Married to the Cursed Mafia Boss

‎Cassian stood near the window of his office at De Luca Maritime Group headquarters in Palermo, a shipping and logistics company owned by the De Luca family. His eyes were fixed on the Port of Palermo as cranes lifted containers onto a ship two docks away. ‎ ‎A knock on his office door pulled his attention away from the harbor. Dante stepped into the office with Salvatore Rizzo beside him. Salvatore had served the De Luca family for years and was responsible for one of the smuggling routes running through the eastern docks. Three other men followed and took their positions against the wall. ‎ ‎Cassian turned from the window. ‎ ‎Salvatore avoided his eyes. ‎ ‎"You know why you're here," he said. ‎ ‎"Boss, I don't understand." ‎ ‎"Two weeks ago, a shipment of illegal firearms came through the eastern route," Cassian said as he approached Salvatore. "That route belongs to us. You allowed the Morettis to use it without my permission." ‎ ‎Salvatore opened his mouth, but no words came out. ‎ ‎"Thirty thousand euros," Cassian said. "Wired to an account under your wife's maiden name three days after the shipment cleared. Dante has the transfer records. He has the port logs. He has a recording of you meeting with Enzo Moretti at a cafe on Via Roma." ‎ ‎"Boss, please," Salvatore pleaded. ‎ ‎"I'm not asking you what happened. I already know what happened, Salvatore," Cassian said, resting one hand flat against the desk. "I'm asking whether you're going to tell me the truth, or whether you'd rather waste both our time." ‎ ‎One of the captains crossed his arms and stared at Salvatore. ‎ ‎"This isn't about the money," Cassian continued. "You could have taken triple that and I wouldn't care, if you'd asked me first. What I can't allow is a man who serves this family opening a door for the people who want to destroy it. Loyalty isn't something you sell to whoever offers the highest price." ‎ ‎Salvatore drew a shaky breath. ‎ ‎"You have a choice," Cassian said. "Give me every name connected to this, and you walk out of here alive. Or keep lying to me, and we finish this a different way." ‎ ‎Salvatore's eyes slowly moved to Dante, then to the men along the wall, then back to Cassian. He reached into his jacket and brought out a pen and a folded scrap of paper. He pressed the paper flat against the desk and wrote a name with a shaking hand before sliding it toward Dante. ‎ ‎Dante then passed it to Cassian. ‎ ‎Cassian studied the name. He tapped the paper once, and turned to the men who stood close to the wall. ‎ ‎"Deal with him," he ordered. ‎ ‎"Boss, please, if you just let me explain the rest—" ‎ ‎"You betrayed me," Cassian said. "You'll have plenty of time to explain yourself to the men taking you out of here." ‎ ‎Cassian turned back toward the window as the men led Salvatore out. Their boots scraped against the floor as they walked and the door made a faint sound the moment it closed behind them. ‎ ‎"Boss, do you want me to question him further?" Dante asked, once the others had gone. ‎ ‎"No. What he gave us is enough for now." Cassian pulled his jacket straight. "Start with the second name. Keep it contained. I don't want the rest of the organization knowing someone else may be compromised until we're certain." he said. ‎ ‎Dante nodded and left. ‎ ‎Cassian remained by the window, and the moment the door shut behind Dante, he felt a heavy pressure on his chest. ‎ ‎He bent down slowly, pressing his right hand against his chest where the pain was strongest. His hand found the edge of the desk and gripped it. His vision blurred, turning the harbor lights outside the window into long smears of gold. ‎ ‎A voice slid into his head. ‎ ‎"Your time is running out," the voice whispered. ‎ ‎He held tightly to the desk. ‎ ‎The door opened. ‎ ‎Dante walked in but stopped when he saw Cassian gripping the edge of the desk. ‎ ‎"Cassian." he called. ‎ ‎Cassian didn't answer. ‎ ‎Dante glanced at the clock on the wall. The episode lasted longer than the others he'd witnessed. ‎ ‎When Cassian finally straightened, Dante was already reaching for his phone. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎Within an hour, Dr. Marchetti arrived at Cassian's office. By then Cassian had straightened his tie, buttoned his jacket, and steadied his hands. ‎ ‎Dante stayed near the door through the examination. ‎ ‎"How long was I like that?" Cassian asked. ‎ ‎"Almost a minute," Dante said. ‎ ‎Cassian frowned. "It felt like seconds." ‎ ‎Marchetti examined his pulse, breathing, and reflexes before finally speaking. ‎ ‎"There's nothing conventional here," Marchetti finally said. "Whatever this is, it isn't something medicine can treat." ‎ ‎"How much worse has it gotten?" ‎ ‎"You've been having these episodes more often than you were six months ago," Marchetti said. "And each one is lasting longer." ‎ ‎"How long do I have?" ‎ ‎"I can't answer that, Mr. De Luca," Dr. Marchetti said, his gaze fixed on Cassian. "I'm afraid if this keeps progressing, you may eventually lose control of your mind and your ability to function." ‎ ‎Cassian stayed silent for a few moments. The men who answered to him. The enemies who feared him. The discipline it had taken to become a man nobody could rattle. All of it meant nothing if one day he could no longer trust his own mind. ‎ ‎Marchetti gathered his bag and left after the examination without saying another word to Cassian. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎Cassian had spent years searching for an answer. He had seen doctors across different countries, undergone tests that produced no explanation, studied old medical journals, and followed every lead that promised an answer. None of them had given him one. Every path led nowhere. ‎ ‎Then one name kept surfacing in conversations with three unrelated sources. About a scholar who studied things most people didn't believe existed. ‎ ‎They called him the Keeper. ‎ ‎After three months of searching for him, Dante found him. ‎ ‎--- ‎ ‎The old man lived in isolation. His home sat deep in the hills. When Cassian arrived at his home, he expected the deference men usually showed him. But the Keeper was different. He barely looked up from his desk. ‎ ‎"Sit," he said, turning to face Cassian. ‎ ‎Cassian sat. ‎ ‎The Keeper studied him carefully, the way a physician might study a wound. He asked about the episodes Cassian had been experiencing. ‎ ‎"Do you know what's happening to me?" Cassian asked. ‎ ‎"I've seen descriptions of something like this before. Old records, written by people most would call superstitious. You're cursed, Mr. De Luca," the Keeper said, setting down his pen. ‎ ‎Cassian stared at him. ‎ ‎"You're certain?" ‎ ‎"The symptoms you've described match the pattern described in those records. The episodes, the way they have progressed, even the effects they have on you. There is too much in common to dismiss." ‎ ‎"What kind of person could do this?" ‎ ‎The Keeper lowered his eyes to the records on his desk. ‎ ‎"Someone capable of powerful dark magic. Beyond that, I don't know." ‎ ‎"Can you remove it?" ‎ ‎"I can't promise you that." He rose and crossed to a shelf lined with brittle folders, pulling one free. "But there is something else in those records. Fragments of an old prophecy, torn and incomplete." ‎ ‎He set the folder down and opened it, revealing pages so old that the ink had faded to brown around the edges. ‎ ‎"A prophecy about what?" Cassian asked. ‎ ‎"A woman," the Keeper said. "The fragments speak of a bloodline. They describe a woman from that bloodline carrying a birthmark the color of blood." ‎ ‎"What does she have to do with me?" ‎ ‎"That's what I don't know yet." The Keeper turned another page. "The prophecy is incomplete. I have only fragments of it." ‎ ‎He pulled out an illustration. The parchment appeared worn at every corner, showing a woman with a crimson mark across her collarbone. ‎ ‎"Is this her?" ‎ ‎"It isn't a portrait of anyone living," the Keeper said. "It's a record of the mark. The bloodline may have continued, but I haven't found enough of the prophecy to know what that means. If it has, another woman may be carrying the same mark in this generation." ‎ ‎Cassian studied the illustration. ‎ ‎"Can she help me?" ‎ ‎"I don't know how. Not yet." The Keeper closed the folder. "But the records describing your type of curse and the fragments about this woman were preserved together. There may be a reason for that. She may be connected to your survival somehow." ‎ ‎Cassian's gaze remained on the illustration. ‎ ‎"If I find her, what then?" ‎ ‎The Keeper looked at him. ‎ ‎"I don't know yet what she is meant to do. I need to find and understand the rest of the prophecy before I can be certain. But if she is connected to your survival, you shouldn't let her out of your sight. Keep her close. I'll continue searching for the missing fragments, and if I find anything that explains what she is meant to do, I'll send word." ‎ ‎Cassian gave a slight nod. ‎ ‎"See that you do," he said, and took the illustration from the Keeper's hand before walking out. ‎ ‎--- ‎Dante was waiting outside. ‎ ‎"Dante, I need you to gather our men to look for someone" Cassian said. ‎ ‎"Boss, what are we looking for?" ‎ ‎Cassian held out the illustration. "A woman with this mark." He tapped the crimson shape near the woman's collarbone. ‎ ‎"Where do we start?" ‎ ‎"Everywhere," Cassian said. "Search every city. Every village." ‎ ‎"Find her." ‎