All Chapters of Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Gia's POVI turned away from the window and walked toward the mirror. My reflection stared back, dark hair, wavy and full, the curls I had brushed out from last night giving the strands more volume.I ran my fingers through them, frizzing them lightly until they fell in soft waves around my shoulders. I had no makeup on, yet my face still looked fresh, almost radiant. My dress was a halter-neck, floral and flowing, perfect for a sunny morning.Satisfied, I straightened, smoothed the fabric down, and made my way out of the room.The moment I stepped out, my eyes fell on the same guard who always stood stationed by my door every morning. He was tall and lean, but bulky in the places that mattered. His stance told me he could throw a punch that would crush bones. He had neatly cut red hair that made him stand out among the others Dante had introduced to me.It struck me that I had never once spoken a single word to him. If my plan was going to work, if I was ever going to escape, I need

Gia’s POV Bruno walked into the dining room mid-bite, and honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he looked like a big, scary man suddenly made harmless. He wore an almost dorky smile, eyes bouncing between Dante and me as though he had stepped into forbidden territory. He leaned down and whispered something into Dante’s ear. Dante gave a single nod, and Bruno straightened before turning to me. “Good morning, Miss Gianna.” I set my fork down with exaggerated grace and arched a brow. “It’s Gia. Honestly, what’s with everyone around here and titles?” His lips twitched as he fought back a grin. “It’s a sign of respect. Everyone here respects you, because you’re the boss’s woman. Kind of like the lady of the house.” I gasped dramatically. “Oh, how sweet.” Then I tilted my head, voice laced with playful sarcasm. “Respect is nice. But let’s stick with Gia. And just to be crystal clear, it’s with a G, not a J. Gia.” Bruno nodded, lips curving. “Alright then, Gia.” He started to

Gianna’s POV I walked the length of the room for what felt like the hundredth time, fury rolling through me. Dante DeLuca, with all his arrogance, had actually ordered me to my room at breakfast, like he was the principal and I was the disobedient student. What angered me most was that I had to agree, when every part of me wanted to yell fuck off, walk out, and never look back. Then he stomped out, leaving me to wait on him like a servant, trapped in a pretty room for over an hour. At first, I thought he’d come up quickly, ready to scold me about daring to ask Bruno personal questions. I even rehearsed what I’d say, turning lines over in my head a dozen times. But the door never opened. He was nowhere. Probably out there doing whatever shady mafia business he did. I’d tried once to step outside, only to find Alfonso planted at the door, solid as a wall. The man didn’t even move, and I knew he’d run to Dante with the news the second I tried anything. Which meant I had no choice but

Gianna’s POV My lashes fluttered, reluctant, until my gaze locked with his. The warning in his eyes held me there, helpless, as his thumbs hooked under the waistband and pushed the briefs down his hips. God. I fought hard not to look, to keep my eyes fixed anywhere but there. But I couldn’t. My gaze dropped on its own, sliding down the hard planes of his stomach to where he stood bare before me. He was naked. Smug. Arrogant. His cock long, thick, veins raised along the shaft. Not quite as hard as the first time I'd seen it, but still heavy, frightening, impossible not to stare at. Shame swept through me, mixing with an ache so fierce it almost hurt. My thighs pressed together tightly under my dress, a desperate, useless attempt to hold back the wetness slipping between them. “Tell me the honest truth,” he murmured, stepping closer, voice cruel in its softness. “Do you like what you see?” “I… I…” My throat closed up. The truth burned inside me. His body was devastating, the kind

Gianna’s POV Dante's hand moved faster, rougher now, veins straining as he pumped his cock with furious precision. “You like this, don’t you?” His words came broken, ragged with lust. “You like watching me stroke it, imagining how deep I’ll fuck you with it. Look at you… writhing like my little mistress, dripping for me.” My hips jerked against the sheets, desperate for friction. My nails dug into the mattress, body aching, writhing under the weight of his voice, his stare, the raw sound of his fist working his cock. Every groan, every curse made the ache hotter and unbearable. His strokes turned brutal now, hand slick with his own precum, pumping harder, faster. “Fuck… fuck… yeah. Watch me. Look at how bad I want to sink into you…” His voice was a snarl, desperate. Then he broke. His whole body went taut, his cock jerking violently in his fist as hot streams splashed across my stomach and thighs, marking me while his groans tore out low and savage. “Look at you,” he hissed. “