SUBSTITUTE BRIDE FOR THE MARAZONA HEIR [ Series]

Serafina De Luca “Seriously, Mother, if anyone in this house has to marry that dying man, it should be Serafina!” Mirabella’s shrill voice cracked through the midnight silence like shattered glass, sharp enough to make me flinch even before the words truly settled in. I kept my head down. Kept scrubbing. Kept my knees pressed into the cold marble floor while the dirty water soaked through the thin fabric of my dress and numbed my skin. The mop handle trembled in my hands. Not because the floor was hard to clean. Because I already knew where this conversation was going. A crystal chandelier hung above the grand hallway, spilling warm golden light over expensive paintings, imported vases, and the spotless staircase curling toward the second floor like something from a palace. Everything in the De Luca mansion screamed wealth. Everything except me. I was kneeling in the center of it, barefoot, damp, exhausted, dressed in one of Mirabella’s old faded house gowns with bleach st

Serafina De Luca: For three long seconds, Vincenzo Marazona did nothing but stare at me. The applause around us slowly died. One by one, the clapping hands lowered. A strange discomfort spread through the cathedral like smoke. Because something in the groom’s face had shifted. The cold indifference was gone. In its place stood something far more terrifying. Pure rage. His eyes sharpened on me as if he could burn straight through the silk of my gown and pull answers from my bones. Then his gaze flicked toward my father. Then Rosalina. Then back to me. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked. When he spoke, his voice came out low. Deadly. “Who the hell is this?” The priest blinked. “Huh?” That was all the poor man managed before Vincenzo turned his head with such frightening slowness that even I forgot how to breathe. “I asked,” Vincenzo said, every word cut from ice, “who the hell is standing in front of me?” Silence. Absolute silence. No organ music. No whispe

DON VINCENZO MARAZONAGod.I did not know how long I had been unconscious on the floor, but sunlight crashing violently through the bedroom windows hit directly against my face, dragging a low irritated hiss from my throat.My neck ached.My shoulder was numb.Slowly, I pushed myself upright from the floor beside the bed, rubbing one hand down my jaw with visible annoyance.The bed had felt suffocating last night.Too soft.Too quiet.Too much time to think.So at some point, I ended up on the ground instead.Pathetic.I sat there for another moment, glaring at absolutely nothing while sunlight spilled across the black marble floors of my room.The shattered remains of last night’s temper still decorated the suite.Broken crystal near the fireplace.The destroyed lighter.Tobacco scattered across the floor.A servant would clean it eventually.Not my problem.I finally stood.Every muscle in my body protested immediately.Wonderful.Exactly the kind of morning a dying man needed.I wa

Serafina De Luca:“Ma’am, the Don has ordered you to move into the Main Residence.”I blinked at the maid in confusion.“The… main residence?”“Yes, Ma’am.”For a second I simply stared at her while my brain struggled to catch up. I had genuinely assumed I would remain hidden away inside the guest villa forever like some embarrassing mistake no one wanted near the actual family.Apparently not.The maids moved quickly after that.My dresses—well, the few things that actually belonged to me—were packed neatly into boxes while several staff members carried them across the estate. No one explained anything. They simply escorted me through hallways so enormous and luxurious they barely looked real.The main residence was breathtaking.Not in the warm welcoming way beautiful places usually were.No.This place looked powerful.Dark polished floors stretched endlessly beneath glittering chandeliers while expensive paintings lined the walls beside antique statues and massive windows overlook

Don Vincenzo MarazonaShe stood there like a sacrificial lamb who had willingly walked into the wolf’s den, cheeks flushed crimson, eyes wide with a mixture of terror and something far more dangerous — hope.“You are exhausting,” I repeated, my voice low and rough.Serafina’s lips parted, but no sound came out. That soft cream nightdress clung to her newly polished body in all the wrong ways — or perhaps all the right ones. The staff had done their job too well. The frightened little mouse I married had been transformed into something delicate, fragrant, and far too tempting for a dying man who had sworn he didn’t care.I shouldn’t have noticed the way her nipples pressed against the thin fabric when she breathed. I shouldn’t have imagined wrapping my hand around that slender throat just to feel how fast her pulse would race under my fingers.But I did.And that irritated me more than her constant apologizing ever could.I took one slow step toward her. She instinctively took one back