Bought By The Mafia CEO

The Wedding Night

Elena didn't pack one bag.

She packed none.

She was going to run.

At 10 PM, she shoved cash, her mother's pills, and her sketchbook into a backpack and bolted down the fire escape of her tiny Brooklyn apartment.

She made it to the lobby.

Two men in black suits were waiting.

"Miss Rossi. Mr. De Luca said you would try this."

Thirty minutes later, she was blindfolded in the back of a Maybach, the city disappearing.

When they pulled the blindfold off, she wasn't in a house.

She was in a palace in the sky.

Alessandro's penthouse took up the entire top floor of the De Luca Tower. Black marble. Gold. A wall of windows that showed the whole world was beneath him.

And he was waiting. In a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, tattoos fully visible now — skulls, Italian scripture, a raven. His palm was bandaged where he cut himself.

His eyes slid down her — backpack, cheap sneakers, shaking hands.

"You tried to run."

It wasn't a question.

"I — I changed my mind. I don't want your money."

"You don't have a choice anymore. You signed in blood."

He walked to her, took her backpack, and tossed it to one of his men.

"Burn it."

"No! My sketches —"

"Will be replaced. Everything you own is cheap. I don't let my wife wear cheap."

"I'm not your wife yet!"

Alessandro looked at his watch. A Patek Philippe that cost more than her entire company.

"It's 11:47 PM. You become my wife in 13 minutes."

Elena's stomach dropped. "What?"

The doors behind him opened.

A priest. Two lawyers. A woman holding a white box.

"No," Elena whispered. "You said tomorrow."

"In my world, tomorrow means after midnight. We marry now."

The woman opened the box. Inside was a wedding dress.

Not a dress. A weapon.

White silk, cut so low in the back it was almost obscene, diamonds sewn into the bodice. It screamed money. It screamed owned.

"I won't wear it."

"You will." Alessandro nodded to the woman. "Dress her."

"I said I won't —"

Alessandro was in front of her in two strides. He grabbed her chin, forced her to look at him.

"Elena. You can wear it and walk to the altar. Or I will dress you myself. And I promise you, principessa, if my hands are on you in that dress before the vows, we won't make it to the vows."

His thumb brushed her lip. Rough. Possessive.

Elena slapped his hand away.

She snatched the dress and stormed into the bathroom.

It fit perfectly. Of course it did. He knew her measurements without asking. That was the most terrifying part.

When she came out, the room went silent.

The priest stared at the floor. The lawyers stared at their papers. The guards stared at the wall.

Only Alessandro stared at her.

His grey eyes turned black.

"Madonna," he muttered in Italian.

Elena stood there, hands trying to cover the slit that went up to her thigh, the back that showed almost everything. She felt naked. Exposed. Bought.

"Don't look at me like that."

"How should I look at my wife?" His voice was hoarse now. He walked to her, slow.

"You are not my —"

He didn't let her finish.

He pulled her against him, one hand on her bare back, skin to skin. She gasped. He was warm. Burning.

"You are shaking."

"I'm cold."

"No. You're scared. Of me. Of this." His other hand traced the diamonds on her chest, not quite touching skin, but almost. "You should be."

The priest cleared his throat. "Mr. De Luca, should we —"

"Start."

The ceremony took 90 seconds.

Do you take this man?

Do you take this woman?

I do.

I do.

No kiss. Alessandro just slid a ring onto her finger. A huge emerald-cut diamond with smaller black diamonds. Heavy. Cold. Like a handcuff.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. De Luca," the lawyer said.

The priest left as fast as he could. As if he knew he had just married a lamb to a wolf.

The moment the door closed, Alessandro locked it.

Click.

Elena stepped back. "What are you doing?"

"Consummating a marriage that was sealed in blood." He loosened his shirt, one button, two buttons. "You knew what you signed."

"We had a deal! One year, on your arm, not in your —"

"My bed. Read page 4, paragraph 7, principessa. 'The Wife will fulfill all marital duties.'"

Elena's face went white. She hadn't read that far. She had just signed.

"You tricked me!"

"I bought you. There's a difference." He was in front of her again. This time she had nowhere to run. The window behind her. Him in front.

He lifted her chin with his bandaged hand. Blood seeped slightly through the white.

"I will ask once, Elena. And I will be gentle because it's our wedding night. Do you want me to take this dress off, or do you want to keep fighting me?"

His eyes — God, his eyes — were not cold anymore. They were starving.

Elena hated herself for the heat that shot through her stomach. For the fact that for one second, she wanted him to rip it.

She placed her hand on his chest to push him.

But her ring caught the light. His ring.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"I know." He leaned down, his lips an inch from hers, his breath on her mouth. "Hate me all year. But you will be in my bed every night of that year."

He was about to kiss her.

His phone rang.

Alessandro froze. Looked at the screen. His entire face turned to stone.

"Romano."

He answered, still holding Elena trapped.

"What did you say? Say it again."

A voice on the other side, panicked Italian.

Alessandro's hand tightened on Elena's waist so hard she winced.

"He took her mother."

Elena's blood ran cold.

"Mama?"

Alessandro looked at her, and for the first time, his possessive mask cracked into something murderous.

"Leo Romano just took your mother from the hospital, Elena. To force you to nullify our marriage and sign with him."

Elena collapsed. The white dress pooled around her like spilled milk.

"No. No no no —"

Alessandro knelt, grabbed her face with both hands.

"Listen to me. I will get her back tonight. But you have to trust me. Can you do that? Can you trust your husband?"

His phone rang again. This time, a photo.

Elena's mother, unconscious in a hospital bed, with Leo standing over her, holding a gun.

Under the photo, a text: COME GET HER YOURSELF, DE LUCA. OR YOUR NEW BRIDE BECOMES A WIDOW ON HER WEDDING NIGHT.

Alessandro stood, took a gun from the drawer, and looked down at his bride on the floor in her wedding dress.

"Stay here. Lock the door. If I'm not back in one hour, my men will take you to Sicily."

"Where are you going?"

"To kill a man for touching what is mine."

He walked out, leaving the door open, leaving Elena alone in a wedding dress, with her mother's life in the hands of the man she just married.