The Mafia's Bride

Chapter 10; His Property

The silence in the corridor was deafening.

Aria stood in front of the large, black oak doors of Matteo De Luca’s chambers, her hand hovering midair. Her knuckles trembled. The hallway was dimly lit, with only the golden chandelier above casting a dull glow onto the polished marble floor. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the carved serpent emblem on the door. It mocked her. Like him.

Why did she even come here?

Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure someone would hear it. Matteo had summoned her, again. And despite every nerve in her body telling her to run, to scream, to escape this madness, she had walked here. Willingly.

Or maybe stupidly.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Aria knocked—once.

Silence.

Then, a low, commanding voice answered from within.

"Come in."

She hesitated but pushed the door open.

The moment she stepped in, her breath hitched. Matteo was there. Standing near the tall windows, light pouring around his half-naked frame like something out of a forbidden painting. A towel hung low around his waist—blackish grey, damp, clinging to the sharp lines of his hips. His chest glistened slightly, his biceps flexed casually as he dried his dark hair with a smaller towel.

Aria froze.

Her eyes, without her permission, dragged themselves down his torso. Sculptured was the only word. Like the marble statues from the cathedrals of old Rome. His shoulders broad, waist narrow, chest defined and—God, his abs. Her lips parted unconsciously, her throat drying up.

She blinked rapidly, trying to look away, but her gaze betrayed her—traveling up to his sharp jawline, his nose, and—

His eyes.

He was watching her.

No… *studying* her.

As if reading every single sinful thought racing through her mind.

Her breath caught.

A small, dark smirk formed on his lips. “You’re not as innocent as you look, gattina.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. She quickly looked down, ashamed and humiliated.

“I… I didn’t mean to stare,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t realize…”

“You didn’t realize you were devouring me with your lustful little eyes?” His voice dipped into a teasing drawl, but there was something dangerous behind it.

Her lips trembled. She nodded—just once. Shame bloomed in her chest like poison.

Matteo let out a low, amused chuckle. The sound curled around her, making her skin prickle.

Was he… enjoying this?

She suddenly felt stupid. Her fingers twitched, picking at the hem of her dress. *He’s mocking me,* she realized. Laughing at her weakness.

And then came silence again.

He said nothing. Didn’t move. Just stared.

Aria clenched her fists. This was torture.

She raised her chin slightly, regaining a bit of her pride. “You called for me, sire,” she said firmly, trying to mask the quake in her voice.

“I know.”

That was all he said.

Just two words. Like a slap.

She blinked. “Can you… stop staring? Please.”

His smirk deepened. “So you don’t like it? I thought all the women in your family were whores.”

Her world stopped.

"What?"

The word escaped her lips like broken glass.

Her gaze snapped up. Matteo was still watching her, but there was no playfulness now. Only cold calculation. Aria’s blood ran cold.

She wanted to scream. Wanted to tear the smug look off his face. But she didn’t. Because she was staring at death wrapped in a towel.

*He’s the devil. The Serpente.*

She gritted her teeth, fury threatening to pour out. But before she could speak, he turned without another word and walked into his dressing room.

“Don’t step out till I’m back,” he said, his tone final.

The sliding door shut behind him.

And Aria—Aria snapped.

She darted toward the shelf on the left side of the room. Her eyes scanned the rows of books and objects like a madwoman. She knew what she was looking for—the journal. She’d seen it before, when she had accidentally wandered in here weeks ago.

She needed answers.

Fast.

Her fingers flew over the objects, ignoring her racing heart. Then she saw it. A small, dusty box—old, with worn golden edges.

She reached for it—

“What are you doing?”

His voice struck like a whip.

She froze.

Slowly, she turned.

He was there. Close. Too close. His hand grabbed her wrist in a punishing grip. She winced, but his expression didn’t soften.

“No matter how curious and stupid you are… don’t ever touch that box again. Never,” he growled, his voice low and threatening, switching briefly into Italian.

Her breath hitched as he suddenly slammed her back against the cold wall. The air escaped her lungs. One of his hands pinned her wrists above her head while the other snaked around her waist, locking her in place.

“I-I just wanted to—”

“You just wanted to die?” His eyes burned into hers, dark with something primal. “Because that’s what you’re asking for.”

She wriggled, trying to escape, but he didn’t budge.

His face hovered close. Too close.

Then—

The chamber door burst open.

“Matteo!”

Sofia.

Matteo didn’t even flinch, but Aria’s eyes widened in horror.

Sofia stood at the entrance, frozen in place. Her designer bag slid from her hands, landing with a thud. Her wide eyes darted from Matteo to Aria, then back again.

Everything exploded in a second.

Sofia’s lips trembled.

She took a slow, venomous glance at Matteo — shirtless, towering over the girl — then shifted her eyes to Aria. Her hatred lit up like wildfire. Aria, still pinned against the wall, looked as shocked as she was breathless.

“You b*tch!” Sofia screamed.

Before Aria could react, Sofia lunged forward and—SMACK—her palm crashed against Aria’s cheek. The sound echoed in the room. Aria’s head jerked to the side, her long, icy-blonde hair flinging across her face.

She staggered but didn’t fall.

She barely had time to look up when—

Matteo moved.

Fast.

His hand shot out, catching Sofia by the throat. She gasped, both from the pain and the shock.

His grip was strong — unforgiving.

“Don’t you ever,” he growled, eyes glinting with lethal rage, “ever raise your hand against what belongs to me.”

Sofia choked.

“Matteo—” she whimpered, clawing at his wrist.

“If you touch her again,” he snarled, voice so low it felt like thunder, “I’ll make sure you never see daylight again.”

He released her, and she crumpled to the marble floor, coughing and gasping. Her wide, glossy eyes shifted from fear to betrayal.

Sofia grabbed her box and stormed out her pride broken,the door shut violently behind her.

Aria, still cradling her stinging cheek, stared in disbelief.

Matteo turned to face her.

“Belongs to you?” she whispered, her voice cracked.

Matteo looked at her with an unreadable expression, then… he smirked.

“I’m not your property,” she hissed. “And I’ll never be.”

He scoffed lightly, as if her defiance amused him. “You think you have a say in this, Castellanos?” His voice was mocking. Cold. “Serve me without complaints… or die.”

His words hit like ice in her veins.

Aria’s chest rose and fell, her hazel eyes blazing with a mix of fear, fury, and confusion.

She turned from him, her breath sharp and short. She hated him. She hated the way he twisted her world, her emotions, her sense of right and wrong.

“Leave,” he said, his voice calm again. “Don’t go anywhere. Don’t speak to anyone. Not without my permission.”

Her jaw clenched. Her fists tightened.

Still… she scrambled to her feet and hurried out of the room.

At the door—

Nico was there.

Leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world.

His eyes flicked to her cheek, then to her wild expression. “Brave,” he muttered under his breath, “or just really dumb.”

Aria shot him a glare and ran past him.

He didn’t follow.

Instead, he stood silently, waiting.

Seconds later, Enzo joined him. His shirt stained with dried blood from a bullet graze.

“You’re outside again,” Enzo muttered. “Did he leave?”

Nico gave a small, secretive smirk. “No. But I just witnessed something very interesting.”

Before Enzo could ask, the chamber door opened. Matteo stepped out, face stone-cold. Not a word left his lips.

Enzo frowned at him. “Siete tutti pazzi,” he muttered in Italian. *You’re insane*.

He walked off, shaking his head.

But Nico only chuckled to himself as he followed behind.

Oh, this was getting fun.

---★—Sofia's suite—

Sofia sat on the edge of her bed, sobbing.

Her neck was still red from Matteo’s hand. Not from a slap, no. He hadn’t hit her. He had chocked her...threatened her. For her.

That girl.

Aria.

Tears streamed down Sofia’s cheeks, staining her mascara.

How could he?

A knock tapped against her door. “Go away,” she barked.

The door creaked open anyway.

Renata.

The maid with mousy brown hair and overly confident eyes stepped in slowly. “I heard what happened,” she said gently.

Sofia scoffed, wiping her face. “What does a servant like you care?”

Renata didn’t flinch. Instead, she walked further in. “Because I hate her too.”

Sofia paused.

Renata tilted her head. “That girl… Aria. She’s not as sweet as she looks. She’s been sleeping with Matteo.”

Sofia’s body stilled. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Renata whispered. “Why do you think she insisted on being your maid? To spy. She’s seducing him every night while you’re left like a fool.”

Sofia gritted her teeth, shaking her head—but the doubt was already crawling in.

“And,” Renata added with a wicked glint in her eyes, “if you want her gone… I can help.”

Sofia turned to her slowly. “Why would you help me?”

Renata smiled sweetly. “Because when you marry Matteo, you’ll be queen of this empire. I only want to be useful to the future queen.”

Sofia stared at her.

Hatred burned in her gut. Hatred that overpowered her pride.

“…Do you have a plan?” she asked finally.

Renata’s smile widened. “A very juicy one.”

---★—EVENING—

Aria was in the servant quarters with Lucia, wiping down the hallway tables with a cloth—but her hands moved without thought.

Her mind was far away.

She had discovered her identity… learned that she was the last Castellanos. But even now, everything still felt like a puzzle. A cruel joke.

Nothing changed instead she has become more confused.... everything sucked and Matteo was making it worse.

Suddenly—

SPLASH!

A cold bucket of water drenched her back.

She gasped, spinning around to find a sneering maid holding the empty bucket. “Oops,” she said with a fake pout. “Didn’t see you there.”

Lucia’s eyes widened. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Before the girl could speak, another maid stepped in.

Then another.

And another.

They all surrounded Aria with smirks and whispers.

“Slut.”

“Il Serpente’s toy.”

“She probably spread her legs to earn her place here.”

Aria’s body shook. Her fists curled. She wanted to scream. Slap someone. Tear the room down.

She raised her hand to strike—

“Aria!” Lucia grabbed her arm. “Don’t. They want you to snap. Let’s go.”

Aria looked around at the mocking faces. The judgment. The hatred.

Her jaw clenched.

Aria felt trapped,her brows knitted into a stressed frown.

Lucia looked at with pity. “I think you should rest, you look tired and with everything happening I think it's better you relax your mind a bit, I'll finish the rest”

Aria shoulders ached,truly she was tired she nodded giving Lucia a brief hug turning to leave.

“Thanks Lucia”

“And Aria—” Lucia called after her. “Don't do anything crazy...pls”

Aria flashed a weak smile before hurrying off.

★—★

¶Marino's Estate

Carmella sat at her vanity, arms crossed, jaw clenched — her reflection glaring back at her.

Nicole.

Her betrothed.

The very thought made her stomach twist. She didn't ask for him. She didn't want him. The engagement was a stupid arrangement between powerful families — a strategic bond forged by men with guns and power, not hearts.

And yet...

She gritted her teeth, slamming a brush down on the table. "Why do I keep thinking about him?" she snapped to herself.

It wasn’t his face — though, God help her, he was infuriatingly handsome — it was the way he carried himself. Cold. Calculated. That annoyingly calm composure even during the chaos of the wedding. Everyone else had panicked, but Nico? He was unbothered. Like it was just another Tuesday.

Then that moment… when he saw her.

Even now she could feel the way his hand had gripped her arm, shoving her behind one of the guards.

"Protect her with your life."

Like she was some precious thing.

She didn’t need protection. She wasn't some glass doll to be shielded.

"I hate him," she muttered, pacing the room like a storm brewing. "Arrogant... smug... ice-hearted bastard."

But her chest fluttered again — and it pissed her off.

She stopped, stared at her reflection once more.

"No. Never. I don’t care if our families want it. I’m not marrying that stone-faced psychopath," she hissed.

But deep down — beneath the stubbornness and sharp tongue — there was curiosity. Dangerous, twisted curiosity.

★

NEXT DAY

¶Don Riccardo’s Chambers

The heavy silence in Don Riccardo’s study was broken only by the faint ticking of the antique clock on the wall. He sat in his leather chair, fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest, his pale face drawn and tired but his eyes sharp with a simmering storm beneath.

Though illness had slowed his body, it hadn’t dulled his mind or his iron will. The events of the wedding haunted him relentlessly—images of chaos, betrayal, and shattered honor burned in his thoughts.

The entire estate had been waiting for the celebration of his son Matteo’s engagement to Sofia Morreti, a union that was supposed to strengthen their families. Instead, it had become a nightmare.

Just moments before the attack, Nico had appeared quietly in the room and whispered something in Riccardo’s ear.

Whatever it was, it had struck him hard—leaving him momentarily speechless and stirring a cold anger that coursed deep in his veins.

Riccardo clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of both the physical pain from his illness and the heavy burden of responsibility for his family’s honor. The silence of the room pressed on him like a suffocating fog.

Suddenly, the ringing of the phone shattered the stillness. A maid appeared at the door, holding the receiver with a worried look. Riccardo reached out and took it firmly.

“De Luca,” he answered in a low, controlled voice.

The sharp tone on the other end was unmistakable—Don Aldo Morreti. The elder patriarch’s anger was raw and unfiltered.

“This wedding… this disaster…” Don Morreti’s voice cracked with frustration. “My daughter’s name has been tarnished in front of all the families. This cannot be allowed. Either there will be a proper wedding—one worthy of the Morreti name—or we will be enemies. I will not tolerate disgrace.”

Riccardo’s eyes darkened. Despite the illness, his presence still demanded respect. He let the silence hang for a moment, considering his words carefully.

“I share your pain, Aldo,” he said steadily. “But rash decisions now could bring more harm than good. We must be cautious.”

Before he could continue, a knock interrupted the conversation. The maid reappeared, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Signorina Sofia wishes to speak with you, Don Riccardo.”

A shadow passed over Riccardo’s face. Sofia—had always been a difficult presence. Now, with the wedding in ruins and tensions high, her arrival promised more complications.

“Send her in,” he ordered, ending the call.