THE MAFIA WILD CAPTIVE

Chapter One Summer, Italy. 2019 A soft whimper escaped Tracy’s lips as she pleaded with him, breathless and trembling. “You like that, don’t you?” Ethan growled, his voice rough with hunger as his fingers sank into the flesh of her hips, pulling her deeper into his rhythm. “D–Ethan, please.” Her voice broke on a moan, her body arching to meet him as her nails raked gently down his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “Please, what?” he murmured, his dark eyes fixed on hers, glinting with dangerous intent. “I…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her breath hitched as he struck that spot again, the one that made her toes curl and her mind go blank. “I’ll ask you again,” he rasped, dragging himself slowly out of her only to drive back in with a force that ripped a desperate moan from her throat. “Please. What?” Tracy writhed beneath him, her legs trembling, the edge drawing nearer. “Yes… I want more… of you,” she gasped, nearly sobbing. “Fine by me,” he grinned darkly, one hand sliding up to wrap firmly around her throat. “I’ll give you more, sweet Tracy.” Her eyes rolled back as pain and pleasure blurred into something fierce and consuming, heat coiling low in her belly. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes—born not of fear, but of pure, dizzying ecstasy. She surrendered to him, to the searing intimacy, to the way his possessive touch made her feel owned, claimed… Until a sharp, thunderous knock shattered the illusion. Tracy bolted upright, her heart slamming in her chest. [Six Years Later] Sweat clung to her forehead and upper lip, her skin clammy with the residue of another restless night. Her breathing came in shallow bursts, and for a long moment, she simply stared at the ceiling, willing the dream to disappear. “That same dream… again?” she whispered to herself, voice hoarse. The numbers on the digital clock glared at her: 7:00 AM. A knock came at her door gentler this time, but no less jarring. “Tracy, it’s 7. Come on, let’s get you ready,” her mother, Melissa Martinez, called softly from the doorway. “I know.” With a slow, deliberate breath, Tracy threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her fingers brushed the edge of the mattress for grounding. It was her wedding day. At Holy Name Cathedral in Chicago, sunlight filtered through stained glass, casting jewel-toned patterns across the grand stone walls. In the bridal suite, Tracy sat alone, surrounded by silence and scent roses, white peonies, and the purple lilies she had specifically requested. Purple lilies always calmed her. She sat before the mirror, staring at the woman reflected back. A goddess in white. That’s what everyone said she’d look like and she did. The lace gown clung to her curves with exquisite precision, the diamond-studded embroidery catching the light like frost on silk. Her bronze skin glowed against the pale fabric, and her soft brown curls framed her striking grey eyes like smoke. She looked every bit the vision they expected. But inside, she felt like a storm barely contained. As she adjusted the fall of her veil, the door creaked open behind her. She didn’t have to turn. Familiar hands slid around her waist, grounding her, warming her. Lips, soft and tender, traced a path down her neck. Matteo. Tracy leaned back into his embrace, inhaling the scent of his cedarwood and citrus cologne—fresh, masculine, comforting. “Here to see your bride before the ceremony?” she teased softly. “That’s bad luck, you know.” “And if I recall correctly, that’s just a myth,” Matteo whispered against her skin, smiling. His eyes drifted downward, catching sight of the small tattoo inked at the base of her spine. He reached for her gently, tracing the dark numbers with a fingertip. “4.1.14.20.5,” he read aloud, brow furrowed. “What does that even mean?” Tracy tensed, the question slicing through the stillness like a blade. Memories surged—Ethan’s touch, the sound of waves against Alvaro’s private island, his voice a deep whisper in the night. She blinked hard, shutting the door on that part of her mind. “Nothing,” she said lightly, too quickly. She turned in his arms, brushing her lips against his cheek in distraction. “Just something silly. From years ago. Not important.” Matteo studied her for a moment, but—being the patient, gentle man he was—let it go. “If you say so,” he said with a soft smile. “I trust you.” Their faces hovered inches apart when a knock interrupted them again. “Mr. Matteo? Miss Tracy?” a blonde attendant peeked into the room. “It’s time.” Matteo kissed her gloved hand gallantly. “I’ll be waiting at the altar, my bride.” “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” she said with a smile as he left. The door clicked shut. Silence returned. Tracy turned slowly back to the mirror. The reflection hadn’t changed. But she had. Her hands clenched slightly on her lap as a fresh wave of unease tightened in her chest. Her breath trembled on the way out. “Get it together, Tracy. You’ve got this, babe,” she whispered, steeling herself. But when she looked up—she saw him. Meanwhile In the chapel below, tension rippled through the crowd like a breeze before a storm. The guests murmured to one another, confusion mounting. The musicians, poised and waiting, began shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Tracy’s and Matteo’s families exchanged tight, puzzled glances. The officiant leaned toward Matteo. “Where is your bride?” he mouthed silently. “She’ll be here,” Matteo replied just as quietly, trying to maintain his calm. But his fingers betrayed him, twitching nervously at his cufflinks. He stared at the cathedral doors as if he could summon her through sheer will. But they stayed shut. Back in the bridal suite, Tracy’s panic rose like a tide. She turned from the mirror, a chill crawling down her spine. There, behind her, stood a figure. Her breath caught. Eyes wide. Muscles frozen. She took a slow, hesitant step forward—and the figure mirrored her. Before she could react again, a strong arm coiled around her waist, yanking her back hard against a solid chest. A scream built in her throat—but a thick cloth pressed against her mouth, silencing her. “Mmmph!” she thrashed in his grip, fingers clawing, but he didn’t budge. Her vision spun. Her lungs burned. Then came the voice low, unmistakable. “You don’t belong here, Tracy.” It was him. Her knees buckled. The light dimmed. Tears streamed from her eyes as she struggled, her world narrowing to the fading sound of her own heartbeat. Her body collapsed to the floor. And the last thing she saw before darkness consumed her… was her bouquet slipping from the edge of the vanity, landing with a soft rustle beside her.