MARRIED TO THE MAFIA

CHAPTER THREE

Seraphina's POV

I woke up to the scent of the ocean, salt and something deeply unfamiliar—the smell of someone else's home. If wishes were granted the moment they were made, this would have been a dream and I'd have been in London, with my students. My body ached, a dull throb lingering in my wrists where Rafael had gripped me the a few days ago. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on my chest, but I knew lying in bed wouldn’t do me any good.

I wasn’t safe here. My father had to come for me.

The thought sent a sharp wave of nausea through me. He had sworn—sworn—on my mother’s grave that he would never pull me back into his world, but his word meant nothing now. Not when Rafael DeLuca had me trapped under his roof, under his control.

I sat up, my limbs stiff as I scanned the dimly lit room. It was far too luxurious compared to what I’ve lived with—a soft mattress, silk sheets, an antique chandelier casting golden light across the walls. It wasn’t a prison, but it wasn’t freedom either.

A quiet knock startled me.

“Come in,” I called, my voice hoarse.

The door swung open, and a woman stepped in, her presence so vibrant it was almost jarring. She had long, dark curls and an easy smile that immediately softened the tension coiled in my stomach.

“You must be Seraphina,” she said, her voice light and warm. “I’m Lilliana. Rafael’s sister.”

I blinked. She looked nothing like him. There was no sharp edge to her, no coldness. Where Rafael was all shadows and quiet menace, she was golden warmth.

“I—I didn’t know he had a sister.”

She grinned, stepping forward with the grace of someone who had never feared a single thing in her life. “I get that a lot. He doesn’t exactly advertise my existence.” Her eyes raked over me, assessing. “You look like you need food. Breakfast is ready.”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. Was this some kind of trick?

As if sensing my reluctance, she sighed dramatically. “Trust me, if I was planning to poison you, I’d be a little more subtle about it.” She winked, as if that was supposed to reassure me. “Come on, I promise no one’s going to bite, except Rafael and I'm here for a reason.”

I highly doubted that she could ‘control’ her rabid dog of a brother; however, I followed her anyway, because the alternative was staying locked in this room, drowning in my own thoughts.

The dining hall was massive—high ceilings, grand windows that let in the morning sun, and a table so long it could probably seat twenty people. A few seats were already occupied.

At the head of the table sat Rafael, his presence commanding even in silence. His dark eyes flicked toward me as I entered, and for a second, something unreadable passed through them.

Then it was gone.

On his right sat a man I hadn’t seen before. He carried the same quiet authority as Rafael, but there was something different about him—less ice, more indifference. Where Rafael’s stare was a promise of destruction, Luka’s was merely watchful, as if he was waiting to see whether I was worth his time.

“This is Luka,” Lilliana chirped, sliding into a chair beside him. “Rafe’s best friend, business partner, all-around menace to society.”

Luka shot her a look, unimpressed. “You talk too much.”

“And you brood too much,” she shot back at him almost immediately.

I stayed quiet, taking a cautious seat at the farthest end of the table, away from Rafael. My hands curled into my lap, nerves buzzing beneath my skin.

Lilliana reached for a plate of croissants, completely at ease in the thick tension filling the room. “So, Seraphina,” she said, as if we were just a group of old friends having a casual meal. “How did you and my lovely brother meet?”

Rafael’s gaze snapped to her, a warning clear in his expression.

Lilliana just smiled innocently.

Luka, on the other hand, seemed mildly entertained by the tension crackling between us. He leaned back in his chair, watching me.

I swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s an understatement,” Luka muttered, reaching for his coffee.

Lilliana gasped. “Did he kidnap you?”

I nearly choked on air.

Rafael sighed, rubbing his temple as if he were seconds away from throwing his sister out of the room.

“Lilliana,” he warned.

She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. No prying.”

The conversation died after that.

I stared at my plate, appetite nonexistent. I could feel Rafael’s gaze on me, but I refused to look at him.

“Eat,” he ordered.

I bristled at the command, my fingers tightening around my fork.

Luka smirked. “You really know how to charm a woman, Rafe.”

“Shut up, Luka.” Rafael snapped, his jaw ticking like a bomb.

Luka chuckled but said nothing else.

Lilliana, ever the peacekeeper, nudged my plate toward me. “Don’t let them ruin your meal.” Her voice was softer now, less teasing. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

I hesitated, but after a moment, I forced myself to take a bite.

The food was good, too good. It felt wrong to enjoy something in this place, in this situation.I swallowed hard, my mind racing.

I had to get out of here but the food is so nice. Nobody makes spaghetti bolognese this well, not even my aunt. Rafael might have me trapped for now, but the only thing stopping me from leaving isn't the food but the fact that I do not know how to fight.

_–_

The house—no, mansion—was overwhelming. Every hallway stretched endlessly, lined with artwork that probably cost more than my entire existence. I moved without thinking, my feet carrying me through corridors, past towering windows that bathed the floors in morning light. The place was eerily quiet, except for the occasional staff members who quickly averted their gazes when they saw me.

Well, not all of them.

The moment I stepped into a broader hallway, the whispers started.

"That’s her. The one Rafe brought in."

"You think she’s another one of his playthings?"

"Look at her, acting like she belongs here."

"God, what a desperate little slut."

I stiffened. I didn’t stop walking, neither did I turn to face them. However, the words clung to me like oil, thick and suffocating. I could feel their stares—curious, judgmental, cruel. The women were the worst, their eyes filled with disgust as they watched me like I was some kind of parasite leeching off Rafael.

I clenched my fists.

If they thought they could shame me into curling up and disappearing, they had another thing coming. I didn't want to be here and their snide remarks is the least of my worries. I turned a corner and wandered deeper into the mansion, moving until the voices faded into nothing. Then, the scent of spices and something buttery hit me: The kitchen.

I stepped into the massive kitchen without hesitation. It was warm, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread and sizzling meat. Chefs moved around with sharp precision, working like a well-oiled machine. At the center of it all was a man with broad shoulders, his back turned to me as he plated something with practiced ease.

I barely had time to take another step before a sharp voice cut through the noise.

“You lost, princess?”

I turned to see the head chef, a man in his late thirties with dark hair and an expression that screamed I don’t have time for this bullshit. His name tag read Adrian.

I raised a brow. “No. Just exploring.”

His eyes flicked over me, unimpressed. “This isn’t a tourist attraction. Get out.”

I crossed my arms. “Wow. Such hospitality.”

He huffed. “We don’t do hospitality in the kitchen. We do food. You in that way?”

I tilted my head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Nope.”

“Then scram.”

I smirked. “What if I’m here for a job? Maybe I make the best grilled cheese in the world.”

For the first time, he looked at me like I had somewhat of a brain. “You cook?”

“Enough to not starve.”

Adrian snorted. “That’s a low bar.”

“Yeah, well, so is your attitude.”

Silence.

Then, to my surprise, he barked out a laugh. A real one.

“Huh,” he mused. “Didn’t expect you to have bite.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I adapt.”

Adrian studied me for a moment, then, without a word, grabbed a small bowl from the counter and shoved it into my hands.

Spring rolls.

I blinked. “Are these poisoned?”

His lips twitched. “Eat and find out. Maybe youd die before you get to see your Father.”

I popped one into my mouth, the crispy shell giving way to a deliciously seasoned filling.

Adrian watched me chew, arms crossed. “Well?”

I swallowed. “Not bad, I didn't die. Maybe a little more chili next time.”

His brows shot up, as if I’d just insulted his entire bloodline.

“More chili?”

“Yeah. Are you scared of spice?”

He scoffed. “You’ve got the nerve, princess.”

I grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

For the first time since arriving, I felt something close to normalcy although I was desperate to return to my own normal life.

Then, of course, he had to ruin it, like he ruins everything his harsh hands touch. The kitchen doors swung open with force and only one person would terrify the entire staff.

“What the heck are you doing here?”