Taming The Máfia Boss

My father led me down the church aisle, with hundreds of guests divided on both sides staring at me—Cosa Nostra on one side, 'Ndrangheta on the other. Their watchful gazes were fixed on me: some with pity, others with greed, and some I couldn’t decipher. But they were all there, witnessing the virgin in white being handed over to her next owner by her own father.

I looked toward the end of the aisle, where Filippo stood. Tall and strong, with a sickening smile on his lips, waiting for me as if it were the happiest moment of his life.

Perhaps it was for him, but for me, it would be my end.

My father tugged at me, and my legs seemed to move at their own pace while my body trembled with nerves. Red rose petals covered my path, softening the way toward a harsh and sorrowful future.

I knew how horrible Filippo was and that he would never respect me. I would be nothing more than a piece of meat, a body for him to bury himself in, a vessel to carry his children.

My father’s grip tightened around my fingers, and I knew I should lift my face and look at my future husband, but I wanted to flee from him for the last few seconds I had left.

The walk felt like an eternity, yet it ended far too quickly. I wished I would never reach the end of the aisle. My father stopped in front of the altar, lifted the corners of my veil, and handed my hand to Filippo.

“Hey, little bride,” he said. I forced a smile, not because I liked when he called me that, but out of obligation.

After he cornered me in a room at our engagement party and forced his tongue into my mouth, all my disdain for him turned into a mix of disgust and dread. I knew that tonight, he would force himself on me without caring about my feelings, simply because I was his property.

“You’ll see how you’ll try to escape me once we’re married. You’ll be mine, and I’ll do whatever I want with you,” he had said when I tried to dodge his revolting lips.

The priest, dressed in a white robe, greeted us and the guests before beginning his opening prayer.

I tried to breathe deeply and stay steady, even though the tight corset cut off my air, making it hard to breathe. The only thing keeping me focused was his hand gripping mine, rubbing suggestively just to unsettle me.

When the priest finally reached the end of the Gospel reading, my legs were even weaker, while the man beside me kept that smile on his lips.

“Filippo and Angela, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”—NO, I wanted to scream. “Will you love and honor each other as husband and wife until death do you part?”

But before we could answer, synchronized footsteps, like combat boots hitting the church floor, echoed through the space. All the men drew their weapons, except Filippo, who kept holding my hand, seeming overly confident.

Perhaps he was right to think it wasn’t an attack—after all, the guards outside the church hadn’t said anything, and no sounds came from outside.

But before anyone appeared at the door, the sound of metal hitting the floor rang out in the silent church.

“Grenade!” someone shouted, and the crowd erupted, running, screaming, and bumping into each other.

Filippo looked around like a confused roach, desperate for cover, gripping my hand so tightly I thought he’d break my bones. Then something exploded around us, the sound so loud it assaulted our ears. He turned, running and shoving me. I couldn’t balance in my heels and fell to the ground, my knees hitting the hard, cold stone.

The chaos around me left me disoriented. The pain in my knees made me want to cry, while my ears still rang painfully. My head spun, and all my senses were in disarray.

I brought my hands to my ears, trying to muffle the sound or at least think clearly, while people ran around me, pushing, trampling, and hurting me without care.

“Mom! Dad!” I screamed, trying to find someone.

There was no fire around, just white smoke making it impossible to locate anything. I couldn’t find my parents or siblings, and even our security seemed nowhere near.

When I thought I’d be left there, forgotten, to be trampled or killed by our invaders, large, firm hands wrapped around my body, lifting me and cradling me in strong arms.

I couldn’t see through the smoke and chaos, but I let myself be carried by the man who held me with skill and protectiveness, taking me out of that hellish place straight to the safety of a car.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed, and the car sped off. With luck, I might have gained a few more days without a husband. I could only hope there weren’t too many injuries and that my family was safe.

I hadn’t even realized I was sitting on my unknown savior’s lap, but one glance to the side told me something was wrong. None of the men in the car belonged to my father—I had never seen them before.

“Who are you?” I asked, already pushing against the man holding me, wanting to free myself from his grip and get off his lap, even if there was nowhere else to sit.

My hands came back wet, and when I looked down, I saw they were red. The man holding me had his white shirt stained with blood, as did the men beside him, but none of them looked at me.

“Good morning, angel. Sorry for ruining your wedding like this, but it was the only way to make your father see reason,” the deep, commanding voice of my savior sent shivers down my spine. I frowned, confused, still trying to pull away from him and keep those hands off me, but he just shook his head in refusal. “Marco Falcone.”

His intense brown eyes, framed by thick eyebrows, locked onto mine, sending a wave of heat through my body. I wasn’t used to being stared at so boldly—men always averted their eyes when they knew who I was.

Then his name clicked in my mind. I had heard it somewhere before…

“Falcone? The bossabd1

System: boss of the…”

“Camorra!” he finished my sentence, to my utter shock, flashing a beautiful yet terrifying smile.

But all I could think was that I was dead. This was my end, I realized, staring into those hypnotic irises and coming to terms with who was in front of me.

The Demon of the Camorra.

The man who had pulled me out of the church, carried me in his arms, and still held me close, sitting on his lap, was him—the most feared man of all, who had built his monstrous reputation since he was a boyWilliamsburg, Virginia, and took pride in it.

The boss of the Camorra and one of my father’s enemies. What did he want with me? Taking me from the church after attacking us in the middle of the wedding, covered in blood, only told me his plan was terrible.

“None other than me, angel. And it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my future wife!”