All Chapters of Claimed By The Mafia Devil: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

ISABELLA'S POVMy wedding gown was soaked in sweat.My hands trembled as I stared at the blood on Matteo’s shirt. His white dress shirt was ruined, streaked with red, sticking to his chest like it belonged there. My brother’s eyes were wild, his jaw locked tight, one hand pressed to my back like he thought I might collapse. He wasn’t wrong.“Tell me again,” I whispered. My voice cracked. “Tell me it’s not true.”Silence.Adrian stood in the doorway, pale as chalk. His hands were empty, but his eyes weren’t. They carried the truth he couldn’t say.The hallway outside my bridal suite pulsed with chaos. Heavy footsteps, rushed voices, men barking orders, my father’s voice slicing through the noise downstairs.But no one answered me.Because it was true.Angelo Moretti, the man I was supposed to marry in two hours, was dead.Shot in the head. Shot in the stomach. Left in his car like a goddamn warning. Like a message written in blood and bone.My knees buckled. Matteo caught me, pulling m

DANTE’S POVThe car was too quiet.Too quiet for a wedding night. Too quiet for the lies dressed up as vows. Too quiet for the war already bleeding into my veins.I leaned back in the seat, my arm stretched along the leather, eyes locked on the woman sitting across from me.My new wife.Isabella Russo. No, Isabella Moretti now.Her head was turned to the window, veil trembling, bouquet long gone. She sat still, stiff, like she was carved from marble. But I saw her hands twisting the lace on her lap. I saw the fear in her silence.Fear of me. Good. Let her be afraid. I never wanted marriage. Hell, I never wanted to marry her. She was Angelo’s girl. His bride. His future.Not mine.But now Angelo was on the ground, his throat cut, his body left with bullets in his chest and a black veil covering his face. A message. Clear. Sharp. Unforgivable. Whoever did it wanted me broken. Wanted me to crawl. Wanted me to wear grief like chains.But I wouldn’t give them that. No.I’d give them blood.

DANTE’S POVThe smell of coffee filled the dining room before she even walked in. Dark roast, strong, bitter. Just the way I liked it. The maids had laid out the spread, eggs, fruit, fresh bread, bacon, and enough juice to feed an army. I sat at the head of the table, my chair pulled back just enough so I could see the long stretch of marble floor leading to the stairs.Waiting.I hated waiting.I told myself it was because I had work, meetings, calls. My schedule didn’t bend for anyone. Not even her. But my hands wouldn’t stay still. They tapped against the wood. They curled into fists. They rubbed at the stubble on my jaw.The word rolled through my mind like a curse.Wife.I had never used it. Never wanted to. The thought of belonging to someone, or someone belonging to me, was foreign. A contract, maybe. An alliance, sure. But wife? That wasn’t me. That wasn’t my life.Then I heard her.The click of soft steps. The faint rustle of fabric. The hesitation at the bottom of the stairs

ISABELLA’S POVThe clinking of silverware against porcelain was the loudest sound in the dining room.I sat at the long table across from Dante, a plate of eggs and toast in front of me, untouched. The smell of coffee filled the air, rich and sharp, but I couldn’t bring myself to drink it. My stomach was twisted in knots.It had been a week. A week since Angelo’s death. A week since I had been shoved into this house, into Dante’s orbit, into a marriage I hadn’t chosen. A week of suffocating silence, cold stares, and shadows that never seemed to leave me alone.I set my fork down and looked at him. He was dressed in a dark suit, crisp shirt, no tie. He never looked casual. Even at breakfast, he wore power like armor.“I can’t stay here anymore,” I blurted. My voice was low but firm. “I feel like I’m in a prison.”His eyes flicked up from his plate, sharp, unreadable. “Prison?”“Yes,” I snapped. My hand trembled against the table, so I curled it into a fist. “I’m not a prisoner, Dante.

ISABELLA’S POVThe house felt colder after that day.Three days had passed since the restaurant scene, but the memory stayed with me like a shadow I couldn’t shake off. Every time I thought of my mother’s voice or Dante’s sudden defense, something twisted in my chest, something between gratitude and confusion.Dante hadn’t said much to me since. He was either locked up in his office or in his room with the door closed. Even when we crossed paths in the hallway, he only gave me a curt nod before walking past.The phone he had given me lay untouched on my bedside table. No messages. No calls. It wasn’t like I had anyone to talk to anyway. My friends had all vanished the moment I became Mrs. Moretti. The only person I truly missed was Adrian. My brother. My only safe place in that house I used to call home.I picked up the phone, staring at the screen for a long moment. Then, before I could stop myself, I dialed his number.It rang twice before a familiar voice came through.“Hello?”“Ad