THE MAFIA'S WRONG BRIDE

Aaliyah’s POV

The city comes alive as the plane taxis along the runway. It has been nine long years, but I still miss nothing about it. And I won't be here if it isn't so important.

“You’ve arrived in John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York,” a hostess’ voice rings through the space. I blur out the rest of her speech that I have heard a million and one times about disembarking a plane.

Because I have been on more flights than I can count in the last nine years. Just not one coming to New York.

I still remember the look in her eyes shortly before I was whisked away in the private jet out of the city. The lifeless pools watched me, as if judging me for what I knew. For what I wasn’t saying.

And now that I am back, I just hope I have enough strength in me to keep it hidden. 

With my suitcase in one hand and my phone pressed against my ear, I walk towards the arrival gate, hoping my father remembered I asked for a ride to come get me at the airport. 

One of the security men winks at me, and I smile stiffly in response. 

If my father were right beside me, if he knew who I was, the last thing he would want to do is wink at a Moretti. One of the largest Mafia families in New York and second on the pyramid. 

My sister, Iris, is getting married to the first.

“You’re out of your mind, Aaliyah!” Disdain drips from my sister’s tone straight into my ears. I have to admit that her arrogance has perfected over the years. 

“Max is everything I’ve ever wanted. I know you were quite young and might not remember, but I had a huge crush on him then. Dad even beat me up for it, and now…”

“He was Dad’s rival for a reason, Iris.”

“And now, he isn’t.”

I have tried, God, I have tried to make her just shut up and hear me. "He's dangerous, Iris." Fear wraps its hands around me from the mere thought of it. "I've seen…"

“You’ve seen nothing.” She laughs coldly, enough for me to wonder if she’s now one of them. Daddy has always favoured her. The first Moretti child. I did not care, since I didn’t want to be his perfect little mafia doll.

But Iris wanted it so badly. 

“Stop playing the jealous little sister, Aaliyah,” she continues. I hear fussing in the background. Someone says something about styling her hair in a ringlet of curls. “I know you detest how much attention everyone pays me, but what can I do about it? I didn’t ask for it.”

I roll my eyes, now standing at the gates, trying to search for our plate number on any of the cars lined out front. But deep down, I know Daddy would have forgotten I told him I was coming in today. 

“I don’t care about the attention they pay you,” I murmur. “Iris, did Dad remember to send a driver to get me?”

“To get you?” she repeats, confusion in her tone.

Shit! I didn’t tell her I was coming in today. 

“Are you in New York?”

I nod, then realize she cannot see me. “I told you, Iris. I have to do everything I can to stop you from getting married to Maximiliano Bianchi. You don’t know a thing about him.”

"Go back to wherever you've been hiding all these years, baby sister," she sneers. "Like all the other things that have happened, this is none of your business. The engagement is still going on today, and you should stay the hell out of it."

“Are you insane? He could kill you.”

"Do you have a crush on Max?"

“Hell no! God, I hate him.”

“Apparently not enough to keep his name out of your mouth.”

The line suddenly goes dead, and I huff a sigh of frustration. My hands reach out to flag a taxi, and I give him the address of the Moretti estate, before getting in and pressing my forehead to the cool glass. 

Iris has no idea. She doesn’t know that this could burn us all to the ground. 

By the time the taxi turns onto Fifth Avenue, my pulse starts racing with every streetlight we pass. The Moretti estate looks out of place on the street, like something from another century. It has always scared me as a kid, and now, I just want to be done with what I came here for and return to Rome.

The stone walls are lit with gold, and sleek cars line the curb outside, with chauffeurs standing beside them, waiting for their services to be required. 

I step out of the taxi and shove a fifty at the driver, wheeling my suitcase and joining the line of guests walking through the grand doors with our family crest, clad in tuxedos, dresses, and diamonds, glinting away into the night. 

Maybe I am out of place, in my baggy black pants, oversized gray tee, and my hair pulled back in a messy bun. Daddy always says we should dress like Morettis, but I have a knack for not following his instructions.

I should have tonight, because two men in black suits suddenly step into my path. 

“Invitation, Miss,” one of them says, not bothering to hide the fact that he is unimpressed.

“I don’t have one.”

“Then, I’m going to have to turn you around.”

“I don’t have on because I am family, dummy.” I try to push past, but the other man moves, blocking me.

You’ve got to be kidding me. 

“Family?” the first one smirks. “The Morettis only have two daughters as far as I know, and none of them is a stray.”

“Stray?” I mouth the word, a scoff falling from my lips. “I am Aaliyah Moretti, Vincenzo’s daughter.”

They don’t even flinch. “Then I am a Bianchi,” the second laughs. “Even if you were correct, which I doubt you are, your name isn’t on the list.”

“I don’t need to be on the damn list,” I snap. “Let me through or…”

"Or what?" The second man steps closer, his bulky build making me feel so small. "You gonna cry about it?"

I am about to fire back when everywhere suddenly seems to have grown still. The guards push away from me, the smirks on their faces vanishing. Footsteps echo behind me, and strangely, my heart starts thudding so hard.

He comes to stand beside me. 

Max Bianchi. 

He is in a black tailored Armani suit, his tie hanging around his neck loosely, like he's left some deal unfinished, or better still, someone bleeding in one of the rooms on the ground.

His eyes find mine, and it feels like he has been expecting me all along. 

"Are you lost, Aaliyah?" Max's voice is everything I should back away from. Low, smooth, and dangerous. 

His mouth curves into what can pass for a

smile. “Or are you exactly where you shouldn’t be?”