Married To The Mafia Devil

Chapter 4

The house was left in ruin after my father’s arrest.

The front door still sagged from where the officers had kicked it in, and splintered wood scattered across the floor like broken bones. Papers and overturned drawers remained where they had been left, reminders of that night when my entire world had been gutted.

I tried cleaning it at first, but the walls still echoed with the memory of boots slamming across the floorboards and my father’s voice as they dragged him away. So I let it rot.

Neighbors whispered when I passed. They shut their windows when I walked down the street and turned their faces away as though I was being punished for a crime. Same faces that was once polite and eager to greet me, now judged me for my father sins. To them, I was tainted. But the truth was worse. I didn’t even know what those sins were.

Every night, I replayed his last words. Save me, Alessia. I’m innocent. Innocent of what? What had he been hiding? I wanted to help him, but I didn’t know how. My ignorance felt like betrayal.

The days after my father’s arrest blurred into a haze of sleepless nights and unanswered questions. His last words haunted me but I never fully understood what he was asking. I didn't know the depth of the life my father had tried to keep hidden from me. I wanted to help but I didn't know how.

Slowly I was going crazy. I kept expecting the phone to ring, for a lawyer to explain, or for my father to call and tell me everything was a misunderstanding. Instead, silence echoed in every corner of the house.

Until they came for me too.

The morning sun had barely risen when a knock thundered against my door. Not polite, not casual. A knock that demanded obedience.

I froze. No one ever came here this early. The knock came again, harder this time. I crept to the door and pressed my ear against the wood. “Who is it?” My voice cracked.

No response.

I tried to peak through the broken door but a man's voice sounded from the other end.

“Miss Moretti.” It was calm, deep and unshakable.

Something in me broke at the sound of my last name. It was no longer a shield; it was a target.

I barely had time to think before the door burst open, bouncing against the wall. Three men in black suits stepped inside. Sunglasses, stone-hard faces, cold and dangerous men. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Their presence was enough. They didn't even utter a word of apology.

I stumbled back. “You...you can’t just barge in.”

One of them raised a gloved hand. “You need to come with us.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who you are!”

The tallest of the three crossed the space in two strides. His hand clamped around my arm. Not cruel, but unyielding. “You’ll know soon enough.”

Panic tore through me. “Let me go!” I struggled against his grip, kicking, thrashing, clawing. It didn’t matter. His hold was firm.

Before I could say another word, my world was covered in darkness.

“No. Please, don’t…” My plea broke into a sob. But it didn't matter. My eyes were blindfolded and another cloth was used to silence me.

My heart slammed against my ribs as rough hands guided me forward. I tried to scream but my screams got stuck in my throat. I dug my heels into the floor, but they dragged me anyway, across the home I once thought was safe.

They shoved me into a car and slammed the door shut, sealing me inside. I was pressed between two men as I struggled to escape.

“Don't fight it. You'll only make things more difficult for you.” A guy by my left whispered in my ears.

Defeated, I tried to steady my breathing. Don’t cry, Alessia. Don’t let them hear you cry. I said to myself, my panic rising.

The car started. The low hum of the car vibrated through me, carrying me deeper into darkness. Every turn disoriented me further. My world became a blur of silence, muffled sounds and darkness. I waited for time to pass. Minutes bled into hours, or maybe only moments I couldn’t really tell.

Finally, the car slowed. Tyres crunched over gravel. The air shifted. It became cooler, heavier, charged with something I couldn’t name.

The door opened and I was dragged out.

“Walk.”

My legs wobbled, but I obeyed. My shoes sank into gravel, then tapped against marble leading into a vast space. Then, the blindfold was ripped away.

My breath caught in my throat.

Before me rose an estate so vast it defied reason. Gates of wrought iron stretched behind us, their spiked tops like spears stabbing at the sky. The mansion itself towered above, marble and glass stitched together into sharp lines that cut against the horizon and oversaw the city. It was beautiful in the way a storm was beautifully terrifying, merciless and impossible to look away from.

Glass windows stretched tall and narrow like watchful eyes. Statues lined the path. Not statues of saints or angels, but gold statues of warriors carved in stone, faces frozen in battle and swords raised high.

Every inch of the mansion whispered the same thing: power.

I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering though the air was still.

The men led me through doors so heavy that it took two men to push them open. The hall inside gleamed with polished marble so clean that they shone like mirrors. The floors reflected every step I took. In the hall, crystal chandeliers hung low overhead, dripping with cold light. And the walls was adorned with portraits of stern-faced men lined the walls, each one carrying the same dark hair, the same sharp jaw and the same commanding gaze. Generations of rulers who commanded fear and respect.

The silence pressed in from every direction.

One of the men stepped forward. “Wait here.”

Then they disappeared into one of the doors leaving me alone in the long hall.

My eyes darted to the portraits again. The paintings staired back at me, pressing me down until my knees nearly buckled. This wasn’t just wealth. This wasn’t luxury. This was intimidation.

And then the doors at the far end of the hall creaked open. They pushed me roughly inside, like a crime suspect standing before her executioner.

And there he was…

Dante Romano

Seated high and mighty upon a chair that looked like a throne, right in the middle of the room.

He didn’t rise, he didn’t need to. His presence filled the room even in stillness. Broad-shouldered and perfectly tailored in black. His posture was effortless yet commanding. His dark hair slicked back. His jaw clean, strong, and merciless. And his eyes—cold, fathomless and dangerous, fixed on me with the weight of a predator studying prey.

His hand rested on the armrest with the casual authority of someone who had never once been denied.

I had never seen him before, but I knew instantly who he was. Everyone in Valora whispered about him, though few dared speak his name aloud. The Devil of Valora.

He was powerful and he knew it.

He owned power and wore it like a crown invisible yet undeniable.

In that moment, I understood why people whispered his name like a curse. Why even men with guns at their sides bowed their heads in his presence.

Because Dante Romano wasn’t simple a man.

He was untouchable.

And I, Alessia Moretti, had just been brought before him. I held my breath, my heart pounded so loudly I thought it might give me away. His presence filled the room like smoke, suffocating yet inevitable. He didn’t need to speak for me to understand the truth—whatever world I thought I lived in

was gone.

This was his world now, and I was standing inside it.