Till Blood do us part : A Mafia Wedding

Chapter 1 : In the Beginning, There was Death. . . "Ye, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…" We recited with the priest. But the words felt like a lie as they left my lips. The rain had soaked through my black veil, making it cling to my face, a suffocating second skin. Water dripped from the edges, sliding down like tears I refused to shed. Weak. I could hear the whispers behind me. The Valentis are done. She won’t last. No first sons to take the throne. They were waiting for me to stumble, to give them an opening to tear apart what was left of my family. I stared at the black coffin as it was lowered into the ground, the weight of a thousand betrayals sinking with it. Don Vittorio Valenti. My father. The man who ruled with iron fists and whispered threats. The man who taught me that love was a weakness, that loyalty was bought, and that fear was the only currency that never lost its value. And yet, in the end, none of it had saved him. Behind me, the Valenti men stood in stiff silence, their black suits blending into the storm. Some murmured prayers. Others exchanged quiet words. But most, most were waiting. Watching. Measuring what was left of this family. A gunshot cracked in the distance. I refused to flinch. It wasn't close. Not a direct threat. But a message nonetheless. Even now, as the dirt was shoveled onto my father’s grave, death circled us like wolves scenting fresh blood. And we were bleeding. Across the cemetery, a sleek black car idled, headlights off, engine humming like a beast waiting to strike. I'd know that car anywhere. He was here. Of course he was. Nikolai Volkov. The name alone sent a slow, crawling chill down my spine. He was heir to the Volkov family, our oldest enemy, and the man who had once sworn to see my father destroyed. Now, with my father dead, he had no reason to be here. Unless he did. The funeral ended in murmurs and half-hearted condolences. Mourners, dispersed into waiting cars, but I didn’t move. I felt his presence before I saw him. “Quite the turnout,” a voice murmured in my ear. I stiffened. He had come too close, his presence curling around me like a shadow. He smelled of rain and something darker, leather, expensive whiskey, and the kind of violence that left permanent stains. “Not the best place for a Volkov to be standing,” I said without turning around. “People might think you’re paying your respects.” Nikolai laughed, low and smooth. “I don’t pay respects to dead men who couldn’t keep their kingdom intact.” I finally turned to face him. Nikolai Volkov was a man sculpted from sharp edges and cruel precision. His black suit fit too perfectly, his dark hair slicked back, revealing a face that could have belonged to a fallen angel. Beautiful, in the way a dagger was beautiful before it found your throat. “You shouldn’t be here,” I said coldly. “Neither should you,” Nikolai replied, his gaze dragging over my face, assessing. “Not alone. Not when your father left so many debts unpaid.” My jaw tightened. “Whatever business my father had with you, it’s buried with him.” Nikolai tilted his head slightly, as if amused. “Oh, Lyra. You don’t even know the half of it.” He leaned in, just enough that I had to fight the urge to step back. “Your father wasn’t taken by fate or bad luck. He was taken by a bullet meant to send a message.” The breath caught in my throat. “What are you saying?” Nikolai’s lips curled, the mockery in his smile barely hiding something darker underneath. “I’m saying your father was assassinated. And not by me.” The world seemed to tilt slightly, the damp air suddenly too thick to breathe. I should have known. The debts, the rumors, the way my father had become reckless in his last years, it had all been leading to something. But hearing it from Nikolai made it feel more real than I was ready for. “I came to offer you a way out,” he continued, voice softer now, almost coaxing. “The Valentis are crumbling, Lyra. Your father left you with nothing but a name that’s more liability than legacy. Your enemies won’t wait for you to find your footing.” I swallowed against the dry knot forming in my throat. “And let me guess. You’re here to save me?” Nikolai’s smirk didn’t waver. “Something like that.” Then, he dropped the match onto the gasoline. “Marry me.” The words hit me harder than the gunshot had. I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, but Nikolai only watched me, unreadable. “Oh, that's what this is. You've gone mad,” I breathed. “We're all mad princess but,” he said smoothly. “A union between our families would secure your survival. More than that, it would secure your power. You should be thanking me here” My stomach twisted. “You think I’d crawl into your bed like some b***h desperate for protection?” “I think,” Nikolai murmured, stepping even closer, “that you’re a b***h smart enough to know when you're fucked.” I didn’t think. I acted. I spit in his face. The world shrank to just us. Rain trailed down his cheek, mixing with the wet sheen of my spit. The funeral, the gravestones, the murmurs, it all faded. For a moment, there was nothing but the steady rise and fall of his chest and the unbearable tension crackling between us. Then, slowly, deliberately, he dragged the back of his hand across his face. I watched, frozen, as he licked the moisture from his knuckles, his tongue flicking over the spot where my disgust had landed. Tasting me. My breath hitched. Not in fear. Not in desire. In something darker. Something I didn’t have a name for. His smirk was a slow, knowing thing. “That’s the thing about you, Lyra,” he murmured. “You always act before you think.” My nails dug into my palms. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to shove him into the muddy ground and grind my heel into his throat till he bled. But most of all, I wanted to run. And I did just that. I clutched my mourning robe, hem dirted by the rain, and walked away. Head held high but hands trembling. *** That night, I found Matteo crumpled on the living room floor, his blood staining the expensive marble tiles our father had once been so proud of. My stomach lurched. “Matteo!” I dropped to my knees beside him, hands shaking as I brushed damp curls from his swollen face. His left eye was nearly shut from the swelling, his lip split wide open. His breaths were shallow, his suit, our father’s funeral suit, was soaked with rain, sweat, and blood. I pressed trembling fingers against his neck. His pulse was weak but steady. A white card lay on his chest, pinned beneath the knife that had likely missed him by inches. ‘The Valentis’ protection died with your father.’ The words blurred as my eyes watered. Rage and fear fought for control inside me. I should have seen this coming. Should have known they wouldn’t wait, wouldn’t give us time to grieve. My father had barely been in the ground, and already the vultures were picking at our bones. My hands clenched into fists. I should have had men guarding the house. Should have kept Matteo close. But what protection could I even offer? The Valenti name was just that now, a name. No power. No loyalty. No future. A sickening sense of inevitability settled over me. Nikolai had been right. Biting my lip hard enough to taste copper, I reached for my phone with blood-streaked fingers. I didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to call him. Didn’t want to let him win. But I didn’t have a choice. My thumb hovered over his name. Then, CRASH. The sharp shatter of glass downstairs. I froze. The house was silent for a long, breathless second. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps. Not just one. Multiple. Moving with purpose. Coming for us.