The Mafia's Bride

Chapter Five: Roses with Thorns

*Moretti Mansion — Sofia’s Wing*

“And then he said I’m going to marry *Il Serpente di Milano*,” Sofia squealed, twirling dramatically in front of her full-length mirror, letting her silk robe glide with her.

Across the room, her younger sister, Valeria, rolled her eyes and shoved another handful of chips into her mouth, unimpressed.

“So?” she mumbled with her mouth full. “Isn’t that the guy who made a guy eat his own tongue or something?”

Sofia gasped, hand flying to her chest. “He’s not *just* that guy. He’s *Matteo De Luca*, future Don of the most powerful Mafia family in Northern Italy. And he’s… *ugh*—” she swooned, “—he's *dangerously* hot.”

Valeria gave her a flat look. “And? He’s a sociopath.”

Sofia waved her hand. “All mafia men are. I can handle him. Once he sees me in this skin…” She ran her manicured fingers down her thigh, “he’ll be obsessed.”

“You’re delusional,” Valeria muttered.

Just then, the door creaked open and the Moretti butler entered, bowing slightly. “Signorina Sofia. Preparations are complete. The convoy will leave in one hour.”

Sofia’s eyes sparkled. “Perfetto.”

She turned to her sister with a wicked grin. “Turn on the news, sorellina. I’m about to become the most talked-about woman in Italy.”

Valeria sighed. “God help *Il Serpente*.”

★

*De Luca Mansion – Front Courtyard*

*Later that Day*

The black convoy rolled through the wrought-iron gates of the De Luca estate like a dark parade of power. Four matte black SUVs, polished to a mirror shine, crawled across the gravel with military precision, flanked by suited men in black—silent, armed, eyes scanning.

As the car in the center came to a smooth halt, the front door opened and out stepped Sofia Moretti, draped in an emerald green coat dress that screamed wealth and vanity. Her heels clicked like gunshots as she stepped out, followed closely by a personal maid and a security detail.

Lucia peeked from behind one of the marble pillars near the front entrance and whispered to Renata, “Is that her?”

Renata nodded, lips tightening. “That’s her. The Moretti princess.”

Sofia’s chin was high, her confidence oozing. She scanned the vast estate with sharp hazel eyes. “Hmm… underwhelming,” she murmured in Italian. “But I suppose a serpent needs his shadows.”

Mrs. Mara, the head maid, appeared with two assistants, bowing respectfully. “Welcome, Signorina Moretti. We’ve prepared a suite in the west wing for your stay.”

Sofia offered a rehearsed smile, sweet but steeped in superiority. “Grazie. I expect roses in my room. Real ones. Red.”

“Yes, Signorina.”

As she was escorted inside with delicate respect, her eyes trailed over the grand staircase, the chandeliers, the silence.

“Where is Matteo?” she asked casually.

Mrs. Mara lowered her gaze. “The Don-to-be had… urgent business to handle. He’ll return shortly.”

Sofia’s jaw tensed subtly.

“Of course he did,” she muttered. “Running off to slit someone’s throat, no doubt. Charming.”

*Somewhere outside Palermo | 2:47AM*

The metallic scent of blood lingered in the air like an old, familiar perfume.

Moonlight sliced through the broken windows of the abandoned warehouse, casting eerie shadows on the cold, concrete floor. A family of four knelt, trembling, their wrists bound, their mouths gagged — father, mother, and two grown sons. The sons had been stripped of their pride first — black eyes, bloodied noses, teeth missing.

A slow, deliberate click echoed as the warehouse door creaked open.

Footsteps.

Three pairs.

They entered like shadows cloaked in human form — long black coats brushing against the floor, hands gloved, the glow of cigarette embers illuminating sharp jaws and darker intentions.

Matteo De Luca walked ahead, boots echoing across the room, a black glove flexing around a silver ring marked with the De Luca crest. His ink-black hair was slicked back, revealing a serpent tattoo that slithered up his throat — the mark of Milan’s devil.

Behind him came *Enzo* — shirt unbuttoned at the top, showcasing a chest of swirling tattoos and scars from the past. His eyes, stormy grey and always calculating, narrowed as he smirked at the broken men. He toyed with a combat knife like it was an extension of his hand, his tongue grazing his lower lip ring.

Then came *Nico*, silent, unreadable. A cigarette dangled from his lips, his hands tucked in his coat pockets. Blood didn’t faze him. Mercy wasn’t in his vocabulary. One sharp look from him could freeze bone marrow.

“Famiglia Armenti,” Matteo began, voice a low growl that danced with charm and danger. “I gave you one task. Protect the shipment. But instead…” he bent low, grabbing the father’s jaw and forcing his bloodied face up, “...you fed my guns to the feds.”

The man whimpered.

“M-Matteo, please… it wasn’t me—”

A gunshot.

Matteo didn't flinch as blood splattered his glove. One of the sons slumped forward, lifeless. He dropped the smoking gun like it was too easy.

“Too many voices.” Matteo's smirk returned, cruel and slow. “We’ll continue with fewer.”

Enzo stepped forward, crouched before the second son, and whispered, “Your mother will watch. That makes it poetic, no?”

Then came the screaming.

The kind of screams that never left walls, even after paint and time. The kind that bled into the concrete. That night, the warehouse became a tomb of regret.

Matteo stood over the corpses minutes later, blood on his boots and satisfaction in his veins.

“Burn it all,” he said coldly.

Nico didn’t respond — he just lit his last cigarette and flicked the match into the blood-soaked corner. Flames roared to life.

As they walked away from the burning mess, Enzo finally asked, “And Sofia?”

Matteo’s lip curled.

“Let her wait.”

Enzo nodded as they approached the black Royce phantom.

He slid into the drivers seat, adjusting he's dark blue curls in the review mirror, smirking at he's reflection.

Nico crushed the cigarettes before entering the back seat once Matteo was inside.

He rolled he's eyes at Enzo reflection and brought out a black tab as they drove off.

“The Malumbras are suddenly offering alliance ” . He muttered in Italian scrolling.

Matteo took of he's gloves. He's eyes staring out the window.

Enzo scoffed loudly. “After ignoring the Don's demand for two years straight!”

“The nerve ” He muttered annoyed then paused “Yunno, I heard he was involved with the Castellanos before the blood bath ”

Matteo looked at him through the review mirror at the mention of the name.

“Meaning he's involved”. Nico mumbled turning to look at Matteo.

Enzo sighed. “Dio! He really wants to die next—

Nico cut in. ”He's not that stupid.. but offering alliance...why?!“

”I don't wanna know... find out if they were really involved “. Matteo finally said he's tone low and icy.

”And if they're?“. Nico asked already aware of the answer.

”Another blood bath?“. Enzo chimed and Matteo's eyes darkened.

”Sì“

★

The morning light bled softly through the thin curtains, washing the maid’s quarters in a warm, golden hue. Birds chirped faintly in the distance, and the faint clink of breakfast trays echoed from the lower floor. Aria lay still on her narrow bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling slowly.

*"Gattina..."*

The name clung to her thoughts like a curse she couldn’t shake.

The way he said it. The way his eyes pinned her down like prey. The cruel twist of his lips when he whispered *“You’re dumber than I thought, Castellanos.”*

She sat up abruptly, dragging her fingers through her icy blonde waves. Her throat tightened. She still had no idea what he was talking about—*Castellanos? Revenge?* What revenge?

“Aria?” Lucia’s gentle voice broke into her spiraling thoughts. “You didn’t even touch your bread last night. Are you okay?”

Aria blinked, trying to steady herself. “Yeah, just… tired.”

Lucia sat on the edge of her bed, folding her arms. “You’ve been off since yesterday. First, you vanished during the chores, and now you’re spacing out like a ghost.”

Before Aria could respond, the sound of a drawer slamming interrupted them.

Renata.

She was by her wardrobe, her movements stiff and annoyed. She didn’t say a word to either of them. Again.

Lucia shot her a quick glance, then leaned in and whispered, “She’s been acting weird since you came back last night. And she’s been watching you like a hawk.”

Aria frowned. “I noticed. Yesterday, she was scrubbing the corridor near the east wing when I passed by. That's not even her area.”

“She followed you?” Lucia whispered.

“I think so.” Aria’s voice lowered. “But when I turned around, she acted like she was just wiping the walls.”

Lucia’s brows pinched. “You sure you’re not being paranoid?”

Aria gave her a look. “When have I *ever* been paranoid?”

Lucia smiled softly. “Fair.”

The room suddenly felt colder, even as the sun rose higher.

Renata walked past them, her nose in the air. “Some people think they're more important than they are,” she muttered under her breath as she passed.

Lucia gave her a warning look. “You want to say something, say it.”

But Renata ignored her, her mouth twitching with a smug smirk as she stepped outside, letting the door creak closed behind her.

Aria sighed, her gaze distant again.

*

The kitchen was unusually tense that morning.

Maids whispered behind polished silver trays, and butlers moved a little quicker than usual. Something was brewing—something *important*.

Aria stepped into the staff hall, her apron loosely tied around her waist, still reeling from her earlier conversation with Lucia. She immediately noticed the shift in energy. Everyone was buzzing.

She barely sat down when Lucia rushed toward her, eyes wide. “You won’t believe it!”

Aria raised a brow. “What?”

“Sofia Moretti,” Lucia whispered, practically vibrating. “The Don’s chosen bride for *Il Serpente* is staying here for a *whole week*! Like, actually living here.”

Aria nearly choked. “Wait—*the* Sofia Moretti? The over-bleached heiress who trended for feeding her Pomeranian gold-flaked meat?”

Lucia nodded. “That’s the one. Word is, she arrived late last night. Her convoy was like something out of a movie. Men in black. Trained dogs. Luggage that filled the south garage!”

Aria blinked. “And… she’s marrying *him*? The *Matteo*?”

“Apparently so,” Lucia leaned in, “but here’s the shocker—she sent a request to have a personal maid. A younger one. Preferably ‘sweet-looking.’ Her words.”

Aria narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like a walking disaster.”

Lucia laughed. “Mrs. Mara’s reviewing maids to assign her. You think it’ll be Renata?”

Just then, Renata strutted into the hall, practically glowing. She wore fresh lip gloss and had curled her hair slightly—strictly against staff policy. She winked at the mirror as she passed and whispered loudly enough, “Guess who’s finally going to serve someone *worthy*?”

Aria and Lucia shared a look.

Lucia leaned in again. “She’s been bragging about how she practiced serving cocktails and walking with wine without spilling a drop. I think she’s *sure* it’s her.”

Suddenly, a loud *clang* echoed through the hall. Everyone turned.

Mrs. Mara stood by the announcement board, arms crossed, glasses perched on her nose.

“Staff lineup,” she said with her usual cold tone. “Effective immediately, a personal maid has been assigned to Miss Moretti during her stay.”

Everyone leaned forward.

Aria sipped her water, assuming it would be Renata.

Mrs. Mara cleared her throat. “Aria Castell. Report to the south wing. Now.”

*Silence.*

The cup dropped from Aria’s hand, clattering against the table.

Renata spun around. “*What?!*”

Lucia’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

Aria’s mouth went dry. “Me?”

Mrs. Mara glanced at her without emotion. “Did I stutter?”

“But—” Renata started, her voice shrill, “she’s not even experienced with high guests!”

“She was requested by name,” Mrs. Mara cut in sharply. “Apparently, Miss Moretti saw her in the hallway last night and thought she looked… ‘naively charming.’” She scoffed under her breath. “Heaven help us.”

Aria’s heart pounded. She stood slowly, stunned. “Y-Yes, Ma’am.”

Renata glared daggers at her, eyes nearly twitching.