Rosalie'S POV
The living room looked smaller than I remembered. I sat between my parents, hands wrapped around a cup of tea I couldn’t drink. My throat felt too tight.
I asked the question I knew I wasn’t supposed to ask.
“Is Gustavo’s grand son still unmarried.”
My father froze mid-pour. The tea hit the cup too slow, too careful, then stopped. My mother straightened like someone pulled a string along her spine.
“Reeves,” he said. “Gustavo’s heir. You remember what happened to him?”
I nodded. I remembered the whispers. Car explosion. Body pulled out in pieces. Doctors saying he would never walk again. The photo of him in that wheelchair everyone tried not to stare at. But no one see his real face and picture.
My father spoke slowly. “He cannot walk. Maybe never again.”
“I know,” I answered. My voice came out small, the kind you hear from someone who learned silence the hard way.
He leaned back, eyes narrowed, the way men look when they want to choose their next words carefully but don’t know how.
“Rosalie, that man runs a quarter of the underworld from a wheelchair. If he wants someone dead, it happens before the sun comes up. If he wants a city to kneel, the city kneels.”
My mother whispered, voice shaking. “Why would you even think of him, baby.”
I gave her a small smile, but it felt wrong on my face. “Because men like him don’t pretend. And they don’t lie when they make a promise.”
My father shook his head. “Gustavo’s family is dangerous. Reeves is worse. He is quiet. He is cold. He is smarter than all of us put together. He is ruthless, Rosalie. And he has no interest in women. Not after the accident.”
“Good,” I said softly. “I’m not looking for interest. I’m looking for safety.”
My mother suddenly inhaled like she’d been stabbed. She covered her mouth.
“Rosalie,” she whispered. “Are you running from Alessandro?”
I didn’t answer.
And that silence told her everything.
My father stood up fast enough that the chair legs scraped. He went to the old desk by the window, the one with the stuck drawer he always complained about. He forced it open and pulled out a single black card.
Just one word on it. Reeves.
He held it out to me.
“This is Reeves’s personal line. Gustavo gave it to me years ago. He owes me a debt from the Santo Tomas deal.”
He hesitated.
“If you call him, you cannot take it back. He will come. He does not ignore debts.”
My fingers closed around the card. It felt heavy. Too heavy. Like it understood what I was asking for.
I swallowed hard. “What kind of man is he now?”
My father thought for a long time.
“He lost his ability to walk, but he did not lose his legs. And he did not lose his hunger. He only learned how to hide it better.”
I looked down at the card again.
For the first time in years, I felt like I was choosing something. Not being pushed. Not being dragged. Choosing.
“Good,” I whispered. “I need a man who can protect what is mine. I want to marry him.”
My parents both sucked in a breath like they were drowning. Before they could speak, my father’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and went pale.
Moretti. Their company.
He put the call on speaker.
The voice from the other end shouted about frozen accounts, canceled contracts, shipments blocked at the pier.
My mother grabbed the edge of the table and my father sat down like his knees gave up.
Alessandro had started.
Everything was already collapsing.
My mother’s lips trembled. “Rosalie… please… please call Reeves.”
My father nodded slowly, defeated. “If this is the only way, then do it. We will support you.”
He took his own phone and dialed a number he hadn’t touched in years. The old Gustavo’s answered on the first ring. The old man’s voice came through rough, powerful, amused.
“You finally used the card,” he said. “Good. Tell me what you need.”
My father cleared his throat. “Our daughter wants to marry Reeves Gustavo.”
The old man didn’t even pause. “Bring the bride. We will start the wedding tomorrow.”
…
The plane landed in a private strip that looked too quiet, too clean, like the world here didn’t bother with noise. Men in black were waiting before the door even opened. One of them took my arm, not rough but not gentle either, and rushed me into a black car with no plates.
I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t have enough strength left for that.
The ride was short. They brought me straight to an old stone courthouse that felt older than the country itself. No music. No flowers. No Reeves.
Only a table.
Only papers.
Only his signature was already waiting there like he’d signed it in the middle of something more important.
My hand shook so much the pen almost slipped when I wrote my name beside his. It felt strange. Quiet. Too final. My heart was beating so loud I thought they could hear it echo in the halls.
The priest spoke with a flat, tired voice, like he’d married strangers like me a thousand times. When he finished, Gustavo’s grandfather put his hand on my shoulder. Heavy. Solid. Not comforting, just… final.
“You are Gustavo now,” he said. “The whole world will know soon.”
I lowered my head. I didn’t trust my voice. I didn’t trust my own lungs. Relief, fear, exhaustion… it all mixed until I couldn’t tell which one hurt more.
...
Later, during dinner, the table was long and cold. The grandfather ate quietly, his men standing behind him like statues. I tried to swallow food but everything tasted the same.
“Will Reeves… meet me?”
He looked at me with a weight that made my stomach twist.
“He will, when he chooses.” He took a slow sip of soup. “Reeves is busy killing people in the basement right now. Traitors.”
My whole body went stiff. His tone wasn’t angry. It wasn’t proud. It was just… normal. Like it was nothing.
I stared at my plate. My hands went cold. My mind went blank.
I was Mrs. Reeves Gustavo now.
