All Chapters of The Mafia Devil’s Wrong Bride: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Annalissa Hale I had woken up sore this morning. The kind that lingered in muscles I didn’t even know existed. My thighs ached, my wrists still burned from the cuffs, and there was a rawness between my legs that made me wince when I shifted under the sheets.I was wearing Dante’s shirt and it smelled like him. The fabric barely hid the marks scattered over my neck and collarbone, and I was too scared to look in the mirror because I knew what I would find there. His teeth. His hands. His claim.And now as I sit in at the dining table, waiting for him to come out of the kitchen, heat prickles in my cheeks as flashes of last night hit me: the way I begged, the way I screamed his name, the way I let him take me until I couldn’t think. Until I didn’t want to.God, what’s wrong with me?I press my palms into my eyes, but it doesn’t erase the memory of his voice growling in my ear. “You’re mine, principessa”. The worst part? A shiver runs through me even now.Shame pools heavy in my s

Dante RomanoMy gaze freezes on her.She looks me dead in the eye and says it — “I sometimes worry that I’m not who you think I am.”My fork stills on the plate. For a moment, I let the silence drag, just long enough to watch her squirm. Her pulse flutters at the base of her throat, fast and panicked. She’s waiting for me to react and slip.Cute. Does she plan to confess because she’s scared of fully giving in to me? She thinks I’ll let go of her if she tells me she’s the wrong sister? There are no wrong sisters. She belongs to me now and she’d be stupid if she thinks I’m going to let her go free after finally getting a taste of her.I lean back in my chair, slow and take a sip of my wine. “Not who I think you are? That’s a strange thing to say, principessa.”Her lips part, then close again. She’s nervous. Guilty even.I tilt my head, studying her. “You’re my wife. The woman sitting at my table, wearing my ring, eating dinner in my house. That’s who you are.” I let a pause hang, just

Annalissa Hale I don’t like Kayleigh. I never have. And maybe I’m just realizing I dislike her more than I’d like to admit. Especially after she insisted she’d help with planning the family dinner. Since she’s one of Dante’s closest friends, she’d always helped with planning his birthday family dinner every year. Still, as the driver takes us to the warehouse, we both sit in the back seat. It’s a Saturday and the family dinner is tonight. Everything else for the dinner is already set. The shopping for the cutlery was last minute because Kayleigh had been busy all week and she insisted that it’s her favorite part of the dinner so we had to wait it out until she had time. Like she’s the only busy person in the entire world? The driver pulls up in front of the warehouse, a sprawling, glass-fronted building. Everything here screams excessive wealth with imported crystal, Italian linens and polished cutlery. Kayleigh smooths a hand down her sleek ponytail before sliding out o

Annalissa Hale My head is buzzing. I can’t think. I remember how much anger I felt when I watched Kayleigh feed Dante cake. When they danced. I wanted nothing but to show her who he belonged to. I wasn’t thinking, I literally dragged him out of there and ended up blurting out the fact that Don Romano asked me about his great grandchildren. Now, his mouth is on me like he’s starving for me. He’s biting, tugging, devouring me. His tongue slides deep before I can even catch a breath. Every time I try to pull air, he’s back again.And God help me, I want it.The backs of my eyes sting, but I shove it down because the ache in my chest doesn’t stand a chance against the fire spreading through my body. His hands are under my blouse now, thumbing over my nipples until my back arches into him with a broken sound I can’t swallow.I moan into his mouth, and then he’s gone. Dropping to his knees in front of me. My breath lodges in my throat as his palms shove up my skirt. One pushes the

Dante Romano After the dinner and the guests leave, the maids start to clean up. I watch Issa climb the stairs from the landing with the sway of her hips. The image of the garden is still on my skin: her back arched over the grass, my tie muffling her cries, the way she clenched around me until her world narrowed to my name. I could replay that until I bled out.She thinks she can be unraveled and stitched back together on a schedule. The more I pry at her knots, the more I want to go further. It’s not tenderness. It’s not even curiosity. It’s possession dressed up as hunger. She belongs to me, mine to break, mine to fuck. But she keeps resisting. And I can easily crumble that resistance with one single truth: that she’s never escaping from me. That there’s no freedom waiting. That every single person she’s relying on, has been lying to her.When I finally decide to use that weapon, it won’t just cut her off from her family, it’ll make me the only one she can lean on. She’ll