Bride of the Mafia cripple

The pearls around Leora Valencia's neck felt like chains, cold, suffocating, and inescapable.

She sat on the edge of the velvet-cushioned chair in her father’s expansive study, surrounded by mahogany shelves filled with ancient books and gold-framed portraits of dead men with lifeless eyes. The air reeked of cigar smoke and old power, a combination that always made her throat itch.

Across from her, Franklin Valencia, her father and the most feared underworld magnate in the southern bloc, stood with a glass of brandy in one hand and her future in the other.

“You will marry Adam Luciano,” he declared, voice like cracked ice.

Leora’s fingers tightened around the armrest. Her heart had been hammering since he summoned her with no explanation, and now the reason stood before her, tall, cruel, and wrapped in an expensive suit. “He’s twice my age,” she said softly.

“And twice as important,” Franklin replied without looking at her. He tilted his glass and took a slow sip, his gaze drifting out the tall window overlooking the iron-wrought gates. “This marriage is strategic. You’re not marrying for love, you’re a Valencia. You marry for power.”

Power. That damned word again. It had been drilled into her since childhood. How to speak with power, walk with power, smile without ever showing weakness. But she wasn’t a pawn, and she wasn’t built for this blood-soaked empire.

“I’m not doing it.” Her voice trembled, but the words rang firm.

Franklin turned his head sharply. “Excuse me?”

Leora stood. She wanted to shrink under his glare, but she didn’t. “I said I’m not marrying Adam. He’s vile, controlling, and treats women like collectibles.”

Her father’s lips curled into a cold smirk. “You’ll be his most prized one, then.”

“I’m not for sale,” she hissed.

The brandy glass shattered against the wall before she saw it leave his hand. She flinched, heart leaping into her throat.

“You forget your place, girl!” he growled. “You’re mine to give. Adam Luciano is offering us protection, alliance, and legacy. You think your silly notions of love mean anything in our world? Grow up.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. Showing weakness was dangerous. But staying silent… that would be worse.

“I’d rather die than marry him.”

A chilling silence followed.

Franklin slowly walked toward her, stopping just inches from her face. His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “Do not tempt me.”

Leora’s entire body trembled. He wouldn’t kill her, but he could destroy her in other ways. Lock her up. Strip her of everything. He’d done it before to those who defied him.

She had to leave. Tonight.

She reached for the drawer under her vanity and pulled out a worn envelope, the one she’d hidden for months. Inside were notes she’d scribbled secretly: names, routes, phone numbers… and one name circled over and over.

Don Allerick.

The name alone was dangerous to utter in this house.

The crippled son of her father’s greatest enemy. Rumor had it that her father was responsible for the hit that left Allerick in a wheelchair, and that the Don had sworn to end the Valencia bloodline in return. Allerick had power, reach, and a reputation for ruthless silence. No one crossed him and lived to boast.

He was the last place a Valencia should ever run to.

But he was her only chance.

She grabbed a small duffel bag from under the bed and stuffed it with cash, forged ID, a burner phone, and a switchblade she barely knew how to use.

As she tiptoed through the dark halls of the mansion, she paused by her younger sister’s room. Her heart clenched, but she didn’t go in. The less anyone knew, the safer they’d be. Even from her.

She slipped through the side entrance, bypassing the guard post using the route she’d practiced in her head a hundred times. Her pulse raced. Every snap of a twig sounded like a bullet waiting to end her escape.

But finally, she reached the road. A car she paid off weeks ago was parked just beyond the trees.

Her hands trembled as she got in, slammed the door, and turned the key.

The engine growled to life, and so did her fear.

By the time she arrived at the edges of his estate, dawn was bleeding into the sky. The city faded behind her, replaced by thick woods, barbed fences, and steel gates lined with surveillance cameras.

She got out of the car, breathing heavily. She didn’t even know if he’d see her, or kill her on sight. But the fear of staying trapped in her father’s gilded cage was worse.

Leora walked up to the gates, her black coat flapping behind her in the breeze. She knew they were watching.

“I’m here to see Don Allerick,” she called out, trying to make her voice carry.

Silence.

Then, from hidden speakers, a voice crackled. “Name.”

“Leora Valencia.”

There was a long pause. She imagined someone dropping their coffee inside. The daughter of Franklin Valencia, standing like prey on their doorstep?

“Stay where you are.”

The gates opened slowly, groaning like old bones.

A black SUV rolled forward, two suited men stepping out. Their eyes were sharp, weapons visible.

They said nothing, just motioned for her to get in.

Leora’s legs felt numb as she obeyed. This could be her end. But she’d rather die on her own terms than live as a puppet.

The ride was short. Soon, they reached the heart of the estate, a fortress-like mansion, nothing like her father’s polished palace. This was concrete and stone, strength over luxury.

They led her into a room dimly lit by warm lamps and flickering firelight. It smelled of cedar, steel, and something colder.

Then, he entered.

Don Allerick.

He was nothing like she imagined.

Seated in a sleek wheelchair, dressed in all black, he carried an air of command that didn’t need movement. His sharp jawline, scarred slightly near the temple, and piercing gray eyes gave him the look of a fallen angel carved in ice.

He didn’t speak at first. Just studied her.

“So,” he finally said, voice deep and indifferent. “The lion’s daughter dares to walk into the wolf’s den.”

Leora lifted her chin. “I came to make you an offer.”

He arched a brow. “You should be begging for mercy, not offering anything.”

“I’m not here for mercy,” she said. “I’m here for freedom.”

He chuckled, a short, mirthless sound. “You ran from Daddy. How sweet. Did the engagement ring not fit?”

“I want a contract marriage,” she said.

The room went still.

Allerick’s expression darkened. “You think this is a fantasy novel?”

“No,” she said. “I think it’s survival. Marry me, and I’ll be your bride. Your pawn. Whatever you want to call it. Just keep me out of my father’s reach.”

“And in return?”

“You get leverage over Franklin Valencia’s only daughter.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting like steel under firelight. “Tell me, Leora… did Daddy ever mention I can crush a man’s throat without leaving this chair?”

She didn’t flinch. “Good. Then you won’t need to chase me if I cross you.”

He studied her again, like a man deciding whether to keep or kill.

“I don’t like naive girls.”

“I’m not naive,” she said. “Just desperate.”

There was a long pause.

Then, finally, he said, “Interesting.”