The Mafia's Don Plus Size Bride

What a reunion

I stood just outside the dressing room door, completely paralyzed. The bass from the music vibrated straight through the floorboards, making my chest thrum. Dark velvet curtains lined the hallway, and the room beyond was washed in deep crimson and purple neon. I hugged my arms tightly across my waist, trying to cover as much of my exposed skin as possible.

"Hey You. The new girl" a loud, slurred voice called out from a leather booth nearby.

I froze, pretending I had not heard him. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.

"Hey, fat pig, I am talking to you" the voice boomed again.

A wave of bitter shame washed over me, but I forced my heavy feet to move. I could not afford to make a scene on my very first night. I slowly walked over to the circular booth where three men sat surrounded by half empty bottles of scotch.

The man in the middle, wearing an unbuttoned silk shirt with a thick gold chain, burst into a loud, mocking laugh. "Who the hell let a farm animal into this club? Did the door guards lose their minds?"

The two men beside him roared with laughter. Around the lounge, several other workers in tiny lace outfits paused, covering their mouths as they giggled cruelly at my expense. I gripped the edges of my thighs, the cold air stinging the raw bruises my father had left behind.

"I... I was sent here to work the floor," I whispered, keeping my eyes down.

"Work the floor?" Silk Shirt barked, reaching out and landing a hard, ringing slap right across my left buttock. "You take up the whole damn floor"

The stinging impact made me gasp out loud. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I stepped back, trying to put distance between us.

"Don't walk away from me," Silk Shirt growled, leaning forward over the table.

Before I could move again, the man on his right reached out with a filthy grin and roughly squeezed my left breast, digging his thick fingers hard into my flesh.

Pain and pure, instinctive rage exploded behind my eyes. Years of being shoved, beaten, and degraded by my family boiled over in a single second. I did not think. I raised my right hand and delivered a flat, furious slap straight across the man's face.

CRACK!

The sharp sound echoed loudly over the throbbing music.

Instantly, the surrounding chatter died down. The entire room fell into a suffocating, dead silence.

The man I hit slowly turned his head back toward first. His cheek was bright red, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles twitched. His eyes turned completely bloodshot, fixed on me with pure, murderous malice.

"You filthy little b***h," he growled out, his voice dropping into a raspy snarl. "I will tear your throat out"

He leaped up from the leather sofa and delivered a brutal, full force backhand slap across my jaw.

My head snapped back, and my vision went totally black for a split second. My legs gave out beneath me, and I hit the hard tile floor with a heavy thud, gasping for air as my hands scraped against the ground. Pain throbbed in my cheek, sharp and hot.

"I am going to kill you," the man swore, stepping over me. He pulled back his heavy leather boot, aiming it straight at my ribs. "I will kick your organs inside out and throw your fat corpse into the river where no one would find you"

I curled my body into a tight ball, tightly shutting my eyes and bracing myself for the crushing blow. I waited for the heavy boot to break my bones.

The pain never came.

The entire lounge dropped several degrees in temperature. An eerie, heavy quiet settled over the room, so thick you could hear a pin drop. The heavy footfall of leather shoes echoed calmly against the marble floor, approaching our table without any rush.

"What is going on here?" a smooth, familiar voice asked softly.

The voice was low, deep, and carried an absolute authority that made every person in the room instantly stiffen.

The man who had been about to kick me froze mid step. He rapidly pulled his leg back, trembling as cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He stumbled over his own words, his voice trembling like a frightened child.

"Don... Don Moretti," he stuttered, his hands shaking in front of his chest. "It... it is nothing, I was just em putting this wretch in her place, that is all, She stepped out of line."

The man with the quiet voice did not raise his tone. He did not yell. He simply uttered two low words that carried the weight of an execution order.

"Get out," he said quietly.

I heard the three men scrambled past each other, practically knocking over their own drinks in their desperate hurry to flee down the dark hallway, disappearing into the shadows.

I lay on the cold floor, shaking from top to bottom, terrified that the Don was speaking to me instead. I was certain he was ordering me to leave before he killed me himself for creating a mess in his club.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, placed my hands flat against the cold floor, and slowly pushed myself up onto my knees to get up and run away.

I lifted my head, wiping the stray hair from my swollen face.

My breath caught in my throat. My heart completely stopped beating in my chest.

Standing directly over me in a immaculate black suit, looking down at my exposed, bruised body with dark, burning eyes, was Liam Martin.

The very man I had left standing alone at the altar four years ago.