The Mafia Kings Forbidden Bride

** Elena Rossi POV ** The first thing my aunt did on my twenty-third birthday was tell me not to ask about my parents. Again. “Your mother and father died in an accident, Elena. You were too young to remember them, and there is nothing more to discuss.” Aunt Clara placed a cup of coffee on the kitchen table, avoiding my eyes. I glanced at the old photograph beside my plate. It showed a beautiful woman with dark hair and a man whose serious expression reminded me of my own. Their names were written on the back in faded ink. Matteo and Lucia Rossi. My parents. “Funny,” I murmured. “You always say there is nothing more to discuss, yet you never tell me where they died or where they were buried.” Clara’s hand froze around the coffee pot. “Why are you doing this today?” “Because every year on my birthday, you behave as though someone is coming to drag me away.” I leaned forward. “You lock the doors before sunset, close every curtain, and refuse to talk about my parents. What happened to them?” Her expression hardened. “I raised you. I gave you a home and did everything I could to keep you safe. Isn’t that enough?” I hated that she could still make me feel guilty for asking questions. She had been my mother in every way that mattered. She had nursed me through childhood illnesses, worked long hours to provide for me, and sacrificed more than I could ever repay. But love didn’t give her the right to bury my past beneath twenty-three years of silence. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” I said. “But I’m not a child anymore.” “Some truths are better left buried.” “Then perhaps you should explain why you’re so afraid of them.” For one brief moment, fear flashed across her face. Then she picked up the photograph and returned it to me. “Happy birthday, Elena.” Conversation over. I watched her leave the kitchen, more convinced than ever that my parents’ deaths had been surrounded by secrets. I had no idea those secrets were about to get me killed. ⸻ By evening, I had almost forgotten our argument. My life was ordinary, and I preferred it that way. I worked at a small design and stationery shop in central Valeria, paid my bills, and avoided the wealthy families whose names dominated the city’s newspapers. Valeria was beautiful on the surface, filled with expensive restaurants, glass towers, and luxurious estates. Beneath that glamour, however, powerful men controlled the city through money, influence, and fear. The De Lucas were among them. Everyone knew Adrian De Luca, even if they had never seen him in person. He was the ruthless head of a powerful criminal organization, a man whose name could silence a room. The Rossis belonged to that same dangerous world once, according to the few stories I had overheard growing up. But their empire had supposedly collapsed after Matteo Rossi died. I had never imagined that history had anything to do with me. After work, I bought a small birthday cake and hurried home. Aunt Clara had gone upstairs, claiming she had a headache, so I carried the cake into the kitchen and took out my phone. A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen. You were never supposed to survive. I frowned. “Seriously?” I assumed it was a cruel joke, but before I could block the number, another message arrived. This time, it contained a photograph. My smile vanished. The woman in the picture was my mother. Unlike the faded photograph I owned, this one showed her standing beside a black car at night. Her expression was tense, and she appeared to be looking at someone just outside the frame. I enlarged the image. A strange symbol was visible in one corner: a black circle crossed by a silver line, with a small crown-like mark in the center. Then another message appeared. Ask Clara what really happened to Matteo Rossi. My heart began pounding. Whoever had sent the messages knew my parents’ names. They knew my aunt, and they knew enough about my past to make the threat feel personal. I rushed upstairs. “Aunt Clara!” She appeared at the top of the staircase, and I held out my phone. “Someone sent me this. Who is my mother standing with?” The moment she saw the photograph, her face turned white. “Where did you get that?” “Someone sent it to me. They also told me to ask you what happened to Matteo.” She seized my wrist. “Listen to me carefully. Delete those messages, and don’t answer that number again.” “Why? Who is Matteo Rossi really?” “Elena, do as I say!” Before I could demand another answer, the lights went out. The house plunged into darkness. A car door slammed outside. Clara released my wrist and stared toward the front windows. Then came footsteps. Several pairs, moving across the gravel path. “Go upstairs,” she whispered. “Lock your door and don’t come out.” “What’s happening?” “Now!” A crash shook the house. The front door burst open, and men dressed in black stormed inside with guns raised. They moved too efficiently to be ordinary thieves. One covered the entrance while the others searched the rooms, overturning furniture and calling to one another. “Find the girl!” Another man shouted, “Rossi is here!” My blood ran cold. They weren’t looking for valuables. They were looking for me. Clara pushed me behind her, but one of the men grabbed her and slammed her against the wall. “Where is the ledger?” he demanded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He raised his weapon. I grabbed a heavy glass vase from the nearby table and smashed it against his head. He staggered, releasing Clara. “Run!” I shouted. We rushed toward the kitchen, but another attacker blocked our path. He caught my arm, twisting it painfully behind my back. I drove my elbow into his ribs and kicked his knee. When his grip loosened, I tore free and stumbled toward the rear door. A gunshot rang out. I screamed as the bullet struck the wall beside my head. Then gunfire erupted outside. The attackers turned toward the entrance. “De Luca men!” one of them shouted. Their confidence shattered. Boots thundered through the house, followed by sharp commands. Within seconds, armed men flooded the hallway, forcing the attackers to the ground. I dragged Clara behind the kitchen counter and covered my head as another shot rang out. Then everything went quiet. A man appeared at the end of the hallway. He wore a black suit, and his expression was so cold that even the armed men around him seemed careful not to disturb him. He surveyed the destruction before his gaze settled on me. “Clear the house,” he ordered. His men obeyed immediately. He approached, stopping a few feet away. “You’re Elena Rossi.” I stood, refusing to let him see how badly my hands were shaking. “Who are you?” “Adrian De Luca.” The name struck me with the force of another gunshot. The Mafia King. The man whose family had supposedly been responsible for the destruction of mine. “I didn’t ask you here,” I said. “No. The men who tried to kill you did.” “Why would anyone want to kill me?” He studied me for a moment, as if deciding how much truth I could handle. “Because someone has discovered who you really are.” “I know who I am. I’m Elena.” “Your name is Elena Rossi.” “And?” “And your family was never as powerless as you’ve been led to believe.” I shook my head. “My parents died in an accident.” “Your father disappeared.” The words seemed to drain the air from the room. “What?” “Matteo Rossi’s death was never conclusively established. I’ve spent years investigating my father’s murder and the war between our families. Recently, I found evidence suggesting Matteo survived the incident everyone believed killed him.” I stared at him, waiting for the lie to reveal itself. It didn’t. “You expect me to believe my father is alive because you say so?” “No. I expect you to demand proof.” His answer unsettled me more than a threat would have. “Why are you investigating my father?” “Because his disappearance and my father’s murder may be connected.” He glanced toward the shattered doorway. “The men who attacked you weren’t here to frighten you. They intended to eliminate the last legitimate Rossi heir.” “Heir to what? I own nothing.” “Not yet.” My stomach tightened. Adrian explained that my father had been connected to something called the Black Ledger, a missing record containing evidence of secret alliances, financial dealings, and betrayals involving some of the most powerful people in Valeria. Whoever possessed it could expose people who had spent years hiding behind wealth and influence. “And you think I know where it is?” I asked. “I think someone believes your existence threatens them.” Before I could respond, I heard a small gasp behind me. Aunt Clara stood near the sitting room entrance. She was staring at Adrian as though she had seen a ghost. He looked at her, his expression unreadable. Neither spoke for several seconds. Then Clara whispered, “Adrian.” I turned toward her slowly. “You know him?” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. I felt something inside me crack. All my life, she had told me that my parents’ story was simple. An accident. A tragedy. Nothing more. Now armed men had broken into our home, a stranger had claimed my father might be alive, and the most feared man in Valeria was looking at my aunt as though they shared a history I had never been allowed to know. I stepped toward her. “Clara, look at me.” She finally met my eyes. “Did you know my father might be alive?” Her silence was answer enough. I backed away, shaking my head. “No. You don’t get to do this. Not after everything.” “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Sorry for what? For lying to me? For hiding my family from me? Or for knowing that someone was coming to kill me?” Tears filled her eyes, but she said nothing. Adrian’s voice cut through the silence. “She cannot stay here.” I turned on him. “You don’t get to decide where I live.” “Then stay, if you prefer. But the people who came tonight know your identity now. The next attack may not leave you alive to ask questions.” His arrogance made me furious. Yet I couldn’t ignore the bodies being carried out of my home or the blood staining the floor where I had spent my childhood. My ordinary life was gone. And I still didn’t know why. I looked at Clara one last time. “Tell me the truth.” She lowered her eyes. For the first time in twenty-three years, I realized that the woman who had raised me might know exactly why someone wanted me dead. And she might have been afraid of this night all along.