The Mafia Boss' Defiant Daughter

Sophia POV A deathly silence fell over the chapel as Sophia stepped inside, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. She wore a wedding dress of fine silk and delicate lace, but any hint of bridal joy was absent from her features. Instead, a sneer marred her beautiful face, and her stormy grey eyes flicked defiantly over the assembled guests—mostly strangers. All were here to witness something that felt more like a transaction than a union. At her side, her father, Matteo De Luca, offered his arm. His usually commanding presence was tinged with regret today. Each step they took down the aisle felt heavier than the last. When the train of Sophia’s dress caught on a decorative urn, she jerked it free without care, the soft fabric tearing slightly. No makeup graced her cheeks. If this marriage sealed some old deal ensuring her family’s safety, so be it. Pride and fury mingled in her chest, her heart hammering beneath layers of satin and unspoken rage. Matteo’s jaw clenched tight, and his grip on her arm tightened as if he might pull her back and refuse this farce. Years ago, when he was younger and eager to secure his empire, he had made a promise—an ill-advised arrangement, or perhaps something Alessia had tried in desperation, that had now come due. He’d attempted to back out once the rival family demanded satisfaction, but too many threats had been exchanged, too many bodies had fallen. Now Sophia was paying the price. Sensing her father’s turmoil, Sophia leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay, Papa. I know what I’m doing. For all of us.” A faint smile graced her lips, steadying him. Matteo swallowed hard, tears gleaming unshed in his eyes. He nodded reluctantly, and when they reached the altar, he held onto her hand a moment too long before finally letting go. She felt the weight of his silent apology and his aching love. Elizabeth—her wonderful stepmother—stood near the front, dabbing her eyes, but not from joy. No one wanted this. No one except Domenico Ricci—head of the rival family—standing near the altar, his cold gaze daring Matteo to break his word. Armed guards and grim-faced men flanked him, ensuring that everyone remembered why they were truly here. Her groom-to-be waited, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in impeccably tailored black. His stark blue eyes locked onto hers, betraying no weakness. A predatory grace shaped his posture, yet she caught a flicker of resentment behind that confident smirk. Rumor had it he had a lover seated at the back, eyes red and brimming with tears. Duty pressed on his shoulders, just like hers. Neither bride nor groom wanted this marriage, but both would go through with it—bound by honor, debt, and fear. Sophia’s spine straightened. If he thought she would be meek and obedient, he would soon learn otherwise. She was Elizabeth’s stepdaughter, her father’s child, and no cage built by wedding bands and old contracts could tame her spirit without a fight. “Dearly beloved—” the priest began, voice trembling under the heavy tension in the room. The true power here rested not in faith, but in alliances and silence. “Skip the formalities and let’s get this over with,” Sophia scoffed, cutting him off, her voice carrying the steel of the De Luca name. A murmur rippled through the guests. Matteo’s hand twitched at his side; Elizabeth stifled a sob. They had all hoped to spare Sophia from this fate, but the old promises had tightened around them like a rope, leaving no easy escape. In that charged silence, as Domenico Ricci inclined his head with a small, satisfied nod, Sophia understood: the next chapter of their story was about to begin, fueled by power, defiance, and a relentless search for true freedom.