The Mafia King’s Forbidden Wife

Chapter 1

FINA

“Fix your veil, Serafina. Be a present, not a dead girl.”

Her fingers were as cold as ice on the nape of my neck as she fixed the veil on me. She was calm, perfectly rehearsed, as though her fear for me had not consumed her in the church.

“He is thirty years older than me,” I said in a whisper, staring directly into the huge glass window at the end of the aisle. “He reeks of scotch and old cigars.”

“He is a Rossi,” my uncle interrupted, standing next to me, his fingers squeezing my elbow tightly through the fabric of my dress. “And his bloodline ensures our family stays alive in the streets. Take his hand, take the vow and smile. You owe this family your very life.”

My life.

I gulped down the tasteless lump in my throat and held my back straight. There wasn’t any choice my family was giving me. We didn’t have any choice. The Moretti and Rossi families had been bleeding the city for twenty years. This marriage was a truce. My sacrifice in ivory lace so that no more hitmen were called to war.

The hefty oak doors of the cathedral creaked open.

The organ thundered with sound in a somber, ominous chord, sounding like it was marching me to my death instead of my wedding.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed their attention on me. Men in business suits with holstered guns. Women in expensive dresses with steely eyes that never blinked. Everyone here either held a gun in his hand or had a family member killed with one.

At the end of the altar was Julian Rossi.

A smug, victorious smile curved on his lips as I walked closer. He looked at me as if looking at his new deed to some property. Victory. Control.

Just ten steps. Ten steps, and the war will be over. Ten steps, and nobody else will be found floating in the river.

My uncle clutched my arm for the final time before he stepped away from me and left me in the hands of the beast standing at the altar.

Julian stretched out his hand, grasping mine in those rough, callused fingers of his.

“You’re looking simply beautiful, little bird,” Julian whispered out of the corner of his mouth, his thumb drawing on the back of my hand. “Don’t be so gloomy. Today you are unifying the empire.”

“Let’s just get through with the vows,” I said softly, almost inaudibly.

The priest cleared his throat, holding the open Bible in his slightly shaking hands. He was fully aware, no less than anyone else in this room, that any slip on his part could transform this sacred aisle into a bloodbath.

“We are gathered here today,” the priest started, his voice resonating with the high stone arches, “in the presence of God and these witnesses, to unite this man and this woman in holy wedlock…”

Julian smiled smugly, bending down towards me. “Ready to become mine, Serafina?”

I was about to speak, to utter whatever lie I had to in order to save my family from— 

THWACK.

It was not a loud noise. Nothing like the blast of a shotgun or the report of a pistol. It was damp and squelching.

Julian’s smile dropped into place.

A small black hole formed in the center of his forehead. In that instant, the world came to a complete standstill. The seconds stopped. He stared down at me, wide-eyed and confused.

Then the back of his head blew out.

Blood and flesh splattered against my face, obscuring my vision in my left eye. My white lace veil became immediately soaked with blood. Julian fell hard on top of me.

“Julian!” one person screamed from the front row.

All hell broke loose then.

Bench seats were pushed back hard against stone walls as men patted down through their jackets for their guns. Gunshots rang out in an echoing cacophony. Sirens went off everywhere in a scream that ricocheted off the stained glass windows. The priest scuttled behind the altar, clutching his cross.

“There’s a sniper!” uncle yelled roughly as he struggled forward towards me. “Get her down! Shield the bride!”

My legs were frozen with fear.

I crumpled down to my hands and knees at the side of the altar, directly next to Julian’s still body. His dark blood was rapidly forming a pool around him, dripping through the white dress that was supposed to be spotless.

The air from my lungs crashed into my chest in quick bursts.

Who had done it? Why then? More importantly, why was I alive?

If a sniper could have aimed his rifle to shoot a bullet into the skull of the groom, he could easily have done it to me next. I sat right there… An easy target in dazzling white. Yet, no second shot rang out. No red dot made its appearance on my flesh.

I found myself crouching amidst a pool of my groom’s blood while the two most influential families in the city were drawing their guns at each other.

“You betrayed us!” cried old man Rossi in rage, aiming his shiny silver weapon straight at my dad’s chest. “Morettis brought us here to kill my son!”

“I didn’t!” shouted my uncle right back, taking out his gun in response. “Look at my niece! She is bathed in blood! Why would we orchestrate a hit on our own peace offering!”

“Because you want the territory without marriage!”

It was tense and dangerous as dozens of people stood at a standoff, guns drawn, trigger fingers ready to pull at the slightest provocation. One wrong move, one wrong breath, and everyone in the cathedral would die from the crossfire.

I clutched my own arms tightly to myself as I shook, eyes focused on my hands, covered in my own blood. I felt helpless. Just a pawn that had its game board suddenly flipped over.

But then came an echoing noise from the back of the cathedral, amidst the screaming of armed men.

BLAG!

The double doors made of oak wood were flung wide open.

The yelling immediately stopped. Every firearm in the room pointed in the direction of the entryway.

There loomed an imposing figure in the doorway, towering under the blinding light from outside. He entered, each step sending the steady echo of his leather boots amidst the choking silence. Dressed in an impeccably clean, pressed black suit, his darkly styled hair was neatly cut and his face completely devoid of any sympathy whatsoever.

Dante De Luca.

The Mafia Kingpin. The man that was feared by anyone else in the entire state. The fiend who ruled the world with a crown made of his enemies’ bodies.

He did not seem to be affected by the several dozen firearms being held pointed directly at his chest. His sharp, dark eyes roamed lazily over the terrified crowd, completely overlooking the men holding down triggers until his eyes found mine.

On my knees. Bathed in blood. Trembling.

A sinister smile curled on the edge of his lips. He crossed the door frame, his hands casually kept inside the pockets of his suit.

“Lower your guns,” Dante ordered, his rich, authoritative voice easily spreading through the whole church. “The wedding isn’t over.”