All Chapters of THE MAFIA'S REVENGE BRIDE: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Marco's POVMy head throbbed as if it'd been axed to pieces.Cold seeped into bones first — cold tile against my cheekbone, damp air that stank of metal and bleach. My eyelids groaned open, heavy, my vision spinning until the world righted itself into focus.Not my room. Not the White House.Somewhere below ground. Cold naked walls. One light bulb hanging overhead, swaying very slowly.And blood.There was blood on the floor a few feet away from me — dark and half-dried, smeared like someone had been dragged.My heart slammed against my ribs. Was that mine?I tried to sit up and was pulled back at once — my wrists were bound behind me with something stiff that dug into my skin whenever I shifted. My ankles were bound together.Panic crept up my throat."What the fuck""Good morning, sunshine."His voice froze me in my tracks.He was there.Sitting in a metal chair a few feet away from me like he'd been waiting for my wake-up call. Legs apart, gun hanging loose in his hand, head restin

Marco's POVThe first thing I was aware of was water.Warm, perfumed, and completely incorrect.I was hauled upright into a sitting position by hands, my head still spinning from whatever purgatory I'd gone through since last night. My shoulder burned where Dante Russo's knife had sunk into me, my forearm hurt where it had been slashed open, and my skull pounded with the memory of his pistol knocking me out cold.I tried to fight, but there were too many of them.They stripped me, threw me into a claw-foot tub, and began scrubbing me with coarse rags like I was a prize horse being cleaned up for a contest. Soap stung in every cut and bruise."Fuck—!" I spat as they pressed hard into my shoulder wound.One of the men grunted in Italian, clearly unimpressed by my reaction.They bathed me till my skin was sore, my hair clean and oily. Then came the bandages — fresh white gauze wrapped around my arm and shoulder, bound tightly like my fingers tingled.I might have spat at them, cursed the

President Powell’s POVTen hours later, in the Situation Room of the White House, the big TV screen was on, the voice of Anita Baker, CNN’s lead anchor, could be heard“Breaking news: Marco Powell, twenty-three years old and only son of President Richard Powell, is still missing after a deadly attack at a private celebration three nights ago. Sources inside the administration say at least ten security personnel were killed in the ambush…”“Turn it off,” I snapped. My voice coming out harsher than I intended. “Turn the damn thing off!”A junior aide fumbled with the remote, his hands trembling. The screen went black, but Anita’s words had had its effect on the people in the room, making them understand the reality that there was work to be done.I pressed my palms into the polished oak table, staring in the eye of every single member of my security team in the room, the Chief of Staff, the National Security Adviser, the CIA Director, the Secretary of Defense, these were people who coul

Marco's POVThe Bastard thought I was sleeping.By lying still and slowing my breath, a peek through barely open eyes confirmed it, he was watching me.My pulse thrummed in my throat, but I didn’t move a single muscle, not even when his gaze crawled over my body like a physical caress.A few minutes later, the house was quiet. He was gone.My heart was hammered with fear and a dangerous thrill. This could be my only chance.Straining to hear any sounds of life in the house. There were none. The wound in my shoulder throbbed with every step, the bandages stiff and uncomfortable from three days of healing.Pushing the door open slowly, expecting a guard posted right outside. But the hallway was empty, lined with exquisite paintings, a dash of Picasso here, a few other pieces that even I, with my limited knowledge, recognized as expensive and rare.Dante had impeccable taste in art.Downstairs, vintage pieces mingled with contemporary design, creating a space that was luxurious.Moving p

Tony stood frozen, his eyes wide. "Sir? Did you just say... married?, what does that even mean?.”I turned my back to him, staring out the window at the perfectly manicured lawn. A lawn my son might never see again. "You heard me. No statements. Deny everything.""But, Mr. President... the rumors are specific. They're saying it was a ceremony in Italy. That there are... photos."My blood ran cold. Photos. Dante's game was more vicious than I imagined. He wasn't just holding Marco; he was destroying his name, and mine along with it. A married son? To a man? To a criminal? My conservative base would tear me apart."Photos can be faked," I said, my voice like gravel. "We will say it's a desperate smear campaign by my political enemies. Now, get out."The door clicked shut, leaving me in silence. I picked up the secure line, my finger hovering over the button that would connect me to the CIA Director. But I stopped.I couldn't trust them. Not with this. The official channels were too slow