The Mafia Don's Stolen Bride

The clock on the wall of the editorial room showed a little past eight in the evening. Flora Vance exhaled a long breath, then forced closed the laptop on her desk. Overtime was a daily staple for a Senior Editor at a major publishing house in Manhattan, New York, like herself. Tonight, however, her fatigue vanished into thin air. There was a joyful spark she couldn't hide.

"Hey, Nessa, want to head home together?" Flora asked as she slung the strap of her crossbody bag over her shoulder.

Vanessa, her best friend and the Managing Editor who was busy checking drafts in the next cubicle, looked up. "Can't, Flo. I have a dinner plan with my cousin. Go ahead."

Flora smiled, leaning her body over Vanessa's cubicle. "Alright, I'll go first. Don't forget to accompany me for the wedding dress fitting tomorrow. Don't you dare be late!"

Vanessa laughed cheerfully, flashing a thumbs-up. "Got it, Bride-to-Be! Say hi to Devon for me!"

Hearing Devon's name, Flora’s chest warmed up. There were only days left until she officially became that man's wife. Devon Cross was a sincere, gentle man who always treated her with the utmost respect. Imagining their future kept Flora's smile intact, even as she stepped through the quiet, dim, and cold corridor of the office basement parking lot.

The moment Flora opened the door to her white sedan, a bad premonition suddenly gripped her. The atmosphere in the basement felt chilling, as if a pair of eyes were watching her from behind the darkness. Flora turned quickly, scanning the area. Empty. There was only a row of cars parked in silence.

Trying to ignore the goosebumps rising on her skin, Flora immediately got into the car and stepped on the gas, cutting through the New York streets that were beginning to clear out.

The disaster came without warning.

To avoid traffic, Flora took an alternative route through a quiet, poorly lit street. Suddenly, from the front and back, two black SUVs sped forward, instantly cutting off and harshly blocking Flora's car's path.

Screeeeeeeych!

Flora slammed on the brakes with all her might. Her body was thrown violently forward. Her heart raced frantically. Before she could even process the situation, several heavily built men dressed completely in black jumped out of the SUVs.

One of them aimed a short-barreled firearm straight at the windshield, while another pounded on the window next to where Flora sat.

"Get out!" the man barked. His voice was deep and threatening.

"H-help! Who are you?!" Flora screamed hysterically, locking the car doors from the inside. With hands trembling violently, she tried to reach for her phone on the dashboard to call Devon.

CRASH!

The man outside smashed the car window with the butt of his weapon until it shattered completely. The door was forced open from the outside. Flora's small body was forcefully dragged out until she fell onto the asphalt. Flora resisted, kicking and screaming as loudly as she could, hoping another vehicle would pass by.

"Let me go! You bastards! Who are you?!"

"Shut up!"

A handkerchief with a highly pungent chemical odor was suddenly clamped over Flora's nose and mouth. Flora tried to hold her breath, but the substance was too strong. Within seconds, a massive dizziness attacked her brain. Her vision blurred, the rest of her strength was completely paralyzed, until finally Flora's consciousness collapsed into darkness.Elsewhere, inside the luxury penthouse of a five-star hotel looking directly out at the twinkling lights of Manhattan, a man stood arrogantly near a giant glass window.

Arthur Sterling. That name was the law in the New York underworld. He was a syndicate boss who was cold, arrogant, and never knew the word mercy. Between his fingers, a cigarette burned. He inhaled deeply, letting the thick smoke fill his lungs before the phone in his shirt pocket vibrated.

Arthur answered the call without a sound. "How is it?"

"Cleaned up, Sir. We have secured the target without a trace," reported the voice on the other end.

A cruel smirk formed at the corner of Arthur's handsome yet deadly lips. "Good. Bring her to the usual place."

The phone call was disconnected unilaterally. Arthur's mind was filled with a vengeance that burned in his chest. Finally, that bitch has fallen into my hands, he thought cynically. Arthur mistakenly thought Flora was the daughter of his past enemy, as well as the woman who had stolen his nephew's lover. He had absolutely no idea that the woman his men captured tonight was a completely different person.

Thirty minutes later, the door to the penthouse room opened. Two of Arthur's men walked in while carrying Flora's still-unconscious body on their shoulders. They laid the small body down on the white king-size bed in the middle of the room.

"Get out," Arthur ordered coldly, without even turning around.

After his men left and locked the door from the outside, Arthur walked over to the bed with a glass of red wine in his hand. His sharp eyes stared at Flora's innocent face, which looked fragile against the white sheets.

"Seems like you are sleeping very soundly, bitch," Arthur whispered, full of deep hatred.

Without a shred of mercy, Arthur splashed the remaining cold wine in his glass right onto Flora's face.

"Ah!"