hand on Dante’s. "When we’re ready, we’ll start trying."
Mr. De Rossi turned to Dante, clearly seeking confirmation. Alisha sensed the brewing tension.
The older man spoke again. "Your gay rumors won’t die down until there’s a child. The dia doesn’t buy this marriage yet."
"That’s sothing Alisha and I will discuss privately," Dante said, his tone final.
Alisha noted the subtle power play between father and son. Wealthy families like theirs might appear perfect in public, but behind closed doors, the fractures always showed.
Mr. De Rossi grunted, eyes unreadable. "Dante, I’d like a word."
Dante rose, pecked Alisha’s forehead, and left the table with his father.
Alisha stared at his untouched plate. She hadn’t eaten much herself as there were too many questions flying at her to focus on food.
Mrs. De Rossi leaned over. "Don’t worry. He’ll be back soon."
Alisha smiled politely, but the mont she turned back to her plate, Jennifer was glaring again—probably hoping she’d choke.
Outside, in the courtyard, Mr. De Rossi wasted no ti.
"Where did you find that woman? She’s not fit to be your wife."
"You told to get married, and I did," Dante replied calmly.
"And you invited Jennifer?" Dante continued, a thread of anger in his voice.
"I thought the marriage announcent was a stunt. I didn’t think it was real," Mr. De Rossi said, almost dismissively.
Dante sighed. "Unbelievable."
"I already promised her father you’d marry her. Now what do I say? That you picked a nobody?"
"Then marry her off to Mylo," Dante snapped. "Or marry her yourself."
His father’s face darkened, but Dante didn’t stop.
"Alisha is my wife now. I know you’re plotting to break us up, but it won’t work."
Mr. De Rossi didn’t argue. Instead, he ran a hand over his face and checked that no one was nearby.
"Did Miquel deliver more weapons? Orders are piling up."
Dante lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and answered, "We need a new buyer. Miquel’s unstable. I think he’ll flip soon."
His father chuckled. "He won’t be a problem when I win the senate seat. The real issue is Jai. He’s also running."
Dante’s jaw tightened at the na.
Jai Lorenzo. His father’s arch-nesis. A corrupt official hiding behind a polished exterior.
"That’s your problem," Dante muttered. "I’m not getting involved in your politics."
He turned to leave, but Mr. De Rossi stopped him.
"You said you’d do whatever I asked. Are you backing out?"
Dante dropped his cigarette, crushing it under his heel.
"I haven’t forgotten the deal," he said coldly. "But don’t expect to fix all your sses."
His father stepped closer, voice low. "Actually, I do. That was our agreent."
Dante’s expression hardened.
The deal. The only reason he hadn’t put a bullet in his father’s head yet.
"Unless..."
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
A slow, pleased smile spread across Mr. De Rossi’s lips.
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