MAFIA 90 DAYS BRIDE

The night my life changed forever began like any other. Ordinary. Quiet. Forgettable. I was still Isabella Romano then—just a woman with a small apartment, a modest job, and dreams that never reached beyond survival. I didn’t know I was walking straight into the arms of a man who would rewrite my fate in ink, blood, and a ninety-day lie called marriage. I only knew something felt… wrong. The street was busy, the city alive with lights and noise, yet the air around me felt thick, heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks. That was when I noticed the car. A black luxury sedan sat parked at the curb, too sleek, too expensive, too deliberate. It didn’t belong to this street. The windows were tinted so dark they reflected my own image back at me—small, uncertain, exposed. I slowed my steps. Then my phone vibrated. Unknown Number: Isabella Romano. Get in the car. Now. My heart slammed violently against my ribs. I stopped walking. My fingers shook as I typed. Me: You have the wrong person. The response came instantly. Unknown Number: No. I’ve been watching you for weeks. Fear crawled up my spine. Before I could react, the back door of the car opened. And then he stepped out. The world seemed to tilt. He was tall—commandingly so—with a presence that swallowed the space around him. His black suit was immaculate, tailored to perfection, hugging broad shoulders and a powerful frame built for dominance. His dark hair was neatly styled, his face sharp and composed, carved from restraint and danger. But it was his eyes that froze me in place. Dark. Cold. Calculating. And yet—focused entirely on me. It wasn’t fear that stole my breath. It was the terrifying, irrational certainty that this man mattered. That he was about to change everything. He walked toward me, slow and unhurried, like a predator that knew its prey had nowhere left to run. People passed us, laughing, talking, living their normal lives, unaware that one of the most dangerous men in Europe stood beneath a streetlight, looking at me as if he had already claimed me. “You’re late,” he said. His voice was deep, calm—dangerously controlled. “I don’t know you,” I replied, forcing steadiness into my voice. A faint curve touched his lips. Not a smile. A warning. “You know enough,” he said. “Get in the car.” “I won’t.” For a moment, he said nothing. Then his gaze shifted past me. “You will,” he said quietly, “because the men across the street are running out of patience.” My pulse thundered in my ears. Against my better judgment, I glanced sideways. Two men stood near a convenience store, pretending to scroll through their phones. Too still. Too aware. Their eyes were on me. Panic tightened my chest. “Who are you?” I whispered. He stepped closer, invading my space. I could smell him—clean, masculine, expensive. Control and violence wrapped in silk. “My name doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is that you are in danger, Isabella Romano… and I am the only reason you’re still alive.” My throat burned. “Why me?” For the briefest second, something flickered in his eyes—conflict, maybe. Or regret. “Because you were chosen.” The word landed like a sentence. He opened the car door and gestured inside. I hesitated. Then the man across the street took a step forward. That was enough. I got in. The door shut with a sound that echoed like a verdict. The interior of the car smelled like leather and power. The windows rolled up automatically, sealing me inside a world I didn’t understand. He slid in beside me, his presence immediate, overwhelming. The car pulled away. “Where are you taking me?” I asked, my voice shaking despite my effort. “Somewhere safe.” “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only one you’ll get.” I folded my hands tightly in my lap. “If this is a k********g—” “It’s not.” “—then I will scream.” He turned his head slowly, his gaze locking onto mine. “If I wanted to hurt you,” he said evenly, “you wouldn’t be alive to scream.” My chest tightened painfully. “Who sent you?” “No one.” “Then why am I here?” Silence stretched. Finally, he spoke. “Your father.” My breath hitched. “My father is dead.” “Yes,” he said. “And his debts didn’t die with him.” The truth slammed into me. The secrets. The half-answers. The fear my father always carried. “So I’m collateral?” I whispered. “No.” “Then what am I?” He exhaled slowly. “You’re the solution.” The mansion appeared like a fortress rising from the dark. Iron gates. Armed guards. Stone walls built to protect power soaked in blood. The gates opened instantly at his approach. Inside, everything gleamed—marble floors, chandeliers, quiet authority humming in every corner. An older woman approached, her gaze softening when she saw me. “I’m Rosa,” she said gently. “Come, dear.” She led me into a study. The man poured himself a drink before turning back to me. “What’s your name?” I demanded. He studied me, something unreadable in his gaze. “Damian Voss,” he said. The name hit me like a blow. I’d heard it before—whispered, feared, spoken only behind closed doors. “You’re that Damian Voss,” I breathed. “Yes.” He placed a folder on the desk and slid it toward me. “What is this?” I asked. “A contract.” “For what?” “For marriage.” I laughed shakily. “You’re insane.” “Possibly,” he said calmly. “But this is happening.” “You kidnap me and expect me to marry you?” “Yes.” “For how long?” “Ninety days.” “And after?” “You walk away. Rich. Free. Untouched.” “Why?” “Because I need a wife,” Damian Voss said. “And you need protection.” “And if I refuse?” His eyes hardened. “Then the people waiting for you will stop waiting.” I looked down. My name was already printed at the bottom. “This doesn’t make you my property,” I whispered. “No,” he said softly. “It makes you my wife.” Our eyes locked. “And if one of us breaks the rules?” His gaze dropped briefly to my lips. “Then everything burns.” My hand trembled as I picked up the pen. Signing meant losing the life I knew. Not signing might cost me my life. I signed. And in that moment, Isabella Romano disappeared.