Romans & Histoires Survival Game Mafia

The church bells rang at exactly noon. One. Two. Three. Their deep sound rolled through the old cathedral and disappeared into the gray afternoon sky. But there was no celebration. No music. No excited guests whispering about the bride. No groom waiting at the altar. There was only rain. Heavy, merciless rain that hammered against the stained-glass windows as though heaven itself was mourning what was about to happen. At the altar stood a woman in white. Mara Elena Vale. Twenty-eight years old. Former military general. Daughter. Victim. And, according to the agreement signed that morning, the new wife of the most feared Mafia Lord in the city. She stood perfectly still. Her wedding dress was breathtaking—white silk flowing around her like a cloud, a long veil trailing behind her, delicate diamonds glittering at her ears and throat. But there was nothing soft about her expression. Her back was straight. Her chin was lifted. Her eyes were calm. Too calm. On the altar beside her stood a large framed photograph of the man she was supposed to marry. Dante Blackwood. The Mafia King. Thirty-five. Powerful. Untouchable. And absent. He hadn't come. Mara stared at his photograph for several seconds. The photograph showed a handsome man with dark hair, a hard jaw and eyes that seemed capable of making an entire room fall silent. She almost laughed. Almost. So this is my husband. A photograph. She slowly turned her gaze toward the empty church. Only three people had come to witness the marriage. A lawyer representing the Blackwood family. An elderly priest. And her mother. Her mother sat several rows behind her, dressed elegantly, with her younger daughter, Celeste, sitting beside her. Celeste was crying. Mara's eyes settled on her sister. Of course. Celeste was always the one people protected.