The Devil's Inferno

I never wanted to get married. 

Marriage in the Mafia symbolized a business deal, not a union of love. Women were at the greatest disadvantage, their futures sold off, forced to cater to husbands who saw them as property. For the rest of their lives. That was not the life I wanted for myself.

However, today, my only sister, Zita, was going to be locked in her own velvet coffin. She was getting married to Enzo Bianchi—a ruthless man who killed like a machine. And the deep ache in my chest wouldn’t stop hurting.

Zita was standing in front of a floor-length mirror, staring at her pitiful reflection. She looked beautiful in her sparkling white dress, but that shine wasn’t reflecting in her eyes. I dreaded the day that it would be me standing soullessly in a pretty wedding dress like that.

“Do you think we would ever love each other?” she asked me, her eyes red with sadness as she continued staring at herself.

“I can’t tell.” I snuck up to her, embracing her from behind as we both stared into the mirror. “But I know one thing. Try as much as possible to form a cordial relationship with him so that he could respect you. Once he respects you, you’ll survive. Just try to find your own happiness in something else.”

“I don’t want to go.” Her voice cracked as tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t want to marry him.”

Sadness filled my chest, threatening to explode into tears. I loved my sister so much, and I hated the fact that there was nothing I could do to stop her pain.

“I am sorry,” I managed to murmur, stroking her back with my fingers. “I am really sorry, Zita.”

After the little emotional moment, we cleaned our tears and appeared strong, like we had always been taught to do since we were little, no matter how broken we were. We headed to the event centre that was already filled with the most dangerous people in New York afterwards.

Everything happened in a blur—from when she walked down the aisle to when they said their fake vows and tied the knot. I couldn’t pay attention to how my only sister was being sold off. And it broke my heart even more knowing that I was next.

The wedding reception began almost immediately. Zita was with her husband, receiving guests, while I was seated by the bar, about to drown myself completely in alcohol because I couldn’t go through that night sober. I was on the verge of losing my mind.

“Something strong,” I told the bartender, barely glancing up before my eyes drifted back to my sister. Just as I did, she turned to look at me, and our eyes met. She had a pleading look in her eyes, a silent cry for help.

“Save me,” she mouthed, her chin trembling, the sadness rooted deep within her evident in her eyes.

My heart broke all over again, shooting an invisible pain throughout my body. I averted my gaze from her quickly, unable to see her in such a helpless situation, knowing that there was nothing I could do about it.

But... she needed me. She needed some form of reassurance, I thought. So, taking a deep breath, I turned to look at her again. She was still looking at me, pain never leaving her eyes.

I gave her a reassuring nod, silently letting her know that I would always be there for her no matter what. She returned my smile, and that eased my chest a little.

As I made to look away, my eyes suddenly caught a man who was across the room, interacting with the other mafia men. For some reason, I didn’t look away immediately and continued staring until he abruptly hoisted his head up, meeting my gaze.

My heart skipped a beat, and without hesitation, I yanked my eyes away. Damn, that man was built like a god. His poise, his wavy brown hair, the structure of his face—were nothing like I had ever seen before. I could tell that his heart was as dark as the black suit he was wearing. A man like him could only bring trouble.

I took the drink already in front of me and chugged it down in one go.

“More,” I told the bartender, tipping the cup forward.

I was tempted to steal another glance at that man, but I stopped myself. I should be worried about Zita and not some mysterious, dark-hearted man. He was a devil in the form of a temptation.

The bartender raised a brow. “Are you trying to get drunk?”

“Just get it,” I groaned with annoyance.

“I thought I was the only one who wasn’t enjoying the party,” I suddenly heard a voice say from behind me. I sucked in a breath, hoping my suspicions weren’t correct because that sultry voice matched the face I had just seen damn well.

He sat beside me, leaning on the counter with one arm. “Hello, miss.”

He smelled just as nice.

I sucked in another breath, mustering the courage to look at him.

“Hi,” I finally murmured, flicking my gaze to him. My heart pounded so hard the second our eyes met. He was even more breathtaking up close. Who the hell was this devil?

He leaned even closer until I could feel his hot breath on my ear. “You stand out. I couldn’t resist,” he suddenly said.

My heart skipped a beat, and I sat frozen as I continued staring at him, dumbfounded.

He straightened back up and adjusted his tuxedo. “I hate weddings too.”

My throat dried up, and I chugged down my drink before replying to him. “Why?” I asked.

“Look around...” he shifted his gaze around the room. “Who do you think is genuinely here to celebrate with the couple? Every single person has their own agenda. Whether seeking an alliance or something else.”

“And you?” I challenged.

Instead of answering, he tilted his head. “What’s your name?”

I hesitated. “It doesn’t matter.”

His gaze darkened. “What is your name?” He asked again, his tone threatening.

I sighed and gave in. “Alma.”

“Dance with me, Alma,” he suddenly said, and my eyes widened.

“What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated with a firm tone.

As much as I would’ve liked to decline, I didn’t. I couldn’t. We were taught from a very young age to always respect mafia men in order to avoid their wrath.

Out of my own will, I nodded, and he took my hand, leading me to the dance floor.

“So, you never told me why you hated weddings,” he asked as we began swaying around the dance floor. His body was sturdy, his arms caging around me in a protective form.

“I hate the idea of loveless marriages entirely. And that is the only form of marriage that exists in this world,” I said truthfully.

The look in his eyes was enchanting as he spoke. “What has to be done has to be done.”

“But that doesn’t mean going into a marriage knowing you might get killed by your own husband. It doesn’t make sense,” I said vehemently.

His eyes narrowed. “Who has ever killed his wife?”

“Lazzaro Visconti. He killed his wife after bearing twins for him.”

He frowned at my words. “Did you fact-check that? What if you are wrong?”

“It’s a known fact. Everybody knows,” I countered.

He lifted my arm, and as he swung me around, I noticed that so many people were staring at us, some even whispering.

Their gazes suffocated me.

“Who are you? Why is everyone staring at us?” I asked him as he pulled me closer, slipping his arm around my waist. “Tell me, am I dancing with who I’m not supposed to dance with?”

He chuckled smoothly. “I never dance with anyone. So they are all in a state of shock.”

Then why me? Why was he dancing with me?

A wave of discomfort rushed through me, and I tried to detach myself and run away, but the damn man tightened his arm around me, pulling me even closer.

“You stay with me, Alma,” he murmured, “until it’s over.”

Before I could process his words, gunshots cracked around us, and screams exploded through the air. Chaos erupted, with everyone either running or taking cover. Panic surged through me, and my first instinct was to get to my sister. And as I turned in her direction, my greatest nightmare came true when I saw a bullet pierce through her chest. Our eyes met, and she opened her mouth to say something, but she collapsed to the ground instead.

I tried to move, but I was paralyzed. I tried to scream, but my voice was lost. I just stood there, my eyes glued on Zita lying on the floor, lifeless, as her own blood slowly soaked her white dress.

“Get down, Alma!” a voice suddenly screamed as he dragged me to the ground with him.