CHAPTER 1: THE ALLIANCE
1. Juliette Moreau (24) -* Female Mafia Boss. French. Short temper, sharper brain. Black belt, speaks 4 languages, runs 12 clubs. She slapped a 40-year-old don when she was 18. Her dialogue: "I don't need protection. I AM the protection."
2. Alexandre Dubois (30) -* Male Mafia Boss. The Lethal Man. Cold, genius, dangerous. He has never lost a fight or a deal. Until Juliette.
Story starts:
The meeting room in Hotel Ritz, Paris had 20 mafia bosses. All men. All over 45.
And me.
Juliette Moreau, 24, in a white suit, red lipstick, sitting like I owned the place. Because I did own half of Paris.
The door opened. He walked in.
Alexandre Dubois.
The room went silent. Even the old dons sat straighter.
He looked at the only empty chair - next to me.
"You're sitting in my chair," he said to me in French.
"No, Monsieur Dubois. You're late. So I took your chair. You can take the other one," I said without looking at him.
Julien, his right-hand, whispered, "Boss, that's Juliette Moreau... La Louve..."
"I know who she is," Alexandre said, his eyes locked on me. "The little girl who thinks she is a boss."
I finally looked up. I smiled.
"The little girl who took 3 of your territories last month. You're welcome."
Silence. No one breathed.
Alexandre slowly walked and sat in the other chair. Too close to me.
"The Italians are coming," said the oldest don. "They want Paris. If we fight each other, they will take us all. Alexandre controls the North. Juliette controls the South. You two must make an alliance."
"Never," we both said at the same time.
"Then marry," the don said. "An alliance marriage. One year. Show Paris that North and South are one. The Italians will back off."
I laughed. "I don't need a husband to protect my empire."
"And I don't need a wife who will try to shoot me in my sleep," Alexandre said coldly.
"You think I would wait till you sleep?" I asked, looking at him. "I would shoot you while you're awake, Dubois. At least then it's fair."
He stared at me. Then - he laughed. A real laugh.
"One year," he said. "You don't interfere in my business. I don't interfere in yours. We appear together in public. In private, you stay out of my way, La Louve."
"Same for you, Le Diable. You stay out of my way. And don't ever tell me what to wear, what to say, or who to meet. I am not your mafia princess. I am a mafia boss."
He extended his hand for a handshake. His hand was big, with a scar on the knuckle.
I shook it. My grip was as strong as his.
"Deal, Dubois."
"Deal, Moreau."
The old dons looked relieved. They thought they had stopped a war.
They didn't know they had just created the most dangerous power couple Paris had ever seen.
Because that night, when the Italians sent 10 men to kill me at my club, they weren't stopped by my men.
They were stopped by Alexandre's men. Who were already there.
And when I asked him why, he just said on the phone:
"You are my wife now, Juliette. Even if it's fake for the world. No one touches what's mine. Even if what is mine wants to shoot me."
I hung up. But I didn't delete his number.
