Housewife Of The Ruthless Mafia Don

Chapter 1: I’m Keeping You Sophia Santos ----- BOOM! The explosion rattled the walls. Gunshots cracked through the air—some close, some distant, some swallowed by the thick stone walls of the mansion. Sophia stood at the table in the strategy room. She pulled a paper from the file in her hand, scanned it quickly, and tossed it in the fireplace. Her hands were steady despite the chaos. There was no point panicking. Their defenses were already breached. She moved to the next file. Scanned. Burned. It had been months of back-and-forth between her husband, Don Dimitri, and the rival gang of the ruthless Don Romano. The war had lasted seven months, and now it was ending. And they were losing. Every escape route Sophia had planned, every contingency—blocked. Romano Renzi had arrived sooner than anticipated. That could only mean one thing. Someone had leaked their plans. The sounds of gunshots got closer. Stray rounds hit the ceiling. Dust rained down. Sophia didn’t flinch. She steadied her nerves, took out another file, scanned the pages quickly, then dumped it into the fire. Her father had taught her that panic in chaos meant miscalculation, and miscalculation meant certain death. She moved to the next file. Yes. She pulled out a piece of paper from the stack, folded it, and tucked it into her bra. Even if they were going to lose everything, there were things Romano Renzi couldn’t see. Dimitri burst in, panicking. “We have to go, now!” The fear in his eyes was unmistakable. Of course he was panicking. She didn’t expect more from a man who claimed to run a mafia empire but never took out hits himself. He was always dependent on her plans but took all the credit. *Of course he’d run when s**t hit the fan.* “Where to?” Sophia asked. “They blew up all the exits.” “Not all.” Sophia knew exactly which exit he meant. The corridor behind the fireplace, cut into the stone when the mansion was built, leading out to the back where a car waited. The same one she’d discovered her first week there—the escape route she’d planned to use before the war broke out. He moved to the fireplace and pushed a brick. The panel groaned. The pathway opened. He went first, without looking back. She followed. They made their way through the corridor. Above them, the sounds of the estate falling continued until they got out the other side. Dimitri turned to her. His face changed. “Wait here. Thirty seconds. I’ll bring the car around.” He walked into the dark. Thirty seconds became sixty. Sixty became two minutes. Reality dawned on Sophia like a puzzle piece clicking into a devastating picture. Dimitri was gone. Sophia’s heart tightened. He left me. Coward. She was the distraction. The decoy. After seven years, he left her as bait. Sophia turned and started back up the corridor. Two men approached from the opposite side. Sophia stopped and raised her hands. “I’m unarmed.” Both men grabbed her arms. “I surrender. Take me to Romano Renzi.” The men exchanged looks, then directed her up the corridor. She’d heard tales about Romano Renzi—the Butcher. The boy who became Don at eighteen after his father died from wounds suffered in the Santos-Renzi war. The Renzi family won—but victory had a cost. The same war had cost her father, Viktor Santos, everything. Including her freedom—it was the reason she’d been arranged to Dimitri in the first place. She had always hated the Renzi family. Romano went on to become the most ruthless Don in LA. They said he rode with his men on hits and racked up the most kills himself. And that he never used guns. Only a knife. That’s how he got the nickname. Sophia swallowed as they approached the strategy room. She steadied her breath. They pushed her inside. The smell hit her first. Blood. Thick. Metallic. Fresh. Her stomach tightened—but she didn’t react. A body lay slumped near the far wall, throat split open cleanly. Blood pooled beneath him, still spreading. Sophia’s pulse skipped once. Slowly, her gaze lifted. He stood over the war table. Romano Renzi. His sleeves were rolled, forearms streaked with blood that wasn’t his. A knife hung loose in his hand, dripping. He wasn’t quite what she expected. He was about her age. Young, handsome, with blonde hair cut in a fade. Tattoos crawled up his neck and stopped at his jaw. Another man—huge, at least seven feet tall, covered in blood—stood protectively beside Romano. Sophia gulped. Romano didn’t look at her immediately. He was studying her board. Her work. The strategy that hadn’t been enough. “Don Romano,” the man holding her right arm said. “Found her trying to escape.” “I surrendered,” Sophia snapped. “I wasn’t running.” That got his attention. Romano turned and locked eyes with her. The room shrank. Sophia felt it physically—like pressure closing in around her ribs, squeezing the air from her lungs. His look was cold. His eyes were dim and devoid of joy. He held her gaze. He raised two fingers toward the large man. Without a word, the man produced a cigar case from inside his jacket, rolled one with practiced efficiency, and placed it between Romano’s fingers. Romano lit it. Drew once. Exhaled slowly toward the ceiling. The smoke, the silence, and the anxiety molded into a tension that filled the room like a fog. He stepped forward. Sophia held her ground. Even as instinct screamed at her to step back. He lifted the knife. Sophia’s fingers twitched before she could stop them. But she didn’t move. Didn’t look away. Then— He drove the knife into the table beside her. Hard. The wood split with a sharp crack. Sophia’s heart slammed against her ribs. But her face stayed still. The blade quivered inches from her arm. Close enough that she could feel the vibration through the table. Romano didn’t break eye contact. Dragging the moment out. Stretching it thin. Sophia’s chest tightened. “Dimitri Kushaniv?” “Gone,” Sophia responded. “Ran,” he corrected. Sophia’s jaw tightened. She said nothing. Because he was right. Romano took another drag, then stepped even closer. Too close. Her body reacted before she could stop it—a slight pull of breath, her shoulders locking, heat rising under her skin. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His hand came up. He gripped her chin. Firm. Forced her to hold his gaze. Sophia’s pulse spiked. Her fingers curled at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. She wouldn’t react. She wouldn’t— “Are you going to kill me?” she asked. The words came out steadier than she felt. Romano leaned in slightly. Close enough that his voice didn’t need volume. “No.” Then he paused. A long one. His nose brushed along her skin, slow and deliberate. Sophia’s heartbeat roared in her ears. “I’m keeping you.” His grip tightened just slightly on her chin. Sophia’s breath hitched. The air felt harder to pull in. “You’ll be in my house,” he continued. Another pause. His gaze locked deeper into hers. “As my wife.” He let that land. “I’m going to break you.” The words landed heavier than an anvil. Sophia’s body went still. The son of her father’s killer. Her husband’s enemy. The man standing in the ruins of everything she built— Was claiming her like she was spoils. She wouldn’t die here. But she might wish she had.