A Marriage with the Mafia Prince

Chapter 4

Alyssa has never stared at herself in a mirror this long.

Her tiny bathroom is lit by a single yellow-tinted bulb overhead, but it’s enough to show every detail of her reflection—every uncertain line in her brow, every question she can’t answer staring back at her.

She’s dressed better than she’s been in years. It’s not flashy, not expensive. She couldn’t pull that off even if she wanted to. But it’s hers—a long black dress she’d forgotten she owned, the fabric soft, simple, and fitted to her in a way that feels like armour. Her dark bob is smoothed down, her makeup careful but minimal. Just enough to make her look awake. Capable. Composed.

Even though inside, she’s anything but.

She glances at the clock. 5:47 p.m.

Thirteen minutes.

She smooths her hands down the front of her dress for the fourth time and steps out into the living room where Carmen is pacing like a nervous dog.

Carmen stops mid-stride and stares. “Damn.”

Alyssa raises a brow. “That good or that bad?”

“That’s a you’re about to ruin a cold-blooded mafia prince kind of good.”

Alyssa rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch with a hint of a smile.

Carmen’s expression turns serious fast. “You sure about this?”

“No,” Alyssa admits.

“Then don’t go.”

“I have to.”

Carmen steps closer. “You don’t. You can still say no. We’ll figure something else out.”

Alyssa doesn’t answer right away. Her hands twist together in front of her.

“I’m not doing this for me,” she says finally. “If it were just me, I’d walk away. But it’s not.”

Carmen shakes her head. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. That you’ll call me. Every hour.”

“I’m not calling you every hour.”

“Fine. Every two. If I don’t hear from you by midnight, I’m calling the cops. And I’m showing up at that estate with a goddamn bat.”

Alyssa smiles, for real this time. “You’d actually do it.”

“I’d do worse.” Carmen walks to the door and peers out through the blinds. “And right on cue... There’s your ride.”

A sleek black car has pulled up to the curb. Polished. Silent. Not flashy—but unmistakably expensive.

No logo. Just the kind of car you don’t question when it parks outside.

Alyssa’s stomach flips.

Carmen turns to her, grabbing her hand one last time. “You text me when you get there. Or I swear to God, I’ll have helicopters overhead.”

“I will,” Alyssa says, softer now.

She doesn’t want to admit how scared she is. She doesn’t want Carmen to see the way her knees threaten to give out.

But she nods once, breathes deep, and heads for the door.

The driver steps out the moment she opens it. He’s tall, mid-fifties maybe, dressed in a black suit and coat. No expression on his face. No name tag. Just polite and precise.

“Miss Hart?”

“That’s me.”

He opens the back door for her. She hesitates only a second, then climbs in.

The door shuts with a quiet click, and the car pulls away from the curb like it’s been waiting its whole life for this moment.

The city slips by in silence.

Alyssa stares out the tinted window, watching the buildings change—from narrow apartment complexes and traffic lights to wide-open streets lined with iron gates and trimmed hedges. The neighborhoods grow quieter. More spaced out. Cleaner.

It’s like watching the distance between her world and theirs grow, mile by mile.

She doesn’t know what she expected. A modern compound? Some high-security mansion tucked into the hills?

But nothing prepares her for the Valentino estate.

The iron gates alone are massive, decorative, but imposing, like the entrance to something sacred and untouchable. The family crest is etched in the centre: a roaring lion and a crown, encircled by Latin she doesn’t understand.

The car slows, the gates open, and they roll through.

Beyond the entrance, the world changes again.

The road curves past stone fountains and manicured gardens, the kind you only see in magazines. Lights dot the pathway up the long drive, casting a soft glow across marble statues and thick hedges shaped like wolves and lions.

The house—or maybe palace is the better word—comes into view at the top of a gentle hill.

It’s enormous. Three stories, built from pale stone that glows gold under the setting sun. Balconies. Arched windows. Vines curling up toward the roofline in the way that looks wild, but is probably designed down to the inch.

There are no guards visible. No snipers on the roof. But Alyssa feels watched.

She wonders if Nicholas is behind one of those windows, looking down at the girl who’s supposed to be his wife.

The car circles a cobblestone drive and finally stops in front of the grand entrance. Two columns stretch up on either side of the door, flanked by lamps with wrought-iron cages and golden light.

The driver steps out and opens the door for her.

Alyssa’s heels touch the stones. She stands, trying not to let her knees shake.

The driver gives a short nod. “They’re waiting for you inside, Miss Hart.”

She glances up at the massive oak double doors. No sound. No movement. Just that silent, expectant weight in the air.

She nods back. “Thank you.”

Then, with every ounce of composure she can gather, she steps forward and pushes open the door.

The interior is even worse.

Or better. She’s not sure anymore.

Polished black-and-white marble floors stretch across a grand foyer. A massive staircase curves upward, all gold railings and dark wood. Above her, a chandelier bigger than her entire apartment glows like a small galaxy. The place smells like clean wood, candle smoke, and money.

It doesn’t feel real.

She hears soft footsteps—heels on marble. A woman appears from the hallway. Late twenties, maybe, dressed in a smart black dress and pearl earrings. Impeccable posture. Sharp eyes.

“Miss Hart,” the woman says, with a voice as smooth as silk but dry as dust. “Welcome to the Valentino estate.”

Alyssa nods, too stiff to speak.

“Mr. Valentino will join you shortly,” the woman continues. “Please, follow me.”

Alyssa follows.

Her heels click softly with every step. The halls are lined with art—actual paintings, not prints. Old-world stuff. Gilded frames, oil on canvas. She doesn’t know art, but she knows money, and these walls are practically covered in it.

They turn a corner, and the woman gestures toward a sitting room with velvet chairs, a fireplace, and glass walls that open up to a courtyard with a view of the distant city skyline.

“You may wait here,” she says. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Alyssa replies, voice barely above a whisper.

The woman disappears.

Alyssa stands in the centre of the room for a moment, arms stiff at her sides.

She’s never felt so out of place. So visible. Like every inch of her is being measured.

She takes a seat—slowly, carefully—and folds her hands in her lap.

Any second now.

She’s about to meet the man who might own her for the next two years.

And all she can think is—I shouldn’t be here.

But it’s too late for that now.

The room is quiet except for the soft crackle of the fireplace. Alyssa sits perfectly still, her hands folded tightly in her lap, trying not to wrinkle the fabric of her dress. Every part of her screams that she doesn’t belong here. Here she is, sitting in the middle of a mansion, about to meet the stranger she agreed to marry, all so she can save her mother... If you had told her yesterday that this was where she'd end up in the next 24 hours, she would've told you to jump into the river.

Her mind doesn't wonder for too long, and soon, she hears the sound of footsteps approaching. Her nerves pick up as she prepares to meet the people arrriving, and soon stands to her feet, straightening out her dress and keeping her gaze forward.

Soon, Mr and Mrs Valentino enter without a word, side by side, like royalty entering a throne room.

“Miss Hart,” Mrs. Valentino says with a nod, a small smile grazing her red lips as she makes her way over to Alyssa. “Welcome. You look lovely.” She says.

“Beautiful,” Mr. Valentino adds, his voice smoother than it has any right to be. “Our son will appreciate the effort.”

Alyssa is unsure of whether to thank them or correct the assumption. But still, she speaks up anyway.

"Thank you, Mr and Mrs Valentino..." She answers them despite the tightness in her throat.

Mrs. Valentino nods, takes a seat on one of the velvet chairs, perfectly composed while Mr Valentino remains standing, glancing toward the door behind him.

“He’ll be here any moment.” Mr Valentino informs her and that's when her heartbeat spikes yet again.

Alyssa nods once, her heart pounding. She tries her best to keep herself calm despite the ringing in her ears. What will he be like? Will he be completely unattractive, rude? Alyssa has no idea...

Soon, her thoughts are cut short by the sound of footsteps. Slow, unhurried. Confident.

She turns her head and time seems to slow around her as she comes face to face with the man that has just entered the room...

She freezes as she eyes him from head to toe, completely stunned by how handsome he is. He’s taller than she expected. Broad shoulders beneath a perfectly cut black suit. His hair is pitch black, sharp against his cream-white skin. And his eyes, cold and steel grey, scan the room with the precision of a man who sees everything and feels nothing. He bares a striking resemblance to both Mr and Mrs Valentino, and that's when she realises exactly who he is...

Stephano Valentino himself.