The Mafia King's Reluctant Bride

The Devil's Estate

The gates were taller than any building Alena had ever designed.

Two men with guns opened them without a word. The black SUV rolled through, up a driveway lined with white marble statues and trees trimmed into perfect shapes.

Alena pressed her forehead to the window.

"This is your house?" she whispered.

Dante, sitting beside her, didn’t look up from his phone. "This is my estate."

Home. That’s what he’d called it last night.

Home looked like a palace built to intimidate people.

The car stopped at the front steps. The doors opened. Rain dripped from the roof onto the stone.

"Inside," Dante said. "You’ll be safer there."

Alena got out. Her clothes were still damp. Her shoes were ruined. She felt like a stain on all this marble.

The front doors were 3 meters tall. They opened before they reached them.

A woman stood there. Late 50s. Black dress. Hair in a tight bun.

"Mr. Moretti," she said. "And Miss Romano."

So everyone already knew her name.

"This is Mrs. Kade," Dante said. "She runs the house. If you need anything, you ask her."

Mrs. Kade’s eyes swept over Alena. The wet coat. The tired face. The silver A at her neck.

"Your room is ready," Mrs. Kade said. Her voice was neutral. "Follow me."

Alena looked at Dante. "Aren’t you coming?"

"I have work," he said. "We’ll talk at dinner. 8pm."

He walked away down a hallway, two men falling in step behind him. Just like that. Gone.

Mrs. Kade led Alena up a staircase wider than Alena’s entire apartment.

"The Devil’s Estate," Mrs. Kade said suddenly. "That’s what they call it."

Alena blinked. "Who?"

"Everyone." Mrs. Kade didn’t look back. "The police. The other families. The newspapers. They’re all afraid of what happens inside these walls."

"And what does happen?"

Mrs. Kade stopped at a door. Opened it.

"Survival," she said. "That’s what happens."

The room was massive. Bigger than the bakery, the storage room, and Alena’s bedroom combined.

King bed. Desk. Walk-in closet. A bathroom with a tub big enough for two people.

And on the bed: clothes. New. Tags still on. Dresses. Jeans. Coats. Shoes in her size.

"Mr. Moretti’s instructions," Mrs. Kade said. "Dinner is at 8. Be downstairs."

She left. The door clicked shut.

Alena stood in the middle of the room.

She was 23 years old. She had 23 rand to her name 24 hours ago.

And now she was in a mansion owned by a mafia king who wanted to marry her.

She laughed. It came out broken.

She showered. The hot water felt like forgiveness. She put on a black dress from the closet. Simple. It fit perfectly.

At 7:58pm, she went downstairs.

The dining room was worse than she imagined.

Long table. 20 chairs. Crystal. Silver. And at the head of it: Dante.

But he wasn’t alone.

Three men sat on one side. All in suits. All staring at her when she walked in.

Dante stood. "Alena."

"These are my captains," he said. "Luca. Marco. Enzo."

Each man nodded. None of them smiled.

"Sit," Dante said, pulling out the chair next to him.

Alena sat. Her hands shook under the table.

Dinner was served. Food she couldn’t name.

No one spoke for 5 minutes. Just the sound of cutlery.

Finally, Luca cleared his throat. "Boss. The Vitales were at the bakery again last night. After she left."

Dante’s jaw tightened. "And?"

"They’re asking questions. About Romano’s daughter."

Alena put her fork down. "You’re talking about me like I’m not here."

Marco, the oldest captain, looked at her. "You’re not supposed to be here, girl. This is business."

"Then let me go," Alena said. "If I’m such a problem."

The room went quiet.

Dante set his glass down. Slowly. "You’re not a problem."

"I’m a target," Alena shot back. "There’s a difference."

Dante looked at her. Really looked at her. "Yes. You are. And targets don’t walk out of this house alone."

"So I’m a prisoner?"

"You’re a guest," Dante corrected. "With armed guards."

After dinner, Dante led her to a study. Books from floor to ceiling. A fireplace. No windows.

He closed the door.

"You did well," he said.

"At dinner?" Alena crossed her arms. "I was terrified."

"Good. Fear keeps you alive." Dante poured two glasses of water. Handed her one. "Now we need to talk about tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"The Vitales will make a move. They know you’re here. They’ll try to take you before midnight."

Alena’s stomach dropped. "So what do we do?"

"We get married." Dante said it simply. Like he was talking about the weather.

Alena choked on her water. "What?"

"A small ceremony. Just us. Two witnesses. Legal. By midnight, you’re a Moretti. The pact is sealed. The money is ours. And the Vitales have no claim."

"And if I say no?"

Dante walked to the fireplace. "Then I drive you to the airport and put you on a plane. And I pray they don’t catch you before you leave the country."

He turned back to her. "But Alena... they will catch you."

She stared at him. "You don’t even know me."

"I know enough." He stepped closer. "I know you work two jobs to pay for school. I know you haven’t missed a rent payment in 4 years. I know you keep that pendant on even when you sleep."

Alena touched the A at her neck. "How?"

"Because I’ve been looking for you for 23 years." His voice was quiet. "Your father asked me to."

The words hit her. "My father is alive?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"I can’t tell you. Not until you’re safe. Not until you’re mine."

"Yours?" Alena laughed, angry now. "I’m not property, Dante."

"No," he said. "You’re the key to everything. To peace. To war. To 400 million dollars."

He reached out. Tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm.

"I don’t want to force you," he said softly. "But I will protect you. Even from yourself."

Alena pulled away. "I need time."

"You have until midnight." He walked to the door. "Sleep. We leave at dawn."

"Leave for where?"

"Somewhere the Vitales can’t find us. To get married."

He left. The door shut.

Alena stood alone in the study. The fire crackled.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

She answered.

"Alena?"

The voice was male. Older. Tired.

"Dad?" Her voice broke.

"Don’t talk. Just listen." Her father’s voice shook. "Marry him. Dante is the only one I trust. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I left. But if you don’t marry him by midnight, they’ll kill you. And me."

The line went dead.

Alena dropped the phone.

Outside the window, she saw movement at the gates.

Black cars.

Too many.

And they weren’t Moretti cars.

The Vitales had found her....