The Mafia Boss’s Mute Bride

ARIANA ROSSI RELATIVES LIKED TO SHOW off no matter the given event. It didn't matter that it was a funeral. Or that said dead man was their cousin five times removed. I'd seen about five women donning expensive Cartier bracelets and diamond necklaces that cost more than a year's rent in New York, while they wailed loudly over a man they knew next to nothing about. Especially one who deserved his death. Of course, not a single tear slipped down their eyes. Whimpers, loud wails, sniffles, and sobs they could do while holding a crumpled Kleenex to their eyes, but they wouldn't be caught dead ruining their flawless make-up. Papà wasn't a good man, and that was a truth I'd carried with me for years. Perhaps that was why I couldn't manage a single tear at his funeral. Or maybe it was just because I found crying... unnecessary. The deed had already been done. The smartest thing to do was to move on. I cringed when another loud wail filled the air, this one accompanied by snorts in bet

ALEKSEI The Italians couldn’t make it any more obvious that they didn’t want us here. It was comical. Really. I leaned back in my seat, eyeing the fuming man in front of me lazily, knowing there was shit he could do about this current situation. I had the documents to prove it, and he had… rage. As I said—comical. “This is bullshit!” Matteo Rossi spat, his eyes blazing with unbridled fury. It was time for round two, it seemed. If looks could kill, he would have obliterated my brother and me, but alas, it couldn’t. “It’s business,” I corrected. “You don’t have to like it to do it. Didn’t your daddy teach you that?” I asked, sinking my teeth into the corner of my bottom lip, knowing I’d hit a nerve. What? Sometimes, I liked to stir shit up, too. Too bad, I wasn’t here to cater to a made man’s feelings. I was here to get my empire back under control before Igor got any more asinine ideas. “Get out!” He hissed, his gaze burning with fury. “He’s dead. We don’t have to do shit!” M

ARIANA I SAT QUIETLY ON THE SOFA, watching Matteo pace back and forth in the living room, his shoulders tense. Mamà sat beside me, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed quietly. The Made men and the Russian brothers had left over an hour ago, but Mamà and Matteo still hadn’t gotten over the new development of things. I couldn’t blame them. I was still reeling from everything that had happened. “Matteo, sit down, and let’s talk about things,” Enzo finally said with a tired sigh. Matteo paused briefly to address Enzo. “There’s nothing to discuss. We’re not giving Ari away to them.” “Uncle Frederico is right. We will lose everything.” “Uncle Frederico has no right to talk. Do you think he’d give up his daughters so easily if he were in our shoes?” “We don’t know that. Let’s stop making up hypotheticals.” Matteo scowled down at Enzo. “So, you’re willing to give Ari over to those Bratva bastards?” “Until we can come up with a solution, there’s nothing we can do. This hit us smack

ARIANA FIVE DAYS. I was getting married to Aleksei fucking Tarasov in five days. In just a few days, I'd be bearing his last name. The bastard didn't think to inform me when he paid a visit to me yesterday. No, he thought it was convenient to just send a note containing his wishes to my home. "I thought we still had a month or so. This is hardly enough time to prepare. We're yet to do anything. We don't even have the invitations ready," Mamà shrieked in full-on panic mode. She loved planning parties, but not on such short notice. "Did I mention that five days is hardly enough time?" She walked out of the living room mumbling to herself as she listed off things that had to be done. "I need to call Maria..." I grabbed the discarded note Aleksei sent to us, scanning my eyes over the typewritten content for the third time. Dear Ariana, I decided it would be best if we could get married soonest. I take it you don't care about the date, so I decided to pick one-Saturday. I'll cover

ARIANA I changed into a sparkly, less bulky white dress for the reception. It rather was ironic considering the color of my wedding dress at the church, but there was no time to make switches now. I swapped out my black kitten heels for black satin Versace platform pumps. The heels were still torture, but they were better than the kitten heels I wore earlier. Aleksei sure as hell didn’t find this as amusing as he had my wedding dress stunt. If anything, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Finally, there was something we agreed on. The reception area was flawless from the decorations to the seating arrangements. Sparkles of gold and white carried across every inch of the room. Not a single thing was out of place given the short time he had to plan things out. That was the type of efficiency a lot of money got you. The first time Aleksei willingly touched me since the reception began was when it was time for the bride and groom to dance. His large hands fell on my wai