Caught Between The Mafias

Chapter 6: THE WEDDING

If someone had told me this is how my wedding day would play out; getting married to a stranger, in the midst of even more strangers, I would have never believed it.

And yet here I was, sitting in front of my vanity mirror, in a custom-made white slip dress.

This was really about to be my life for a whole year.

I rose slowly, and moved toward the window, each step heavy with hesitation.

Below, I could see the garden glimmering under the morning sun. Rows of chairs, all filled with strangers, stretched outward.

There were white roses twisting along the arches, and framing the paths, their scent drifting up to me, sweet and suffocating.

And there he was. Dean. Standing beneath the wedding arch, waiting. Even from afar, I could tell how good he looked. He glanced at his watch, shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, and then, lifted his eyes upward to my window.

Panic shot through me.

Without thinking, I ducked, pressing my back against the wall. The room began to tilt as a wave of dizziness hit me.

I stumbled away from the window, letting my hand trail along the wall for balance, and sank back into the chair.

Immediately, my phone rang, making me jump.

I picked it up, peering at the caller ID.

‘Dean Luther.’

A sharp knot clenched my stomach. Had he seen me? I hesitated, fingers hovering above the screen, unsure whether to pick up or let it ring out.

The phone rang again almost immediately. I was half-drawn to answer, but with a deep breath, I let it go and hung up. I opened the blogs I’d been scrolling through earlier that morning, my fingers moving on autopilot.

Headlines screamed at me: “Mystery Beauty Becomes Dean Luther’s Bride”

“The Woman Behind the Empire”

“Exclusive Photos of the Engagement Party”

My eyes moved over the pictures, each one a reminder of how public my life had already become before I even said “I do.”

I remembered Lindsay. That morning, my phone had been flooded with messages from her; texts and blog links, all urging me to check the news.

“Where have you been?” she’d asked in a warm, teasing way when she called immediately after. “First you disappear, and now you’re marrying the hottest billionaire in New York? Why didn’t you invite me? I thought I was your friend.”

Friend indeed.

She hadn’t called the day I was taken. Hadn’t bothered to check when I never came back. She was only calling now because of what she’d seen.

“The family wanted it exclusive,” I said, keeping my reply short and firm.

She laughed, that familiar mix of envy and excitement in her voice.

“Well, I’m offended, but I guess I understand how rich people behave. You know I’m always here for you. Don’t forget that, okay?”

I ended the call a moment later, feeling extremely annoyed.

So much for friendship.

My fingers clutched the locket at my neck, flipping it open. The photo inside was of my mom, radiant and alive, holding me close when the world was still gentle.

I traced her face, remembering the cruel echoes of my father’s voice, the slaps that left her trembling, the way he made her feel like property.

My father, the mafia head, who ruled our lives with fear and control.

Would my life be any different? Would my marriage to a man like him, another mafia head, be just another cage?

“Mom,” I whispered, pressing the tiny picture to my lips, “I really need you right now.” Tears fell unbidden, streaking delicate lines of mascara across my cheeks. I’d barely brushed them away, when the door flew open, slamming against the wall.

Dean stormed in, his voice tight with fury. “Why aren’t you answering my calls? Is this your plan? To ruin me? Everyone’s been waiting for you for nearly—”

He stopped mid-sentence, his demeanor faltering as his eyes fell on my face.

He exhaled and sat on the edge of the dressing table. “What’s wrong?”

I lifted my chin, attempting composure. “I’m fine. Just…getting myself ready.”

“Really?” he asked, skeptical.

I stayed silent.

His voice lowered. “Is that how horrifying it is, getting married to me?”

My composure shattered, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.

“I can’t repeat this cycle,” my voice faltered, more tears streaming down my face. “I can’t be abused. Even if it’s just for a year… I just can’t.”

Dean stood, then crouched in front of me, lowering himself until we were eye to eye. He took my trembling hands in his, holding them firmly.

“What happened to your mother,” he said gently, “It wasn’t because of the mafia. It was because of your father.” He paused, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not your father.”

I looked away, but he lifted my chin carefully, guiding my face back to his.

“I didn’t lie when I said you’re safe here,” his thumb traced slow circles against my palm. “You’ll be protected. You’ll be respected. And most importantly, you’ll be free.”

Then, softer still, he half-whispered. “You’ll be the queen of my kingdom. Even if it’s just for a year.”

Every nerve in my mind screamed caution.

But the way he held me, and the intensity in his gaze, I couldn’t help it.

My heart believed him.

I sniffed a few times, then let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Who knew the almighty Dean could be romantic?”

“I’m not.” He smirked, “I’ve just always had a soft spot for you. Your stubbornness… it’s hard not to be fond of.”

I shook my head lightly, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“I’ll call someone to fix up your beautiful face,” he said, still holding my hands. “And then we can go downstairs together. Is that all right with you?”

“I can manage,” I replied softly. “Just give me a minute.”

About an hour later, we stood beneath the arch, facing each other, reciting our vows.

In that moment, I felt at peace. Dean had quieted the unease in me. I even felt a small tinge of excitement for what marrying this version of him would be like.

Soon after, we found ourselves on the dance floor.

The music drifted around us, guiding our steps as we moved together. One of his hands rested securely at my waist, the other holding my hand against his shoulder.

He smiled at me every now and then, brushing a soft kiss to the back of my hand, almost absent-minded.

It was the best feeling ever.

That night, when the doors finally closed behind us, the mansion fell silent.

The space between us felt different now. Charged. Both waiting for the inevitable.

Dean didn’t rush it. He stepped closer, slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to. His fingers brushed my arm, light at first, testing. When I didn’t move, he lifted his hand to my cheek, his thumb tracing along my jaw.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured softly, his lips grazing my ear.

My breath hitched. I was nervous, still aware of how new this was, how much of myself I was about to give. But his touch was patient, and understanding.

When he kissed me, it was unhurried, deepening only when I leaned in. My hands found his shoulders, then his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath my palms.

He laid me down carefully, as though I were fragile glass. His weight followed, anchoring me in place.

I gasped as he went in, the unfamiliar sensation overwhelming me. I clung to him as he thrusted, slow at first, then surer, the rhythm building until… the world narrowed to our breaths and the quiet sounds between us.

When it was over, we stayed curled together beneath the sheets, laughing quietly about my childhood and the trouble I used to cause.

In that moment, nothing else existed.

Then his phone rang, interrupting the peace. He turned, his back facing me, and took the call. He listened for a moment, the conversation brief, then murmured in a barely audible voice, “I’m coming.”

When he faced me again, the smile he gave didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be right back,” he pleaded, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’m sorry.”

I watched him leave, a small knot of unease forming inside me.

Something didn’t feel right.

I waited a moment before following him, careful to keep my distance. He left the mansion, slipping into the garden, and I continued silently behind.

I stopped when I heard voices. Dean was joined by two other men.

A pillar stood close enough to offer cover, so I hid myself behind it, holding my breath.

“There’s a problem, Sir” one of the men said. “George. The one hit at the shootout. He’s demanding more money.”

The other followed. “He says he wasn’t supposed to get hurt. He’s threatening to tell Miss Layla.”

The words slapped me one after the other.

‘Shootout…’

‘Miss Layla…’

‘Wasn’t supposed to get hurt…’

My mind scrambled, pieces clicking together.

‘All this time… it was just… a setup?’

The rest of their conversation faded, swallowed by the sound of my own breathing. My surroundings blurred, colors bleeding into one another as my body began to move without direction.

‘You’re safe with me.’

‘I’ll protect you.’

‘It was all a lie.’

I stumbled backward, then turned, my feet carrying me away as my thoughts fractured and collided.

‘This was never real.’

‘He planned everything.’

I ran. My feet barely touching the ground, my thoughts spiraling.

I had to get out.

Tears blurred my vision, my chest burned with every gasp.

‘I knew it. I shouldn’t have trusted that lying piece of s**t!’

The estate gates came into view, empty. The guards were slumped in their posts, probably too drunk from the endless toasts .

I sneaked past, and once I was at a safe distance, I bolted, adrenaline flooding my veins.

The night air hit me as I ran further, each step carrying me away from the lies and the betrayal.

Ahead, a figure slumped in the middle of the road. I blinked, wiping my tears to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. As I drew closer, I saw it was a woman.

“Hello?” I called, voice trembling. “Are you okay?”

Suddenly, something sharp pricked the side of my neck. My legs buckled, vision spinning. The world tilted as I crumpled to the ground.

A shadow fell over me. A strange voice.

“Hello, Layla.”

Everything went black.