Ruin Me Nico: The Mafia Lord’s Bride

Valentinas’s POV The walls of the Gallo estate had heard many stories of treachery, yet none would compare to the one that sat at the end of the table. My father, Cesare Gallo, had once been a king among men—feared, respected and untouchable. Now, his power was slipping through his fingers like sand. His empire was declining, and his adversaries lurked like vultures. Across from him sat the one man he never wanted to see again. Nico Romano. The son of the man he had sent to his death. The little boy who escaped the m******e. The spirit who returned not to forgive, not to negotiate, but to reclaim what was owed to him. The silence could only be matched by the smell of violence. I sat at my father’s right hand, my body tight as if every nerve ending inside me urged me to leave. Yet, I couldn’t. Not when Nico’s eyes flickered to me, dark and inscrutable. Not when my father’s grip on his glass tightened, his knuckles blanched. Nico leaned back in his chair, his movements deliberate and controlled. Yet, the tension in his shoulders, the furious hum beneath his skin betrayed him. "This partnership is an insult." He spoke evenly, but his tone dripped with contempt. "You think that just because you offer me a place at your table, you're off the hook?"" My father did not flinch. But I could see his jaw ticking slightly. "Well, I think that you are a smart man," my father said, swirling his whiskey. "And smart men don't waste time on grudges when they can accomplish more by working together." Nico's lips turned downward in what was not a smile. "That's where you're wrong. I built my empire on a grudge.” Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. My stomach twisted. I had heard the stories of the Romano family’s downfall. How they were framed, betrayed, and executed like criminals. How Nico had survived, disappearing into the shadows, only to return years later, more powerful than anyone had expected. And now he was here. Not to make peace. To make them pay. My father exhaled through his nose, setting his drink down. “Then let’s talk about what you really want.” Nico’s gaze slid back to me. My heart pounded. “I want the Gallo name beneath my boot,” he said coldly. “I want you to watch as everything you built rots from the inside out. I saw the flicker of uncertainty in my father's eyes—the first crack in his armor. He was losing control. Then, my father did something I never expected. He sighed, heavy and resigned, before saying, “Take her.” I froze. My head snapped toward my father, but he didn’t look at me. Nico's eyes darkened. “Excuse me?” “You want control over my family?” My father said smoothly. "Then take my daughter. Make her your wife. Bind our families." My blood went ice cold. I was unable to breathe, or talk. Nico tilted his head, gazing at my father with what looked like amusement. “You are signing over your daughter to me like she is some bargaining chip?" My father smiled slightly. "I am giving you leverage." My hands balled into fists underneath the table. "No," I finally said, my voice sharp enough to cut the tension in the air. "You don't get to decide this for me." Nico directed his attention toward me then, slow and deliberate. And when he spoke, he was all steel. "You think you have a choice?" The room was burying me. The air was thick with smoke and tension that pressed against me, making it hard to breathe. I could feel Nico scrutinizing me, cutting me to pieces, calculating. But it was not just him. Each man at the table was watching, waiting. A deal had been placed upon the table. A woman had been put on the table. Me. And I refuse to sit in silence. My chair sounds the floor as I push back, my movements harsh. I was standing, my heart drumming in my ears. “You don’t get to decide this.” I spoke my tone sharper than my feelings. “I’m not a game piece for you to swap.” My father hardly addressed me. “Sit down Valentina.” “No.” The word cracked like a whip through the air. Nico smiled, a slow and dangerous thing, that made my stomach twist. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, fingers interlaced in a pose of casual control. “Seems your little jewel has a mind of her own,” he said, never looking away from me. My father exhaled loudly. “She doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation.” I shot my eyes to my father. “I understand. You’re offering me up like some sort of—” “A lifeline,” he interrupted, his patience waning. “Do you know what happens if we don’t take this deal? Our family is bleeding, Valentina. You may be the jewel of this family, but jewels don’t hold power—men do. And I refuse to let this family crumble because of your childish defiance.” A cold, bitter laugh slid past Nico’s lips. “How poetic.” My hands curled into fists. “I don’t care what deal you make with him,” I spat, glaring at my father before turning my fury onto Nico. “I will never marry you.” Nico didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned back, his smirk deepening. Then, in one slow, deliberate movement, he pulled a gun from beneath his suit jacket and placed it on the table. The click of metal against wood sent a ripple through the room. My breath hitched. The Romano men at Nico’s side tensed, their eyes flicking between him and my father. But Nico? He was perfectly composed, perfectly controlled. His voice was smooth when he finally spoke. “You think you have a choice?” Silence. Then— BANG. I flinched as Nico lifted the gun and fired without hesitation. The bullet sank into the shoulder of one of my father’s men—one of the oldest, most loyal enforcers of the Gallo family. He let out a strangled sound, collapsing onto the floor with blood soaking through his suit. The room erupted. Guns were drawn. Chairs scraped. Hands twitched toward holsters. But Nico? He was already pressing the barrel against my father’s temple. My heart stopped. The world shrank down to the sight of my father, frozen, lips slightly parted. To Nico, whose grip on the gun was steady, whose expression remained utterly unmoved. “You think I came here for negotiations?” Nico’s voice was soft, almost mocking. “I came here to collect what’s mine.” “Nico—” my father started, but Nico pressed the gun harder against his skull, cutting him off. “You stole from me,” he continued, his voice never rising, never losing control. “You took my father. You took everything. And now you want to buy your way out?” My stomach twisted violently. I had heard the stories. The rumors about Nico Romano—how he had clawed his way back from nothing, carving his empire out of blood and vengeance. And now I was staring into the eyes of a man who had been forged in that fire. “You think I won’t pull the trigger?” Nico murmured. My father’s jaw clenched. The entire room was still. Then, in the most stunning display of arrogance, my father smiled. “You won’t kill me,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. A dark chuckle rumbled from Nico’s chest. “No,” he agreed. “Not yet.” Then, to my horror— He turned the gun on me. The gun pressed against my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. Dark. Cold. Unrelenting. Nico watched me, his expression unreadable, his grip steady—like he had all the time in the world. I didn’t breathe. The entire room was silent, waiting. Then, his lips parted, his voice smooth, final. “I’ll take her.” The words sent a shockwave through my chest, but before I could even process them, Nico leaned in, his breath ghosting over my skin. His next words were meant for me alone. “Try to run, little jewel. I dare you.” A shiver crawled down my spine. I wasn’t being offered to him. I was being claimed. And no one—not even God himself—could stop him. A slow smirk tugged at Nico’s lips as he turned back to my father. "You must really hate this, huh, Gallo? Handing over your precious daughter to the son of the man you betrayed." My father’s jaw clenched, his silence deafening. Good. Because we both knew the truth. This wasn’t a marriage. It was a sentence. Nico pressed the barrel of his gun against my father’s temple. "Maybe I should just end you now," he mused, tilting his head. "Wouldn’t that be easier?" A sharp gasp filled the room. My mother choked on a cry. The guards around the room tensed, but no one moved. "Nico." My father’s voice was tight. Controlled. "You got your revenge. You bled us dry. There’s nothing left for you here." Nico let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver through my spine. "Nothing left?" His grip on the gun tightened against my father’s temple. "Then why are you still breathing?" "You son of a b***h!" Matteo. The fury in his voice cut through the room like a blade. Nico barely turned before Matteo lunged. Reckless. Stupid. A mistake. Because before Matteo could even reach him, a gunshot rang out. The crack of the bullet split the air. Matteo let out a strangled sound, staggering back, his hand slick with blood as it dripped from his palm to the pristine marble floor. I gasped, frozen in place. My mother screamed. My father… stared. And Nico? He just smiled. "I don’t take orders, Matteo," he murmured, tucking his gun away with infuriating ease. "I give them." Matteo clutched his injured hand, seething in pain but unable to do a damn thing. “You really thought challenging me would end differently?" Nico’s voice was calm, but there was mockery laced in every syllable. He turned back to Don Gallo, stepping closer until their noses almost touched. “I could burn this house to the ground. Leave your entire bloodline in ashes." My father’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing. Nico smirked. "But no. That would be too kind." He stepped back, exhaling as if coming to a decision. "Tomorrow, I will come back. And when I do…" His gaze slid to me, his silver eyes dark with promise. "She will be waiting for me—willingly."