DIAGNOSIS: (FAKE) MARRIAGE.
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The day my doctor hinted I had very little time left to live, I decided the rules no longer applied to me. I was going to live my final weeks with zero filters and absolutely zero fear.
What I didn't plan on was getting accidentally kidnapped exactly ten minutes later.
That's how I ended up in the immaculate office of Lorenzo, the city's most feared mafia boss. A man with perfectly tailored suits, a freezing glare, an absolute phobia of germs... and a looming ultimatum from his father: find a wife immediately, or lose his seat in "the family". His men had strict orders to bring him the ideal candidate for a fake marriage, but thanks to their combined room-temperature IQ, they dragged me in instead.
To Lorenzo, I'm a necessary headache. To me, marrying a disgustingly handsome, hyper-controlling mob boss is just one more wild adventure to cross off my bucket list.
The deal is simple: I play the role of his perfect other half in front of his enemies, and he lets me do whatever the hell I want.
Everything seems perfectly under control. Except for one tiny, microscopic detail: surviving underworld shootouts turns out to be way easier than not falling for the man I drive absolutely insane every single day by eating greasy takeout on his custom Italian sofa.
They say love is dangerous. But suddenly, I'm getting a terrible, burning desire to survive.
What I didn't plan on was getting accidentally kidnapped exactly ten minutes later.
That's how I ended up in the immaculate office of Lorenzo, the city's most feared mafia boss. A man with perfectly tailored suits, a freezing glare, an absolute phobia of germs... and a looming ultimatum from his father: find a wife immediately, or lose his seat in "the family". His men had strict orders to bring him the ideal candidate for a fake marriage, but thanks to their combined room-temperature IQ, they dragged me in instead.
To Lorenzo, I'm a necessary headache. To me, marrying a disgustingly handsome, hyper-controlling mob boss is just one more wild adventure to cross off my bucket list.
The deal is simple: I play the role of his perfect other half in front of his enemies, and he lets me do whatever the hell I want.
Everything seems perfectly under control. Except for one tiny, microscopic detail: surviving underworld shootouts turns out to be way easier than not falling for the man I drive absolutely insane every single day by eating greasy takeout on his custom Italian sofa.
They say love is dangerous. But suddenly, I'm getting a terrible, burning desire to survive.













































