Married To The Mafia Devil

chapter9

Dante’s POV

The sight of her fingers brushing that seal stopped my breath for half a second.

Her father’s crest.

My blood turned cold.

“Alessia.”

Her name cut through the quiet like a blade. She froze, the envelope still in her hand, her knuckles white from the grip. For a moment, I saw her chest rise and fall too fast, the tremor in her shoulders betraying her fear.

“Put it down,” I said, stepping into the room.

Her head whipped toward me, her mask already discarded, her eyes wide but burning. “Why is my family’s crest in your study?”

“Alessia,” I repeated, slower this time, darker. “Put. It. Down.”

For a second, I thought she might defy me. But then her hand lowered, fingers trembling as she set the envelope on the desk.

Good girl.

But the damage was done. The image of her with that letter seared itself into my mind.

I crossed the distance between us, stopping just inches away. “You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you.”

Her chin tilted up. Defiant. “Maybe if you didn’t keep secrets locked away, people wouldn’t have to look.”

A spark. Brave or foolish, I couldn’t yet decide.

I leaned closer, my voice low, meant only for her. “Your father destroyed something sacred. And now, Alessia, you carry the weight of his punishment.”

Her lips parted, a sharp inhale escaping before she whispered, “What did he do?”

I held her gaze. Let her drown in the silence. I would not give her the truth. Not yet.

Because even I wasn’t ready to say it aloud.

---

The next morning, I summoned her to breakfast. She appeared wearing her own clothes instead of the silk I’d ordered laid out for her. Jeans. A plain white blouse. Defiance stitched into every thread.

I didn’t comment. Not yet.

“Eat,” I said, cutting into my eggs with precise strokes.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ll eat,” I replied calmly, “or you’ll faint before the day even begins. And I don’t have time to drag you around unconscious.”

Her fork scraped harshly against her plate, but she obeyed. Each bite was reluctant, but she swallowed anyway.

Good. She could hate me all she wanted, as long as she obeyed.

---

After breakfast, I led her through the estate. She trailed behind me, chin high, eyes darting everywhere.

I wanted her to see. To understand.

We started in the courtyard, where my men drilled in formation. Guns disassembled and reassembled in seconds. Knives thrown with lethal precision. Their movements are sharp, disciplined. She stopped at the edge, eyes widening as she took it in.

“They’re not just men,” I said. “They’re my shield. My sword.”

“And your leash,” she muttered.

My lips curved. Sharp tongue. She was learning to use it well.

Inside, I showed her the offices. My men bent their heads in respect as we passed. Deals were struck in hushed voices, numbers calculated, empires expanded. Alessia’s gaze darted from the maps on the walls to the stacks of cash sealed in crates.

“You run an empire built on blood,” she said quietly.

I stopped, turned, pinned her with a look. “Every empire is built on blood, Alessia. Some are just better at hiding it.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

---

Later, I brought her into the glass atrium that overlooked the city. From here, Valora stretched wide beneath us — glittering, sprawling, alive.

“It’s all mine,” I said, my hand resting lightly on the railing. “Every street. Every deal. Every secret whispered in the dark.”

“And you expect me to be impressed?”

“No,” I said, meeting her gaze. “I expect you to understand. This is the world your father gambled with. And lost.”

The mention of him cracked something in her expression. “Is he alive?” she demanded.

Silence.

Her voice rose. “Tell me!”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The truth was a weapon, and I wasn’t ready to place it in her hands.

Instead, I let the silence stretch until tears glimmered in her eyes. She turned away, gripping the railing like it was the only thing holding her up.

Her pain shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.

---

That night, the estate felt heavier than usual. A storm charged the air, invisible but palpable. I sat in my study, the unopened letter on the desk between my hands.

Her father’s crest. His betrayal. His sins.

And Alessia — unknowing, stubborn, fierce.

She was supposed to be leverage. A chain. A punishment made flesh. But every time she looked at me with those defiant eyes, something shifted inside me. Something I didn’t want to name.

---

The explosion shattered the night.

Glass rained down as the east wing erupted in flame. Shouts echoed, boots pounding the marble halls.

“Boss!” one of my men burst through the door. “We’re under attack!”

I was already moving, gun in hand.

And then I saw her — Alessia at the top of the stairs, frozen as the fire lit her from behind, her white blouse glowing like a beacon.

“Alessia!” I roared, the name ripped from me before I could stop it.

Her eyes snapped to mine. And in that split second, before bullets screamed through the air, I knew one thing with brutal clarity.

If she died tonight, my vengeance would mean nothing.

Alessia’s POV

The world exploded in shards of glass.

I didn’t think. Couldn’t. One second the night was still, the next it was screaming—gunfire tearing the air, windows shattering like brittle ice. My body locked, frozen in the blaze of light and sound.

Then Dante’s voice roared through the chaos.

“Down!”

I couldn’t move. My legs refused me, my breath stuck in my throat. And then he was there, barreling into me, his weight slamming me to the floor.

The impact stole my breath. My cheek scraped marble, glass rained across my hair. His chest pressed to my back, iron and heat and something terrifyingly alive.

Gunshots rattled. Too close. Too many.

“Stay down, Alessia!” His voice was a growl against my ear, raw, commanding, desperate.

I wanted to scream. Wanted to fight him, shove him off, curse him for dragging me into this world. But my body betrayed me—shaking, trembling, clinging to his shadow because his weight felt safer than the chaos around us.

---

When he moved, it was like the devil himself had risen.

Dante launched to his feet, gun drawn in a blur of motion. His men flooded the hall, shouting, ducking, firing. The air stank of smoke and gunpowder, glass crunching under boots.

“Protect the Lady!” one of them barked.

The Lady. As if that title meant anything when bullets were singing past my head.

I lifted my eyes, just once, and I saw it. Fear. Not in me—though it threatened to choke me whole—but in them. His men. Hardened killers, soldiers with eyes like stone… and still, terror flickered there. Because someone out there wanted Dante Romano dead badly enough to bring fire to his fortress.

And still, he stood.

Dante didn’t duck. Didn’t flinch. He moved like a predator, sharp and merciless, his shots precise, each one dropping a man who dared breach his walls. Blood painted the marble, bodies slumped in grotesque silence.

It should have repulsed me. It did. But beneath the horror, a single truth pulsed through me—he was shielding me. Every move he made, every bullet he fired, angled me behind him, his body between mine and the storm.

He was a savior.

He was a monster.

And I couldn’t tell which terrified me more.

---

The firefight ended as abruptly as it began. Silence crashed down, broken only by the groans of the dying and the sharp commands Dante barked at his men.

“Clear the perimeter.” His voice was ice, steady and lethal. “Find out who the hell thought they could touch what’s mine.”

What’s mine.

His words seared me. A chain, a claim. And yet, without him throwing himself over me, I might already be a corpse on the marble.

When the adrenaline bled from my veins, I noticed it—the red staining his sleeve.

“Dante,” I whispered, my voice small, raw.

He ignored me, scanning the shadows, reloading his gun.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.”

But I saw the way his hand faltered, just slightly, as he tightened his grip. I pushed myself off the floor, legs trembling, and grabbed his arm. The fabric was wet, sticky. Blood seeped through his shirt in a dark, spreading bloom.

“It’s not nothing,” I snapped, anger cracking through the fear. “You’re hurt.”

He finally looked at me. And in that moment, I hated him more than ever—for the way he could be bleeding out and still look untouchable.

“Alessia.” My name was a warning, but softer than before. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Care that you’re shot after you just threw yourself on top of me?” My voice broke on the last word.

He said nothing. His silence was worse than any cruel retort.

Later, when the halls were cleared and his men dragged bodies from the marble, I found him in his study, slouched against the edge of the desk, his shirt discarded, the wound raw and ugly across his arm.

I hesitated in the doorway.

He didn’t look at me. Didn’t ask me to leave.

So I crossed the room, my steps quiet on the rug, my hands shaking as I picked up the first-aid kit his men had abandoned.

“Sit,” I ordered.

His lips curved, faint amusement cutting through his exhaustion. “Giving me orders now, princess?”

“Shut up,” I muttered, dropping to my knees in front of him. My fingers trembled as I soaked gauze in antiseptic.

He hissed when I pressed it to his wound, muscles flexing under my touch.

“Hold still,” I said, though my own breath was unsteady.

“You’ve got fire in you,” he murmured, his eyes dark on mine. “I saw it tonight.”

I ignored him, focusing on the wound, stitching his skin with clumsy, determined hands. Blood stained my fingers, smeared across my blouse, and still I worked.

When it was done, I wrapped the bandage tight, maybe too tight, but I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.

“There,” I whispered, sitting back. “Now maybe you won’t bleed out on your throne.”

His laugh was low, dangerous, but softer than I’d ever heard it. “You patch me up, Alessia, but don’t mistake me for a man who needs saving.”

I lifted my chin. “Then stop acting like one.”

The air thickened. His hand came up, slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing a lock of hair from my face. Heat crackled, sharp and undeniable.

“I should hate you,” I whispered.

“You should.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “And yet you’re still here.”

I pulled away, my chest heaving, my skin burning where he’d touched me.

---

That night, sleep wouldn’t come. My mind replayed everything—his weight shielding me, his body bleeding, his voice softer than I thought it could ever be.

I told myself he was still my captor. Still the monster. But my body remembered the way his hand lingered against my skin, the way he’d looked at me like I was more than just leverage.

I hated him.

And yet…

A faint sound snapped me from my thoughts.

I sat up in bed, the moonlight spilling silver across the floor.

Something had been slipped under my door.

Heart racing, I crept across the room and bent to pick it up. My fingers brushed parchment, rough and hurried.

I unfolded it.

Alessia,

I know where you are. Hold on. I’m coming for you.

—Liam

My breath caught. My chest ached.

Liam.

He was alive. He hadn’t forgotten me.

And he was planning to rescue me. Dante walked in just then, his eyes darkening as he saw the paper in my hands.