A Substitute Bride For The Mafia Boss

Valentina.

I never wanted to wear this dress.

It’s suffocating. Not just the lace strangling my throat, or the corset squeezing my ribs. It’s the weight of it, the lies, the silk soaked in secrets. My mother zipped me into it with trembling hands. My father wouldn't even look at me. And my sister?

My perfect, obedient, spineless sister vanished into thin air.

One night before the wedding. One night before she was meant to marry Alessandro De Luca, heir to the De Luca empire, a man whose name tastes like gunpowder and danger.

And now I’m the substitute.

“Smile,” my mother hissed as she fixed my veil. “This is your family’s only chance to survive.”

Right. Because when a mafia don wants a Russo bride, you don’t say no. You offer him your other daughter like a sacrificial lamb.

The double doors open and the heavy music starts. My legs move, but my heart tries to escape through my ribs. Rows of unsmiling men in black suits stare, hands folded, eyes cold. Like vultures. Like witnesses to a funeral. Maybe mine.

And then I see him.

Alessandro De Luca.

Jet-black hair slicked back, jaw carved from steel, lips tight with fury. Dressed like a god of war in Armani, but those stormy grey eyes? They're lethal. Calculating.

He’s furious. Because I’m not the bride he ordered.

I walk anyway.

When I reach him, he doesn’t take my hand.

“You’re not Bianca,” he says coldly.

“No,” I whisper, daring to lift my chin. “I’m the upgrade.”

His jaw clenches. “Or the problem.”

We don’t speak again as the vows are said. I barely hear them. My skin burns under his gaze, but it’s not desire it’s possession. Ownership.

At the kiss, he grabs me by the neck, pulls me in hard, and crashes his mouth to mine.

It isn’t gentle. It’s a warning.

The reception is a blur of champagne, tension, and men with guns. My father smiles like we haven’t sold my soul. My mother keeps dabbing her eyes, pretending this is romantic.

I don’t eat. I don’t drink.

I plan.

Then I see him.

Lorenzo De Luca. Alessandro’s cousin.

Golden skinned. Softer, slyer eyes. A smile that promises danger, but also… salvation.

He raises his glass to me across the room.

Later, I’m alone on the balcony, trying to breathe. The night air tastes like smoke and roses.

“You’re either brave,” a smooth voice murmurs, “or stupid for looking at Alessandro like that.”

I turn.

Lorenzo.

He lights a cigarette, eyes me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve… or undo.

“Do I need to fear you too?” I ask.

He exhales slowly. “Not if you’re smart. But being smart never looked so tempting.”

“Flirting with your cousin’s wife?” I arch a brow. “That’s bold.”

“You’re not really his wife. You’re a Russo. And I know you didn’t choose this.”

Something about his tone makes my blood run cold.

“What do you know?” I whisper.

He steps closer, shadows dancing across his sharp cheekbones. “I know things about your sister’s disappearance. Things your new husband won’t tell you.”

I step back, but the balcony rail bites into my spine.

“You’re in over your head, Valentina,” he murmurs. “And you don’t even know how deep the water goes.”

The door behind us slams open.

Alessandro.

His glare could cut glass. He stalks toward us like a lion reclaiming his prey.

“Go inside,” he growls at me, his voice like thunder. “Now.”

I freeze.

“I said—”

“No,” I say quietly. “You don’t get to command me like I’m a dog.”

A flicker of something dark flashes in his eyes. Admiration… or rage.

He grabs my wrist. Tight.

“Fine. Let’s talk, wife.”

He drags me through the halls of the mansion until we reach a private room his office. Guns line the walls. The door slams shut behind us.

He turns, breath harsh.

“What are you really doing here, Valentina?”

“What are you hiding about my sister?”

Silence. Then he steps closer.

Dangerous. Calm. Too calm.

“I didn’t ask for you. I don’t want you. But you’re mine now. And if you think you can play games

“I’m not the one lying about my missing sister,” I snap. “You are.”

His jaw ticks. “Be very careful, Valentina. In this house, curiosity kills.”

Then he does the last thing I expect.

He touches my cheek. A ghost of a caress.

“I’ll break you if I have to,” he whispers. “But first, I’ll make you beg.”

And God help me…

A part of me wants to find out what happens if I do.