All Chapters of Mafia Bride: From Pawn to Rebel Queen : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I don’t know what time it is when the nightmares start. There are no windows in the safe room, no way to track the passage of time beyond the relentless fluorescent lights. Could be midnight, could be dawn. In this concrete box, time loses meaning. The dream is always the same. Father’s study. The night he died. Except in the dream, I’m there. Watching. He’s at his desk, signing papers, unaware of the shadow moving behind him. The shadow has no face, just darkness and intent. It moves closer, something glinting in its hand. A syringe. I try to scream, try to warn him, but no sound comes out. My feet are rooted to the floor, my body frozen. The shadow strikes. Father jerks, gasps, clutches at his chest. His eyes find mine across the room. Help me, he mouths. Elena, help me. But I can’t move. Can only watch as he slumps forward, life draining from his eyes. Blood pools on the desk, impossibly red, spreading like spilled wine. The shadow turns to me. Still faceless, still formles

“I’m saying the person who confessed spoke of manipulation, of ensuring both families remained enemies. Of benefiting from that enmity.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Elena, I fear you’re in more danger than you know. Both you and Luca. Someone wants you dead, and I don’t think it’s about family feuds at all.” “Then what is it about?” “Power. Money. The things that are always corrupt.” He sighs. “I’m an old man, child. I’ve heard too many confessions, seen too many sins. I’m tired of watching innocents suffer for the guilty’s games.” “If you know who it is…” “I can’t tell you. The seal is absolute. But I can pray you find the truth before it’s too late.” His hand appears under the screen, wrinkled and age-spotted. “Whatever is in that package, be careful who you show it to. Trust no one in this house. Not the guards, not the staff. Not even those who seem to care for you.” “What about Luca?” Long pause. “I don’t know. Your father didn’t trust him, but your father was paranoid at the

“I don’t know. But stay here.” He’s out the door before I can argue. I should listen. Should lock myself in, stay safe. But I’ve never been good at doing what I’m told. I follow Dominic down the stairs, keeping to the shadows. The shouting is coming from Luca’s study. Multiple voices, angry and overlapping. “…don’t have the authority…” “I have every authority. This is my house, my organization…” “Your father would be ashamed…” Luca’s voice cuts through, cold as winter. “My father is dead. So is his opinion. Now answer the fucking question, Matteo. Where were you the night Marco died?” Matteo. Luca’s uncle. The consigliere. “I was in Rome. You know this. There are records…” “Records can be falsified. Witnesses can be bought. Answer the question.” “I don’t have to answer anything. You’re not my superior, boy. You may be the head of this family, but I’m your elder. Show some respect.” “Respect?” Luca’s laugh is ugly. “You want respect? Then stop treating me like a child. Stop

I want to protest, want to defend myself, but the words stick in my throat. Because Marcella is good at this. So good. She’s rewriting reality right in front of us, turning truth into lies and lies into truth, and Luca is believing her. “Luca,” I finally found my voice. “Please. Listen to me…” “No.” Marcella’s voice sharpens. “My son has listened to you enough. He’s listened to your lies, your manipulations, your convenient revelations. Now he needs to hear the truth from people who actually love him.” “I never lied to him.” “Didn’t you?” Marcella’s smile is poisonous. “You married him knowing your family had blood on their hands. You came into this house carrying your father’s schemes. Every tear, every moment of seeming vulnerability, all of it calculated to make him soft. To make him weak.” “That’s not true.” “Isn’t it? Then tell me, Elena Romano, why did your father’s letter appear now? Why not immediately after the wedding? Why wait until you’d had time to observe Luca, to l

Morning comes too soon. I’m exhausted, running on maybe two hours of sleep, when Maria arrives with breakfast. But today she does something different. As she sets down the tray, she presses a small note into my hand. “From Dominic,” she whispers, so quiet I almost miss it. Then she’s gone. I unfold the note carefully. “Library. Noon. We need to talk.” I look at the clock. Three hours. The morning drags. I shower, dress in something simple but put-together. If I’m going to meet Dominic, I need to look composed, not like someone who snuck out in the middle of the night to meet her fugitive brother. At eleven fifty-five, I test my door. Unlocked. Interesting. The guard outside doesn’t stop me when I step into the hallway. Just nods, like he’s been told to let me pass. I make my way to the library, heart pounding with each step. The library is empty when I arrive. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, leather chairs, the smell of old paper and expensive whiskey. It’s beautiful and cold,