She was the bride he refused to claim. Now she's the wife he wants but won't let himself have.

I always knew I'd come back to Chicago eventually, step into my family's shadow, marry the man my father had already chosen, and do what was expected of me. I just never thought that man would look at me like I was the last thing he wanted.

Dante Moretti is ice given a name. Guarded, exacting, and utterly closed off, a man who built his whole life around never needing anyone. He runs his words like weapons, and every dismissal lands sharp enough to draw blood.

But then there's the way he looks at me when he thinks I won't notice. Like he's fighting something he refuses to name.

Neither of us asked for this pull between us, and he resists it harder than he resists anything else. Then his empire cracks open from the inside. His uncle is gunned down in broad daylight, and the throne Dante was always meant to inherit is suddenly up for grabs, contested, bloody, and his only if he can prove he's untouchable.

He needs a wife who looks like control. He needs me.

Four months, he tells me. Four months of playing the part before he lets me go.

Four months is nothing. Four months is also more than enough time for a man like Dante to forget where the performance ends and the truth begins.