Chapter 9: The Night Everything Changed.

Bianca's POV

I walked into the grand hall slowly, the sharp click of my heels echoing against marble floors that glittered like spilled champagne. For a moment, my heart stalled in my chest. This didn’t look like the lair of a Mafia city. No...this looked like a fairy tale kingdom, a masquerade straight out of Cinderella’s storybook. Golden chandeliers dripped crystals overhead, casting rainbows across velvet drapes. The crowd sparkled with silk gowns and masks feathered in emeralds and rubies.

But I knew better. Beneath the beauty lay rot, blood, and men who carved kingdoms from the bones of cities.

I let my eyes roam, memorizing everything, my posture regal but cautious. A woman in silver stopped before me, offering a crystal glass of wine with a polite smile. I accepted it, brushing my fingers along the rim. “Thank you,” I murmured before gliding away, to the corner of the room, where shadows made my watching easier.

I sat, gaze shifting from table to table. Every detail mattered. Every whisper, every smirk. I was looking for something, someone, though I didn’t yet know who. Then my eyes landed on the far wall.

Portraits.

I rose, crossing the marble, my gown trailing like midnight smoke behind me. My fingers hovered over each frame until one stopped me cold.

Samantha Horhetha Elvalour.

My mother.

My breath caught. She stood painted in solemn glory, draped in her black Mafia regalia, dagger gleaming in her hand..the SheMafia symbol, the short blade that announced a woman who commanded death itself. But across her image, a cruel red “X” had been slashed. Beneath it, in jagged letters: Villain.

My fists clenched. Lies. They had fed this city poison, twisting her name into filth. I traced her painted jawline with my eyes, and for a fleeting moment, I felt her strength, as if she stood here whispering: Do not falter, Bianca.

As I reached toward the portrait, a heavy hand gripped my shoulder. I froze, my skin prickling with dread. Slowly, I turned.

A man towered over me, clad in black trimmed with silver, the badge on his chest gleaming: Third in Command. My stomach knotted.

“Dance,” he said. His tone was not a request. His lips curved into something dark. “On my lap.”

I gave him a long, cold look, hissing under my breath, “Do I look like a stripper to you?”

His expression turned deadly, eyes flat. “Careful. Or I’ll have you sold to the Durlord.”

The name meant nothing, but the way he said it made bile crawl in my throat. I forced my breathing steady, following him. If you can’t beat them, eat them. Mama’s words echoed in my head.

He sank into a velvet chair, spreading his legs, and I slid onto his lap. The crowd laughed, cheered, banging their glasses against the tables. I inhaled deeply, then let my body take over. My hips rolled against him, slow, sinuous, measured. My hands dragged along his chest as my waist circled with deliberate rhythm. His grip clamped tight around me, nails biting through fabric.

But my eyes weren’t on him. They roamed the party, mapping every detail, every potential exit. This wasn’t about seduction..it was survival.

The crowd’s cups clinked harder, the noise rising, until suddenly… it stilled. A hush swept through the room as a figure appeared.

Mordecai.

Not dressed in dark Mafia garb, but in white and gold, silk glimmering like sunlit ivory. His presence screamed wealth, indulgence, stolen empires. He climbed the stage, smirk curling like a blade, and took the mic.

“Brothers. Sisters,” his voice rolled, smooth and venomous, “we dine tonight not as men at war, but as kings in our paradise. The world bows because we demand it. Weak cities collapse because we devour them. Tonight is proof, proof we are eternal. And anyone who dares challenge us will bleed before the dawn.”

Applause thundered. Laughter rattled.

The man beneath me shoved me off, spitting, “Boring.” I smoothed my gown, secretly relieved. But my breath hitched as another hand grabbed me...rough, claiming.

I spun around and froze.

Mordecai.

His smirk widened as he circled me like a predator, tilting my jaw up with two fingers. “You’re not from here,” he said.

My throat burned. Don’t blow your cover. You promised Dante.

“I’m from a neighboring town,” I lied smoothly, “a town your enemies ruined. until your men pitied me… saved me.”

His eyes narrowed, but then he chuckled. “Follow me.”

The knot in my stomach coiled tighter.

He led me into a private chamber. My steps slowed, caught by the beauty gold trimmed walls, silk curtains, ivory furniture polished like bone. Too beautiful for a devil’s lair.

Mordecai lounged into a chair, sipping wine. His gaze burned into me. I forced myself closer, body swaying as I began to rock against him, trying to distract, to survive. His palm smacked my ass, sharp, echoing. My chest tightened. He grabbed my neck suddenly, voice low and dangerous.

“Strip.”

I shook my head lightly, whispering, “I… I can’t. I’m on my flow.” that was a lie.

He laughed, cruel and cold. “Is that my problem?”

Hatred surged through me.

“I could make you my wife,” he continued, sipping again, “but you probably can’t give me a son.”

“You… don’t have a heir?” I asked softly.

His laugh was ice. “My consultant says I can't bear sons. But I have my daughter. Perfect. Ruthless. She will rule in my place."

A daughter. A woman. My heart leapt. A female heir meant a crumbling of his iron hold. A crack in his throne. A chance for us.

But my relief lasted only a heartbeat. He grabbed my hair, yanking my face close. “Don’t pity me, whore.”

Rage coiled in my veins, but I forced stillness. His hands roamed, his body rough, demanding. I let him, because striking back now would shatter everything. I thought only of Dante. I promised him that I will not break cover.

Then...a knock. A guard entered. “Your daughter and her fiancé await you.”

As Mordecai turned, I snatched a sharp edge from the bed, slicing my hand. Blood spilled, as poured it on the bed splattering the sheets.

He grinned in frustration, "Tell her to await me in the hall." he turned back to me as he saw blood all over the sheets, fury twisting his face. He grabbed my jaw hard enough to bruise. “Filthy. No self-control, are you that shameless not to know your time as a woman, urgh, Clean up immediately and meet me outside.” He shoved me away and stormed out.

The door creaked open again. A woman entered, soft-eyed. “I’m Seraph,” she said gently. “I’ll clean this.”

I smiled thinly. “It’s just a cut. Nothing more.”

But I studied her. Her eyes weren’t cruel. She was different. She warned me softly: “Be careful. These men… they’re not like any others.”

I nodded, hiding the dagger once more beneath my gown.

We returned to the hall. I followed her in, my stomach twisting at the sight before me. Dozens of men sat, the Mafia elite, each face heavy with power. For the first time, I wondered why my father is so cursed in a way that he can't own a Mafia title.

Then Mordecai’s voice thundered. “Massage my back while I speak.”

I obeyed, stepping behind him. My gaze lifted, scanning the crowd and froze on her.

A young woman, striking, dark-haired, her eyes sharp and cruel in their beauty. Betty Mordecai. His daughter.

And beside her…

My heart cracked.

Dante.

His arm curled around her. Smiling. Laughing as though she was his world.

I couldn’t breathe.

Mordecai’s words blurred until one stabbed into me.

“Marriage.”

The world tilted. My ears rang. Marriage? Dante and Betty?

I clung to hope, desperate. Maybe it’s a plan. Maybe he’ll look at me, give me a sign.

And then his eyes met mine.

Empty. Cold.

Not the man who kissed me. Not the man who whispered hunger into my skin. This gaze belonged to a stranger.

I was drowning in my thoughts when the tray slipped. Wine splashed onto my gown. I looked at the lady as I excused myself quickly, clutching the fabric, holding on to my gown knowing the dagger shifting dangerously, trying to make a way out of it's hideout.

I walked down the hall, quickly enough to let no suspicion crawl in.

But then… a grip seized my wrist.

Dante.

“Hello Ma'am, Something wrong down there?” he murmured, eyes flicking to where the blade pressed against my dress.

My breath shook. The hall went silent, all eyes on us.

“I need the restroom,” I whispered. “It’s slipping. Please.”

He stepped closer, gaze piercing, my heart beating fast, I was craving him again, I could feel the burning desire, and then he shoved my hand away.. The dagger clattered to the ground. The metallic clang of the dagger hitting the floor silenced the hall.

My blood ran cold.

No one breathed. No one blinked.

The blade glimmered under the chandelier, mocking me with its truth...the symbol of a SHE Mafia, my family’s mark, the very curse that had followed me here.

I staggered back, fingers clutching at my gown, wishing the ground would open and swallow me whole. My lungs burned as if the air itself was too heavy to breathe.

Betty’s heels clicked slowly against the marble as she bent to pick up the weapon. She twirled it between her fingers, studying it with wicked delight.

Her voice rang like a dagger across the room.

“Father… this blade carries the mark of a SHE Mafia.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. My knees weakened.

Mordecai rose from his seat, his face dark with fury, his eyes bloodshot as if betrayal itself had spit in his drink. His voice thundered, shaking the walls.

“WHO DARES BRING THIS FILTH INTO MY CITY?!”

The hall erupted into chaos. Three men surged forward, their boots slamming against the ground like drums of war. One slammed the hilt of a sword against my back. Pain exploded down my spine, sending me crashing to the floor.

I couldn’t cry out. The only sound I managed was a broken gasp as I reached blindly..desperately..for the one anchor I thought I had left.

Dante.

My trembling fingers clutched at his trousers. My tears smeared against the fabric as I lifted my eyes to him, searching his face, begging in silence.

'Please. Don’t betray me. Not you.'

My lips parted, but words wouldn’t come. My throat was raw, strangled with fear. All I could do was stare into his eyes, begging for the man who kissed me last night, the man who swore without words that I belonged to him.

Betty’s shadow fell over me. She yanked my hair back, jerking my head upward. Her palm crashed across my face..once, twice..until hot blood poured from my nose, dripping down my lips and chin.

The taste of iron filled my mouth.

Still, I looked past her. Past the blur of faces. Past the ringing in my ears.

Straight at Dante.

Because my life...my city, my sister, my bloodline....balanced on his choice.

The guards slammed another blow against my face. My vision burst into stars, my hearing dulled, as though I was drowning in the slow tick… tick… tick… of the giant clock that ruled over the hall.

Everything narrowed to one moment. One man. One truth.

And then...I heard him.

His voice.

Cold. Detached. A blade sharper than the dagger that had betrayed me.

“Game over, Bianca.” he leaned over and whispered to my ears

The words shattered me.

Gasps and curses filled the hall. Mordecai's voice, triumph echoing like a death knell as he asked Dante who I was.

But I didn’t hear them.

I only heard the crack inside my chest.

The man who held me last night. The man whose lips had tasted mine, whose hands had burned against my skin. The man I thought was my secret, my fire, my salvation.

He had just killed me.

Tears burned down my cheeks, hot rivers of betrayal. My body trembled as blood spilled from my mouth, my nose, dripping onto the floor beneath me.

I tried to crawl to him one last time, to touch him, to demand an answer with my eyes. But the guards yanked me back, fists pounding my ribs, their laughter cruel as they called me weak.

Still...still...I couldn’t look away from him.

Dante.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t blink.

His face was carved from stone, unreadable, merciless.

No trace of the man from last night. No trace of the fire, the hunger, the tenderness that had made me believe, even for a moment that he was mine.

Only ice.

And as the last of my strength bled out of me, as the darkness crept into my vision and the world blurred into silence, i heard the one voice that betrayed me.

"Bianca Caruso, The daughter of the Mafia Villain, Samantha Horhetha Elfeavor."

The last word faded off my ears as I slumped.