Bought By The Mafia CEO

The Police File

Elena woke up to an empty floor.

Alessandro was gone.

The gun was gone. The bloody shirt was gone. The only proof he had slept by the door was the dent in the carpet.

And on the pillow next to her — his black t-shirt, still folded. She had not worn it. She had slept in the wedding dress. Dirty, wrinkled, hating him so much she wanted to rip it.

But in the middle of the night, she had gotten cold.

And she had put it on.

His t-shirt. It went to her knees. It smelled like him.

She ripped it off now, like it burned, and threw it on the floor.

6:17 AM. The penthouse was silent. Too silent for a man who had guards everywhere.

Elena crept out of the bedroom. Barefoot. Still in the t-shirt because her dress was unwashable.

The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty.

But his office — his office door was open. Just a crack.

Alessandro's laptop was open. On. Glowing.

Elena's heart hammered.

This was her chance.

She slipped inside. Locked the door.

The laptop showed his email. And a folder on the desktop labeled:

MATTEO - 2018

Her father's crash was 2018.

Her hands shaking, she clicked.

Police report. Photos. Newspaper clippings. All in Italian.

Incidente mortale - Via Appia - 14 Agosto 2018 - Due vittime - Marco Rossi (44) autista, Matteo De Luca (19) passeggero.

Two victims. Her father and his brother.

She scrolled. Blood alcohol report. Yes — 0.09. Just over legal limit.

But then —

A second report. Attached below. Different handwriting. A toxicology note that was never filed officially.

Campione di sangue - Marco Rossi - tracce di benzodiazepine - Lorazepam - alta dose - incompatibile con consumo volontario - possibile adulterazione.

Traces of benzodiazepine. Lorazepam. High dose. Incompatible with voluntary consumption. Possible adulteration.

Someone drugged her father.

Elena covered her mouth.

Her father never took pills. Never. He was terrified of medicine. He wouldn't even take headache pills.

Someone drugged him and put him behind the wheel.

She scrolled faster. Another file — security footage. A bar. Her father at a bar, with a man. The man was handing him a drink. Smiling.

She zoomed the man's face.

Leo Romano.

No. Not Leo. Leo's father. Old man Romano. Alessandro's biggest rival.

The pieces clicked. Horribly, perfectly.

Romano drugged her father to kill Matteo De Luca. To start a war between drivers and owners. To take De Luca contracts.

Her father was murdered. Not a drunk driver. A victim.

And Alessandro had this file for seven years and never saw the second toxicology report. Because it was hidden. Buried.

Or he saw it and chose not to believe it.

The office door opened behind her.

Elena spun.

Alessandro stood there. Fresh suit. Hair wet from shower. Coffee in one hand. And his eyes went from her — in his t-shirt, bare legs — to his laptop.

To the file she had open.

His face went white.

"What are you doing?"

"You knew!" Elena grabbed the laptop and held it up, tears already falling. "You had the report! Page 2! My father was drugged! He was drugged, Alessandro!"

Alessandro didn't move.

"I didn't see —"

"Don't lie! It's right here! Lorazepam! High dose! Someone drugged him! Romano drugged him to kill your brother!"

Alessandro set his coffee down very slowly. Walked to her. Took the laptop.

He read. Once. Twice. His jaw clenched so hard she heard it.

"Where did you find this?"

"In YOUR file! You've had it for seven years! Seven years you hated my father, you hated me, you bought me for revenge and my father was innocent!"

Alessandro sat down. Heavily. Like someone punched him in the stomach.

"Matteo," he whispered, staring at the screen. "Oh God. Matteo."

Elena had never seen him like this. Not cold CEO. Not possessive mafia. Just... a man. A brother who lost his brother.

"Your father didn't drink," she sobbed, kneeling in front of him, grabbing his hands. "He never drank. He told me alcohol killed his brother. He would never. You have to believe me —"

"I believe you," Alessandro said, his voice broken.

Just like that. Three words. Seven years of hate cracked.

"I believe you," he repeated, looking at her, really looking at her — his wife in his t-shirt, crying for a father he had cursed for seven years. "f**k. Elena, I —"

He pulled her into his chest. Hard. Desperate. His face in her hair.

"I am so sorry. I am so sorry, principessa."

Elena cried against his shirt. Not because he was sorry. Because finally someone believed her father wasn't a drunk.

They stayed like that for a minute. One minute where the revenge marriage, the blood contract, the mafia CEO and the bought bride — none of it existed. Just two people who lost someone.

Then Alessandro's phone rang.

He answered, his arms still around Elena.

"Si."

A pause. Then his whole body turned to ice again.

"What do you mean she's gone?"

Elena pulled back. "Who's gone?"

Alessandro looked at her, his grey eyes now pure terror.

"Your mother. She left the private clinic an hour ago. Alone. She left a note."

He showed her the photo his guard sent.

A handwritten note on clinic paper:

ELENA, I SAW THE NEWS. I SAW YOU MARRIED DE LUCA. I HAVE TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH ABOUT YOUR FATHER'S ACCIDENT. MEET ME AT OUR OLD HOUSE. BROOKLYN. NOW. ALONE. MAMA

Elena's blood froze.

"Our old house has been abandoned for five years. No one lives there. It's —"

"A trap," Alessandro finished. "Romano knows she would go there. It's a trap for you."

But Elena was already standing, grabbing her dirty wedding dress.

"Then we both go. Because if my mother knows the truth, and Romano is using her —"

"We don't go," Alessandro said, grabbing his gun. "I go. You stay."

"She's my mother!"

"And you are my wife! And you are not walking into a Romano trap in my t-shirt!"

He grabbed his keys, his jacket, and looked at her — barefoot, eyes red, still his.

"If I'm not back in one hour, call this number," he wrote a number on his hand with a pen and pressed it to her palm. "It's my second in command. He will take you to Sicily. To my mother. She will protect you."

"What about you?"

Alessandro cupped her face, kissed her forehead — hard, possessive, terrified.

"If Romano touches your mother, I will burn Brooklyn to the ground. And if he touches you, principessa, I will burn the world."

He walked out, leaving Elena alone in his penthouse, in his t-shirt, with her mother's note burning in her hand and the police file proving her father was murdered still open on his laptop.

And downstairs, a black SUV with Romano plates was already parked in front of the De Luca Tower — watching.