Married to the Mafia Boss

The wedding dress was suffocating. Its delicate white lace clung to Aria Moretti’s body like a second skin, pure on the outside, but inside, she felt like she was being buried alive. The corset cut into her ribs. The veil over her face blurred her vision. But none of that compared to the man waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Luca DeLuca. He stood there in a tailored black suit, eyes colder than death, jaw set in stone. Mafia royalty. The man she was about to marry. The man who hated her family more than anything in the world. And she was his sacrifice. Aria's heels clicked slowly across the marble floor as her father gripped her arm tighter than necessary. Not in love. Not in pride. Just in control. "Smile," he whispered, low and threatening. "Do your duty, Aria." She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Her throat was dry, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the music. Every step felt like she was walking toward her execution. When she reached the altar, Luca didn’t offer his hand. Of course he didn’t. He just looked at her with eyes like gunmetal—sharp, dangerous, unreadable. His lips curled ever so slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was a warning. “You look like a corpse,” he muttered under his breath. Aria flinched. “And you look like the devil,” she shot back, voice trembling but firm. The priest began speaking, but Aria didn’t hear a word. Her mind raced with one thought: This is not a marriage. This is a blood oath. Her father had made a deal. Her hand in exchange for peace. Her freedom for safety. But what she didn’t know until last night was that Luca didn’t want peace. He wanted revenge. And she was just the start. “You may now kiss the bride.” Aria barely had time to react before Luca grabbed her chin roughly and pressed a cold, possessive kiss on her lips. There was no tenderness. No hesitation. Just domination. The guests clapped. Her soul cracked. When he pulled away, his lips brushed her ear. “You’re mine now. Try to run, and I’ll make you regret being born.” Her heart clenched. Her fists balled at her sides. This wasn’t love. This was war. The reception was just for show. Aria sat beside Luca at the long banquet table, surrounded by people she didn’t know men in expensive suits, women with painted smiles, eyes that watched her every move. All of them knew what she was now. A DeLuca. A pawn. She kept her head down, hands in her lap, afraid of saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing. Luca hadn’t looked at her since the ceremony. He spoke to his men in hushed tones, glass of whiskey never leaving his hand. Finally, he stood. “Let’s go.” Aria blinked. “Go where?” His eyes cut into her like knives. “Home.” She didn’t argue. The car ride was silent. She sat stiffly in the backseat while Luca stared out the window, jaw clenched. The city lights passed in a blur, but inside the car, the air was heavy with tension. Finally, she spoke. “You could at least pretend you’re not kidnapping me.” He turned his head slowly, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t confuse this for a honeymoon, Aria. I didn’t marry you to make you happy. I married you to ruin you.” Her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t even know what my family did to you.” “You will,” he said coldly. “And when you do… you’ll wish I had killed you instead.” Silence. Then, softer: “Why me?” Luca leaned in close, his breath warm against her skin. “Because you’re the only way to make your father suffer.” Aria blinked back tears. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not tonight.