The Mafia King’s Bride

Chapter 9

Elena’s P.O.V

I am a mess. A big mess. I glance at Sebastian, as the car moves, admiring the way his suit clings to his forearms, his muscles flexing as he types on his phone, not aggressive but firm. I move away, closer to the door, trying to put some much-needed distance between us. Is it just me who feels this tension? This overwhelming heat within me?

“You’d think I have a disease with the way you're moving away from me,” he says, chuckling. “If the door had been open, you’d have fallen out.”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. I thought it wasn’t noticeable that I'd been moving away from him.

Ever since he showed up at the office, I’ve been so disheveled. I thought I put that kiss at the back of my mind, but with just one look at me, his presence beside me, and the smell of him filling my senses, everything just came right back. This can’t happen. I hate him. He took my life from me, tied me to him, and he'd known about this engagement for three years, without my knowledge.

“Where are we going?” I ask, looking out the window.

“I told you already. Dress fitting,” he says as he continues typing on his phone.

“Yes, but why are you coming with me?”

A pause. He stops typing for a second. “Because I can,” he says, as he continues.

“Do you have to be so difficult all the time?” I say, annoyed.

Jackpot. That finally gets his attention. He pauses, lifting his phone to look at me—really look at me, and my heart stutters.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, calmly.

“Well, I don’t go around commanding people and forcing them to do what they don’t want,” I say angrily. I don’t even know why I'm angry; maybe it’s because of the mixed feelings I'm getting from this guy.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute; the silence that follows is suffocating.

“You think I wanted this?” he asks, quietly, his voice firm and stern.

I turn, there’s something sharper in his eyes now, his hands have now formed fists, before I can respond, the car door opens beside me, and I turn face to face with Marco. I hadn’t even realized when the car stopped.

I step out quickly, not waiting for him this time.

Sebastian steps inside, like he owns the place; he probably does.

We walk in, and the soft chime of the door echoes through the quiet space. The boutique is nothing like I’m used to. Soft golden light spills from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over everything, making the space feel less like a shop and more like a curated gallery. The floors are polished marble.

Racks of dresses are spaced apart, each dress displayed like it’s something rare. Exclusive fabrics in silk, satin and chiffon flow effortlessly.

The dresses are beautiful, and there are no price tags. Of course, there aren’t.

A large mirror stretches across the wall, reflecting everything back with almost too much clarity. In the center of the room sits a plush seating era—cream coloured couches, with a glass table holding neatly stacked fashion books, a flower vase, and a tray with down turned wine glasses.

Everything about this place screams luxury.

A woman behind the counter looks up, and her face immediately lights up.

“Sebastian,” Her voice is warm, for the fact that she used his first name and not ‘Mr. Russo’, they must be familiar somehow. Too familiar.

She walks towards us, her heels clicking against the soft marble floor, a slow smile spreading across her lips.

“Marianne,” he says, plainly.

“It’s been a while.” Her eyes linger just a second too long, if i wasn’t paying attention to their interaction i would’ve missed it.

“And you haven’t visited me once,” she adds, lightly, placing her hand briefly on his arm.

I look at her. She’s beautiful. The type of beauty that's soft and elegant, her hair and makeup perfect.

Sebastian doesn’t move away. “I’ve been busy,” he replies, simply.

She finally decides to acknowledge my presence. I roll my eyes in my head. Her gaze shifts to me, curiously, and I see her trying to piece everything together.

“And who is this?” she asks.

“This is Elena,” he says, pausing, “My fiancée,” he finishes, turning to look at me.

“Of course,” she says, smiling at me now. “I’m Adriana.”

“Come,” she says, already walking, “Let’s find you something unforgettable.”

--------

The next thirty minutes passed by in a blur.

It was dress after dress, it was either too tight. Not tight enough. Too revealing. Too much.

Too everything. Nothing is ever good enough for this man.

I step out in another dress, adjusting it slightly around the arms, as I look at myself in the mirror.

“It’s nice,” Adriana says.

Yep, it's nice. If I’m going to a baby shower, not my wedding. I glance at Sebastian.

“Next,” he says. I try not to be annoyed, I really do, but I can’t help it. I’ve been trying on dresses for almost 3 hours and all he says is next, next, next. I’m starting to get a little agitated.

By the time I step into the last dress, I’m exhausted. I almost don’t care anymore.

But the moment I look in the mirror, I pause. The fabric hugs my curves perfectly, flowing down and leaving a long train behind me. It’s elegant and beautiful. I glance at him, and for the first time since we got here, he’s not looking indifferent. His gaze sweeps over me as he takes the dress in, as he takes me in. It’s slow, intentional, and I hate that I like it.

“This one,” he says, as his eyes continue to watch me.

“I agree, it’s beautiful,” Adriana says.

I turn slightly, watching the way the dress moves. “I like it,” I say quietly, happily for the first time since we got here.

His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I know,” he says.

And it’s just something about the way he says it—like he’s so sure of what I like and what I don't like. Like he knows me. It sends a strange feeling through me.

;) 🖤 ;)

I leave the boutique happier than when I came in. At least if I'm going to get married without a choice, I might as well get a wedding dress I like.

The thought is really ridiculous, and yet—i can’t stop the small smile that lingers on my lips as we step outside.

Sebastian opens the door for me this time, and I hesitate and glance at him for a second–then slide in without a word. He follows in after me, the door shutting behind him. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

“Thank you…for buying the dress,” I say, quietly.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

The car is silent for a moment, and even though I hate to ruin this moment of peace between us, I have to ask.

“Why did my father marry me off to you?” I ask, sighing as I lean back against the seat, exhaustion taking over my body.

I hear a slight chuckle, very faint. If the car wasn’t so quiet, you could hear a pin drop, I wouldn't have caught it. “You’ll find out in due time,” he says, looking at me.

“Why can’t I find out now?” I ask, looking away from him, because the way he keeps looking at me is making me breathless.

“Because you’re not ready yet.”

“You keep saying that. What makes you think I’m not ready yet? What exactly do I have to do to be ready?” I ask.

His phone rings before he can answer my questions.

“About time,” he says, his tone is completely different now. More controlled

I watch him trying to read his expression, but it’s like a wall has come up between us now. Whatever glimpse of softness was there a second ago? Gone

“What did you find? He asks, then pauses again; his jaw tightens slightly.

“Are you sure?” Silence again, but this time it’s different. I sit up a little straighter, my exhaustion forgotten.

“How bad are we talking?” he asks, his voice dropping lower. I can’t hear who’s on the other side, but I can tell this isn’t good.

His fingers tap once against his thigh, a small controlled movement, I've noticed he does, when he’s in deep thought.

“Who else knows about this?” he asks. Another pause. “Keep it contained, I don’t want this getting out.”

My chest tightens. Getting out? I so desperately want to know what's going on.

“What about the shipment?” he asks, “Is it compromised?”

Another pause–then

“Fuck.”

I’ve not heard him sound like that before. So dangerous. A cold dread settles in the pit of my stomach.

“And the source?” his gaze flickers to me briefly.

“Find him,” he says. “Before I do,” he ends the call without another word, and silence fills the car again, but it’s not relaxed like before.

“What was that about?”I ask, carefully.

He leans back slightly, running a hand down his stubble, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

I let out a small disbelieving breath. “Right. That definitely sounded like nothing.”

He doesn’t respond immediately; he just looks at me, studying me. “That’s exactly why you’re not ready,” he says.

My brows furrow, “Ready for what?”I asked, my heart beating fast.

“For this”

The word lingers between us, and for the first time, a cold, terrifying dread settles in the pit of my stomach as I realize he’s not talking about just the marriage.