The Possessive Mafia King

4 - A possible ally

The moment they left, I let out a sharp breath, my control snapping like a worn-out thread. My fist slammed into the wall, the impact rattling through my bones.

Pain shot up my knuckles, but I barely noticed.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing I did would ever be enough for him.

And yet… I still loved him.

Even if he never chose me. Even if I spent my whole life in Marcus’s shadow. Even if I would never hear the words I had always longed for. I still wanted his approval.

I looked down at my knuckles, skin-torn, blood streaks running down my fingers.

Then, movement caught my eye.

Snow.

She had just entered the room, pausing briefly when her gaze landed on my bleeding fist. Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but instead, she merely turned away and walked toward the couch where she had left her bag.

I watched her, my heartbeat steadying as I forced myself to breathe.

By the time I returned from the kitchen after washing my wound, something on the coffee table caught my eye.

A first-aid kit.

I stared at it for a long moment.

Had she… left it for me?

She hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t looked at me with pity or frustration.

But she had noticed.

And she had cared.

The tightness in my chest shifted, not gone, not relieved, but different.

I reached for the kit and I didn’t feel entirely alone.

~~~

**Go back to the party**

I stood in front of the stage, watching as my father, Don Demetrius, took the microphone for an announcement. His presence was commanding, as usual, drawing the attention of the well-dressed guests. The place fell silent, all eyes on him as he began his speech.

He thanked everyone for attending the party. Then his gaze shifted toward Marcus, and I could see a proud smile tug at his lips.

"And I also want to thank my son Marcus for successfully managing the business we established here in the country," he said.

A polite round of applause followed, and Marcus, sitting beside Snow, nodded slightly in acknowledgment. His face was a perfect mix of humility and quiet confidence. I didn’t flinch, though I felt the bitterness rise in my chest. This was nothing new. Marcus had always been the main character, the one who could do no wrong in my father's eyes.

I took another sip of my wine, trying to calm the frustration bubbling within me. But then—

"And I also thank my eldest son, Demetri, who continued the business that his mother built in Sicily."

I froze.

His words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if I had heard them correctly. My father acknowledged me in front of everyone. It felt strange. I searched his face for any sign of sincerity, but he had already moved on, offering his usual polite smile to the crowd.

A few scattered claps echoed in the room. I could feel the eyes of the guests shift toward me, curiosity flickering in their gazes. Snow was among them. When I looked over, her eyes met mine, and then she smiled.

Her dimples deepened, and for a second, I almost forgot where I was. Her smile was warm, effortless. A wave of joy and excitement rushed over me.

Before I could even process what I was feeling, my father continued, completely unaware of the effect his words had on me.

"And before I forget, I’d like to congratulate my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Snow."

The applause grew louder, and Snow, always graceful, offered a thankful smile toward my father. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft yet clear, polite, perfect, everything that I could never seem to be.

I took another long sip from my glass, pretending not to care. I focused my eyes again on my father. This was his rare acknowledgment of me. And yet, it still didn’t feel like enough. Not when Marcus was always standing in the spotlight.

Dinner continued, but I barely touched my plate. The familiar irritation sat in my stomach, gnawing at me.

Then, the emcee’s voice rang out, signaling the next part of the evening.

"Now, we invite those with partners to the dance floor for a romantic dance. Please feel free to join in if you'd like to share a dance."

The music shifted, slow and intimate, filling the space with a melody that had always felt more like a taunt than a lullaby.

Marcus and Snow were the first to rise. Without hesitation, he took her hand and led her to the center of the dance floor. The way they moved together... it was effortless. They were perfectly in sync like they had always been meant for each other.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them. Snow’s eyes were gleaming as she looked up at Marcus, her smile never fading. They were... happy.

Too happy... and I hate it.

My grip tightened around my glass, the cool surface almost painful against my palm.

Couples began to fill the dance floor, pairing up, and enjoying the music, and yet all I could focus on was them. Marcus and Snow, their shared glances, their intimate gestures. It was a reminder of everything I never had.

I didn’t even notice that my father had stood up and walked over to me until his voice cut through the haze of my thoughts.

"Don’t you want to dance with anyone?" His voice was casual, almost too interested, as he looked at me.

I scanned the place, noticing several women glancing at me. It wasn’t surprising. They couldn’t help but be drawn to the good-looking bad-boy son of Don Demetrius. But I wasn’t interested.

My gaze found Marcus and Snow again. The way her eyes lingered on him… the way they moved in sync… it stirred something deep within me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling.

My father’s voice interrupted my thoughts once more.

"Why don’t you try courting Feurene? You two would make a good match."

I couldn’t help but smirk.

Before I could even respond, Feurene returned from the bathroom, overhearing my father’s words.

"Ninong, we're not a good match," she said, sliding back into her seat with a playful smile.

My father chuckled, shaking his head. "And why not? My son is handsome."

Feurene nodded, amused.

"Yes, he is handsome. But I’m looking for someone who’s not a bad boy/playboy like Marcus."

I rolled my eyes due to annoyance.

Marcus. Again.

I leaned back, trying to look insensitive, but the irritation was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

"It’s hard to raise a good son," my father remarked with a sigh.

Feurene took a sip of wine.

"That’s why I’m having trouble finding a husband."

Her gaze had shifted again, and I knew exactly where it was going.

I followed her line of sight. Straight to Snow and Marcus.

I could tell immediately what was happening. Feurene’s lingering glance, the slight tightening of her grip on her glass, and it wasn’t hard to see.

She still had feelings for Marcus.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across my face.

Well, well, well.

This could work out perfectly. I had two weeks until the wedding. Two weeks to ruin the fairytale. Two weeks to make sure that Marcus would never find peace, never get the life he dreamed of.

Two weeks to make sure Snow would never become Marcus' wife. And I wouldn’t waste a second to make it actual.