Betrayed by the Mafia Heirs

The church smelled of old incense and cold stone. No flowers. No music. Just a handful of De Luca men in black suits, watching me like hawks. My father’s hand trembled on my arm as he walked me down the aisle. I wore white — ironic, really. Alessandro De Luca waited at the altar, hands clasped behind his back. Black suit tailored to perfection, shirt open at the collar, revealing a hint of ink on his chest. His eyes — dark, unreadable — locked on me the entire way. I hated how my pulse raced. The priest spoke fast, like he wanted to get this over with. Vows exchanged in monotone. Rings slid on fingers that didn't want them. Then the words I dreaded. "You may kiss the bride." Alessandro stepped close. Too close. His hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me against him. Hard muscle under expensive fabric. His other hand cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip. I shivered. He noticed. Leaned in. The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a claim. His mouth hard on mine, demanding. I tasted whiskey and danger. His tongue swept in, taking. My hands fisted in his lapels — to push or pull, I wasn't sure. He growled low in his throat. The kiss lasted too long. When he pulled back, his eyes were darker. "You're mine now," he murmured against my lips. Only I heard. The reception was a farce. De Luca mansion — marble floors, crystal chandeliers, armed guards at every door. His mother, Caterina, watched me like I was dirt. "Welcome to the family," she said, voice dripping venom. Matteo, his younger brother, smiled too wide. "Beautiful bride, brother. Lucky man." His hand lingered on my waist when he kissed my cheek. Alessandro's jaw tightened. Enzo, the cousin, poured champagne and made crude jokes. I excused myself early. The bedroom was massive — king bed, dark silk sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. I locked the door. Stupid, really. The lock clicked open thirty seconds later. Alessandro stepped in, tie gone, top buttons undone. "You think a lock stops me?" "I think you should sleep on the couch." He laughed — low, dark. He stalked closer. I backed up until my legs hit the bed. He stopped inches away. Heat radiated from him. "I won't force you," he said, voice rough. His hand lifted, knuckles brushing my cheek. "But you want this as much as I do." I hated that he was right. My body betrayed me — n*****s hard against the lace bra, heat pooling between my thighs. His thumb traced my lower lip. "Open for me." I did. He kissed me again — slower this time. Deeper. His hands slid down my sides, gripping my hips. Pulled me flush against him. I felt how hard he was. A whimper escaped me. He growled, lifting me. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He carried me to the bed, laying me down. Hovered above me. "Tell me to stop," he said, voice strained. I didn't. His mouth was on my neck, sucking, biting. Hands pushing my dress up. Fingers tracing the edge of my panties. I arched into him. "Please..." He ripped the lace away. His mouth followed his fingers. I cried out, hands in his hair. He devoured me — tongue, lips, teeth. Pleasure built fast, too fast. I came hard, shaking. He didn't stop. Kept going until I was begging. Then he rose, stripping off his shirt. Scars and muscle and ink. Beautiful and terrifying. He settled between my thighs. "Look at me." I did. He entered me slow — inch by inch. Stretching, filling. I gasped. He stilled. "Too much?" "No," I breathed. "More." He thrust deep. We moved together — hard, desperate. His hand in my hair, pulling. My nails down his back. The rhythm built. I came again, clenching around him. He followed, groaning my name. Collapsed beside me, pulling me close. His hand on my stomach, possessive. "You're mine," he murmured. I didn't argue. But as I drifted to sleep, the secret burned inside me. The baby wasn't his. It was Matteo's. His brother's. The betrayal had already begun. And I was at the center of it.