Todos los capítulos de SUBSTITUTE BRIDE FOR THE MAFIA DON: Capítulo 21 - Capítulo 30

Dahlia’s POVThe sound of voices drifted in through the door. At first it was faint, but as it grew clearer, I realized two women had entered. Their heels clicked against the floor, sharp and confident, and then there was the soft pop of lipstick being applied, the rustle of dresses shifting as they stood in front of the mirrors.I moved slowly, staying quiet, afraid to make a sound. My hands gripped the counter in front of me as their voices carried through the space.“She doesn’t belong here,” one of them said, her tone sharp, dripping with disdain. “Did you see her? Clinging to his arm like she was terrified to let go.”The other woman laughed softly, cruel and low. “Of course she doesn’t belong. She’s not one of us. I heard she used to be nothing—just a nobody. And now she’s parading around as if she’s the queen of the room, just because Luca Romano decided to drag her in.”Heat rushed to my face, burning hotter than the champagne had. My chest tightened, and I had to remind mysel

Dahlia’s POVI opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The words stuck to my throat like glue, too heavy and too frightening to let out. What could I possibly say to my husband, the man who had just told me that belonging to him was the only way I could survive in his world? Those words weren’t just a statement—they were a cage, closing around me, locking me in.My lips trembled, my heart racing in my chest, but before I could force anything out, his phone rang. The sharp sound made me flinch. It was like the universe had swooped in to save me from embarrassing myself. He didn’t even look at me at first, only pulled the phone out of his pocket with a practiced flick of his wrist.“Luca Romano,” he said, his deep voice firm and steady as he answered. His eyes cut to mine for a brief moment, unreadable, then he turned away. He spoke in Italian, words flowing quickly, rough and commanding. I didn’t understand them, but the tone alone told me enough—it was business, and business wi

Luca’s POVWhen I pushed the bedroom door open, the first thing I noticed was the silence. The room was wrapped in it, heavy and almost sacred. My eyes landed on her instantly. Dahlia. She was lying in the middle of the bed, curled slightly on her side, her chest rising and falling with every quiet breath. Her hair spilled over the pillow in soft waves, catching the silver light that slipped in through the tall window.I hadn’t shared this bed with her once since the wedding. I had my own places to sleep—my office chair when I worked too late, the leather couch when I wanted distance, and sometimes I didn’t sleep at all. My life didn’t allow for softness, for lying beside a woman and breathing easy. Not when men like Lucious were still alive, still plotting in shadows. My jaw tensed just thinking of him, of the snakes who crawled around him, waiting for the right moment to sink their teeth into me.And then there was Cecilia. The image of her shoving Dahlia replayed in my head, sharp a

Dahlia’s POVThe library was one of the only places in the house where I felt like I could breathe. The smell of old books and leather wrapped around me as I walked between the shelves, the tall spines standing like silent guards. I sat down at the long polished desk, my phone heavy in my hand, and stared at the blank screen for a long time.I sat cross-legged on the floor of the library, the silence thick around me. The big laptop on the desk in front of me felt too open, too loud. If I searched for him there, it might leave a trace, and I didn’t want anyone—especially him—to know I was digging into his life. So instead, I pulled my phone out from the pocket of my sundress, my fingers already slick with sweat.The screen lit up, and for a second, my reflection stared back at me—wide eyes, nervous lips pressed together. My tattooed ring finger hovered uncertainly before I unlocked the phone. The sting of the tender skin made me wince, reminding me again of the black ink etched into me

Dahlia’s POVI loosened my grip, though my fear of dropping the fragile glass made me feel clumsy. My hand trembled, and I bit my lip, trying not to show how nervous I was.“Now,” she instructed, raising her own glass, “lift it slowly, gracefully. Bring it to your lips as though you are in control of time itself. Do not rush. Every movement should say: I belong here.”I raised the glass carefully, but too quickly, and almost sloshed the liquid. Heat burned my cheeks as I tried again, slower this time.“Better,” Mrs. Cruz said approvingly. “Now sip. Never gulp. Let the glass touch your lips lightly. Breathe through your nose as you taste.”The wine touched my tongue and I almost coughed at the bitter warmth. I forced myself to swallow, my face twitching slightly at the taste. She smiled knowingly.“You will get used to it. Again.”We repeated it over and over. Each time, my movements felt a little less shaky, my back a little straighter, my hand a little steadier on the glass. Slowly,