All Chapters of Forced bride of mafia king: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

EIGHT MONTHS AGO Lena’s pov I walked into the bar and headed towards the bartender's station. The bar was very busy tonight, lots of people drinking and chatting. I slid onto a barstool, my elbow hitting the filthy counter. I signaled the bartender “Vodka ” I said to him before he looked at me “ Three shots. Now” He poured out my order for me and moved on to the next customer. I downed all three shots in one go. The burn hits my throat sharp and clean. But it’s nothing compared to how I feel inside, I slammed my empty glass on the table and waved for more. Nothing. I scanned through the crowd with my eyes trying to look for the bartender. “Great” I muttered to myself as I went in search of the bartender. I pushed through bodies that smelled like sweat and cheap cologne, my shoulders colliding with strangers. Then I hit something solid. A hand shot out, catching my arm before I could face plant into the floor. “Hey.. Watch it” a low voice said, steady and a li

Lena’s pov I stood there staring at Luca or was it Dante? It had to be Luca. The jaw was the same. The eyes. Even that infuriating smirk was the same. But he wasn’t looking at me like he knew me. Not at all. “Dante? What do you think?” The old man prompted again. Dante didn’t even glance my way. He leaned back bored. “ I don’t care what she looks like.” His voice dropped, flat and crude. “Any woman will do” The words hit like a slap. This statement just helped confirm what I was thinking. He couldn’t possibly be Luca. Luca was so gentle, kind, and sweet to me that night. Maybe they look alike. “That’s true,” the old man chuckled. My mother flinched at that comment. Her eyes locked with mine for half a second, and I could see the look of pity in her eyes before she ushered everyone towards the dining room. She steered me to the seat between Dante and the old man and gave my shoulder a small, warning press. Behave. She said with her eyes. The serva

Lena’s POV The drive to the Morettis' estate took about thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of silence. Dante hadn’t spoken a word since we left. He sat beside me, still and controlled, like he didn’t need to fill the space. I didn’t speak either. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the driver’s hand shifting on the wheel. When the gates appeared, they didn’t open like normal gates. They were wrought iron, tall enough to make me crane my neck, and they swung inward without a sound. That’s when I saw it. The estate. It didn’t look like a house. It looked like a fortress pretending to be a home. On the drive in, we pass five other manors. Each one is bigger than anything on my street. Each one empty, dark, waiting. All Moretti property. And then we reached Dante’s house. It made the others look small. Two stories taller, stonework cleaner, gardens trimmed like someone had spent days on a single hedge. Lights glowed in every window, warm and unwelc

Dante’s pov The night dragged. Lena tossed and turned beside me, restless even in sleep. Each shift of her body pulled my attention back to her, and back to the problem of her being there at all. I could barely get any sleep. Every time my eyes closed, yesterday came back: the first camera pulled from the wall, the way my men’s faces went tight when they found the second, the third, the fourth. All in my room. Nowhere else. Between that and the distraction of her breathing too close, rest was impossible. My jaw ached from clenching it. I still didn’t know who did it. But I was sure of one thing — it was a Moretti. The question was which one of them was stupid enough to cross me like this. The sound of her breathing and the faint creak of the mattress, pulled me out of my thoughts. She shifted again. Slow this time, half-awake. Her shoulder brushed against my chest, and for a second she stilled, like she’d realized where she was. She didn’t

Lena’s pov The rest of the party blurred past, but not in a good way. After the garden, Enzo vanished. No scene, no explanation. One minute he was bleeding on the gravel, the next the Moretti guards were dragging him toward the gate. No one asked questions. No one had to. The music kept playing for a while, but it felt hollow. Guests started leaving in small groups. Car doors. Muffled voices. The clink of glasses being cleared away. The house got quieter with every exit until the laughter was gone and all that was left was the echo of footsteps on marble. My mother found me near the staircase before she left. She touched my arm, her fingers cold. “Take care of yourself,” she said. Her eyes didn’t stay on me. They slid past me, to Dante. He was standing near the study doors, one hand in his pocket, face blank. My mother’s look sharpened. A warning. To him. To me. To both of us. Then she was gone. Luciano followed, their guards closing ranks behind them. The