The Mafia's Bride

Chapter 9; Crimson Vows

Aria’s breath caught in her throat.

Matteo stood in the doorway, tall and sharp in his dark wedding suit, silver cufflinks glinting under the light. His eyes, cold as steel, locked onto her with quiet fury.

“*Gattina...*” he repeated, voice low and dangerous. “What are you doing in my room?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her fingers clutched the fabric of her apron tighter. The box in her pocket suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred kilos.

“I—I was told to clean—” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

He walked toward her slowly, deliberately. Each step echoed.

“No one asked you to clean this room,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument. “So I’ll ask again… what are you doing here?”

Aria looked down, trying to gather herself. She couldn’t panic. Not now.

“I heard… you weren’t at the hall. I came looking,” she lied again, knowing how thin it sounded. “I thought something might’ve happened.”

Matteo stopped just in front of her, towering.

His gaze dropped to her apron. The outline of the wooden box was just barely visible.

His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.

“What’s that?”

She flinched, caught.

“Nothing—just—just something I found while dusting.”

He snatched the box from her apron before she could move.

Aria’s heart pounded.

Matteo looked at it, expression darkening.

“You opened this?”

“I couldn’t,” she confessed shaking. “It’s locked.”

For a long moment, silence stretched between them.

Then he looked up at her, eyes unreadable.

“You’re curious, aren’t you?” he asked softly, almost mockingly. “Curiosity kills, gattina.”

Aria met his eyes, something inside her snapping.

“I want to know who I am. What I’m doing here. Why this mansion feels like a graveyard full of secrets.”

Matteo didn’t move. But something flickered behind his cold gaze.

“You don’t want to know,” he whispered. “Not really.”

Then he turned away, heading for his bed, placing the box down.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without looking at her. “Get out... before I change my mind".

Aria didn’t move.

“I know,” she said quietly.

Matteo turned halfway, frowning.

“I know… my name isn’t just Castell.”

His entire body went still.

Silence.

Then his voice, ice-cold.

“Who told you?”

She didn’t answer. And she didn’t need to.

His jaw clenched. Then he let out a bitter laugh, low and sharp.

“Of course she did.”

Matteo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was cruel. Unforgiving.

"Even if you know now, Castellanos…" he said, stepping toward her, "it changes nothing. In fact—it gives me more reason to kill you."

Aria flinched, but stood her ground, even as her knees trembled.

“Wh-why.??,” she said, voice shaky but determined. “She told me… your family killed them. My family.”

Her eyes welled up. “Wh-Why?”

Matteo’s grin deepened—twisted. His silver eyes darkened with something terrifying.

The devil wore a sinister smile.

He moved closer. She instinctively took a step back. Then another.

And another.

Every step he took made her smaller. Made the room colder.

His presence was suffocating—towering. A storm with a heartbeat.

Until her back hit something hard.

The wooden edge of the bed.

She gasped, eyes darting behind her, then slowly lifted her hazel gaze back to him.

He stopped inches away, staring down at her like death itself.

"So you don’t know," he muttered, voice thick with venom. “She didn’t tell you.”

His lips curled cruelly.

“That will only make your death more boring…”

He stepped forward again, and she fell backwards onto the cold silk of the mattress, hands gripping the sheets.

Tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes, chest heaving.

He loomed over her.

“You don’t look like you want to die… Gattina,” he mocked.

Then—his hands wrapped around her neck.

Not choking—just holding. Tight enough to scare. To control.

His grip was warm, but it felt like ice.

She whimpered.

The scent of blood clung to him like smoke. Like death.

She squeezed her eyes shut as a tear slid down her cheek.

And then—

His hands released.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, as if disappointed.

“Get out,” he said coldly, straightening his suit.

Aria didn’t move.

“I said…”

His eyes flared.

“Get. Out.”

She stumbled off the bed, rushing toward the door, clutching the box she had managed to grab in the chaos.

He didn’t stop her.

He just stood there. Watching. Smirking darkly.

Like a predator letting prey run.

★

¶Wedding Hall

Sofia stood frozen at the altar, her hands trembling as whispers turned to gasps. Her perfectly lined lips quivered.

"This... This can’t be happening," she hissed, scanning the reception hall in panic.

The Morretis—her parents—looked outraged, the father red with fury, the mother stiff with embarrassment.

Across the aisle, the Marinos watched silently. Carmella, dressed in a sleek blood-red gown, leaned back in her chair with a sly, satisfied smirk. She was thoroughly enjoying the drama.

Then the hall doors swung open.

All heads turned.

Nico walked in, hurried but calm, his presence sharp. He wore a black fury coat over a loosely buttoned shirt, collar open, chest tattoo just peeking through. His blue eyes scanned the room—and locked with Carmella’s for the briefest second.

Then he looked away, unfazed, heading straight for Don Riccardo at the front.

He bent, whispered something. The Don’s eyes widened in fury.

Nico helped him up without a word. That’s when Sofia snapped.

“Where is Matteo?! He can’t do this to me!”

Nico didn’t even glance at her. He gave the Don’s guards sharp, low instructions as he escorted the old man off the platform.

Gunfire erupted.

Screams followed.

Guests ducked and scrambled as bullets tore through the air. De Luca guards burst in, weapons raised, led by Enzo—all grit and control. He barked orders, shielding guests, dragging tables to form makeshift cover.

Sofia sobbed, hiding under a centerpiece as a guard pulled her to safety.

Nico drew his gun, returning fire.

“They’re not cops!” he yelled, ducking a bullet. “The uniforms are fake—FIND THEIR MARKS!”

The room went dead still.

One by one, the fake officers dropped like dominos—clean, precise shots.

Then—

They entered.

A new group of men in sharp black suits, eyes cold, movements calculated. Earpieces. Tactical gloves.

Il Serpente's elite.

A sudden hush spread across the bloodied reception floor.

And then he stepped in.

Matteo De Luca.

Tall. Composed. Shadowed by his elite. His icy silver eyes scanned the chaos with detached calm.

He adjusted his cufflinks like it was a boardroom meeting.

His thick black coat flowing behind him, making him look like a walking demon...if he isn't already.

Enzo immediately rushed to meet him, whispering urgently in his ear.

Across the room, Nico spotted Carmella curled under a toppled table, her dress stained with dust.

Without hesitation, he ran, grabbed her arm.

“Guard her. With your life,” he told a guard, shoving her toward him—no softness in his voice. Not even a glance back.

He turned and headed straight to Matteo.

The Devil had arrived.

Matteo stepped forward, his black suit soaked at the cuffs, silver eyes glinting with fury.

"Dov’è il codardo che osa rovinare il mio matrimonio?"

(Where is the coward who dares to disrupt my wedding?) he growled in Italian.

Enzo didn't say a word. He dragged a bloodied man forward—the injured leader of the ambush—his knees scraping the polished floor. The man groaned, trying to lift his head, but Matteo’s stare alone made him freeze.

Just then—

The main door creaked.

Aria ran in, breathless, completely unaware of what had happened. She’d taken the side corridor when the guards were distracted, trying to find a way out—until she stepped into the main hall.

Her eyes widened in horror.

Bodies. Blood. Chaos. The room reeked of death and gunpowder. Her lips parted, a silent gasp escaping her as she stumbled back—

But it was too late.

His eyes were already on her.

Matteo looked up, and their gazes locked—icy silver to frightened hazel. A cruel grin curved his lips.

Without looking away from her, he raised his black pistol, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

Blood splattered across his face as the man’s right-hand dropped like a stone.

He didn't flinch.

Still staring at Aria—who stood frozen by the doorway, hand clasped over her mouth—he grabbed the injured leader by the hair and dragged a blade across his throat.

Slow.. painfully slow.

A wet, choking sound.

More blood.

Aria watched it all, trembling, her breath caught in her throat, heat rising from her chest to her cheeks—rage, fear, disbelief.

Matteo wiped the drop of blood on his thumb on the leaders shirt, his voice like ice.

"You came just in time, Gattina."

He took a slow step toward her, boots echoing ominously on the marble floor. The guards parted for him like shadows fleeing the light, leaving only his deadly presence advancing toward Aria.

She couldn’t move.

Her legs refused. Her heartbeat roared in her ears like war drums.

Matteo stopped just a few feet from her, tilting his head slightly. The blood still painted his cheek, dripping slowly from his jawline to the collar of his shirt.

"You weren’t supposed to see that," he murmured, voice soft—too soft. "But since you're already here…" he stepped even closer, making her shrink instinctively. "Tell me, Gattina… are you scared?"

Aria’s lips trembled, but no words came out. Her hands clenched by her sides.

He leaned in, so close she could smell the metal and blood on him. His fingers lifted her chin with a cruel gentleness.

"You should be."

Her breath hitched.

"Because this…"—he gestured around to the bodies with a flick of his blade—"is just the beginning."

He released her face with a smirk, straightened, and turned away without another glance.

"Clean this mess," he ordered coldly to his men, wiping the blood off his hands like it was paint.

And with that, Il Serpente walked away, leaving Aria trembling in a pool of silence—and blood.

★

¶UNKNOWN DISTRICT

In a shadowy, smoke-filled room, the man pounded into the fragile girl with brutal intensity, standing over her as he forced his dominance with ruthless, rough movements. She was nothing but an object to him—thin, scared, and powerless beneath his merciless grip.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and his men barged in, their faces grim.

“They’re all dead. Il Serpente wiped out every last one we sent,” one announced.

The man froze mid-motion, rage flashing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he roughly shoved the girl aside, slapping her across the face with a sharp crack. She stumbled back, wide-eyed and trembling.

He snarled, voice cold and furious, “What did I tell you about failure? Get the hell out of my sight.”

The girl sank against the wall, rubbing her stinging cheek, eyes flickering with a mix of fear and resentment. The man turned away, pacing like a caged beast, fists clenched tightly.

“They think they can challenge me?” he spat, voice dripping with venom. “Il Serpente thinks he can play king? I’ll burn everything he loves to ashes.”

His men exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing, knowing better than to interrupt his fury.

The strange man smiled cruelly, a twisted curl of his lips as he asked darkly, “Did they kill his beloved wife-to-be?”

One of the men stepped forward. “According to our inside source… she didn’t die.”

The man’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed like slits of fire.

“Ha scoperto cosa vive sotto il suo stesso tetto?” (Has he found out what is living under his own roof?)

His right hand man shock his head.

That wicked smile returned. Sharp. Ominous.

“Il Serpente… your doom is near.”

★

*Aria’s POV*

She sat motionless on the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees like a fragile shell trying to hold itself together. The noise outside was deafening—maids whispering, footsteps pacing, guards barking orders, some crying, some shaken—but in her world, there was only silence.

Her hands trembled slightly on her thighs, fingers clenched, as the scene replayed behind her eyes like a cursed dream.

Matteo. Blood. Death.

The silver-eyed Don with blood splattered across his face. The way he pulled the trigger so effortlessly. That cruel, twisted smile—like a devil basking in chaos. Her stomach turned.

She had fled the chaos after the m******e. Her only thought had been to find Lucia—to ground herself, talk to someone, beg for sense amidst the madness. But Lucia had vanished in the commotion. And so Aria had stumbled her way back here, to the maids' quarters, her sanctuary… or what used to be.

Now, it felt like a cage.

Her breath hitched as she recalled the moment their eyes met across the room. He had seen her. Covered in blood, holding a gun, slitting a man’s throat with no remorse… and he saw her.

Not just with his eyes.

He saw through her.

She shivered violently and buried her face into her hands.

Tears wouldn't come anymore—only confusion, hunger, fear. And something else she couldn’t name. A storm of anger and... something deeper.

Why did he look at me like that?

Why did he smile like he enjoyed scaring me?

She tried to shake it off. She told herself she needed answers. That was why she had entered his room earlier, why she had dared to dig. She had a plan, a purpose… But now?

Now her resolve was cracking.

Then a loud knock startled her. The door flew open, revealing the head maid—stern, tall, elegance wrapped in judgment. Her gaze swept across the room like a scythe before landing on Aria.

“Aria Castell,” she said, sharp as glass. “Il Serpente summons you.”

Aria’s blood ran cold.

“W-What?” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper.

The maid’s frown deepened. “Are you dead?! I said Don Matteo is looking for you. You have five minutes.”

And with that, she turned and left—heels clicking like a countdown to doom.

Aria just sat there. Frozen.

Her heart slammed against her chest, echoing in her ears.

He summoned her.

After everything that happened. After what he did. After how he touched her throat like he was deciding whether or not to snap it. And now he wanted to see her AGAIN?

Her entire body recoiled.

What if he wants to kill me next?

The thought slammed into her like a truck. Her eyes widened, lips parted in pure horror. She imagined it—his hand on her neck again, but this time not stopping. No silver eyes, no words. Just pain.

He's Il Serpente. The Snake. What did I expect?

Every warning Noona had given her suddenly screamed in her head.

She stood up on shaky legs, reaching for her apron almost on instinct—like that would somehow protect her. Her fingers curled around the wooden box she had hidden inside it earlier. It throbbed with importance now, like a secret she wasn’t yet ready to open.

She backed against the wall, breath ragged.

Run.

A voice in her head whispered.

Fight.

Another one whispered.

But then… Find out the truth.

Despite the overwhelming fear clawing through her chest, her feet inched toward the door. She paused, inhaled deeply, trembling so hard she nearly stumbled.

Is this how I will die?

★

¶Morreti Mansion

The silk sheets offered no comfort. Not tonight.

Sofia lay curled up in the center of her plush bed, her perfectly styled hair now a tangled mess, her designer makeup smeared down her cheeks in ugly trails. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of the chandelier that swayed slightly—mocking her, like everything else.

Tears streamed down her face, not gentle ones, but angry, bitter sobs that racked her chest and burned her throat.

Her wedding.

Her perfect wedding.

Ruined.

First, Matteo didn’t show. Then gunshots. Screaming. Blood. People running. The Morretis humiliated. And her—left standing at the altar like a fool. No vows. No ring. No kiss. Nothing but shame.

Why? Why him? Why me?

The door creaked open and her mother stepped in cautiously, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

“Sofia,” she said gently, like walking on glass. “You need to rest. It’s been—”

“GET OUT,” Sofia hissed, her voice hoarse but sharp enough to cut.

Her mother flinched, but tried again. “It wasn’t your fault. He might… he might still redo the wedding. Give him time—”

“I said, GET OUT!” she screamed, hurling the pillow across the room. It hit the dresser with a soft thud.

Her mother gave her one last look before turning and leaving, heels vanishing down the corridor. Sofia jumped up, locked the door with trembling hands, and pressed her back against it.

Silence.

She slid down to the floor, fists clenched.

Everything was supposed to be perfect. The dress, the guests, the name De Luca stitched beside hers. The title. The crown.

Now all she had was pity.

But she wouldn’t break. Not Sofia Morreti.

He embarrassed me… humiliated me.

But he would pay.

Not with violence. Not with bullets.

With obsession.

She would make him crave her. Need her. Lose sleep over her.

If she couldn’t be loved, she’d be desired. If she couldn’t have his heart… she’d have his mind. And ruin it.

Her anger slowly began to melt into something else—something darker. Her lips curled.

If I can’t have him…

No one will.

Never.

Her tear-soaked eyes gleamed now—not with sadness. But with determination.

And lust.