Vengeance is for the Mafia's Boss Bride

Chapter 1: The Proposition “You’re marrying Dante Salvatore,” my father says, his voice slicing through the clink of silverware at the dinner table. My fork suddenly slips from my fingers, the spaghetti splattering on my plate, making a mess. I look around to find Luca, my brother, almost choking on his steak, coughing. Mom’s wine glass trembles in her hand, nearly spilling. “It’s for the family, Alessandra and It’s been decided,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. Bullshit! I shove my chair back, the scrape echoing in the stunned silence. “You must be kidding, papa,” I snap, glaring at Don Marco Ricci, head of the Ricci crime family. His gray eyes are hard, glaring daggers at me. The dining room—crystal chandelier, shiny mahogany table— but they all felt like poison.. “Dante Salvatore? You mean the guy whose family we’ve been fighting for decades?” Luca scoffs, “Whoa,” but Dad’s glare shuts him up. “My study. Now,” he says, standing, not giving me the chance to object. In his study, the air’s thick with cigar smoke and old leather. I pace, heels clicking on the hardwood. “You’re selling me to end your f*cking war?” I say, my fists clenched. "Even this is too low for you, papa." Dad sinks into his chair, sighing. He was looking older than his fifty years, the lines on his face getting deeper. “The FBI’s raids gutted us, Alessa. We’re broke, exposed. This marriage will tie us to the Salvatores. It’s our only shot to freedom.” I stop, my chest tight. “And what about me? Am I just going to be a bargaining chip? A receipt for your transaction?” I seethe. "Do my feeling even matter to you anymore?" His eyes drop to his desk, and the silence cuts. “You’ll do this,” he says finally, voice heavy. “For us.” “No, I won't. I've sacrificed so much for this family, papa. I've forgotten what happiness feels like because I wanted to see you all smile. But not again. I'm fine being the good Samaritan in this family." “This is not up for discussion, Cara.” I want to scream, throw the crystal decanter across the room, but his tired and helpless face stops me. “You’re asking me to marry the devil, papa” I say, quieter now. "This is too much for me to do. Please think about this." He leans forward, hands clasped. “I’m asking you to save us. The Riccis won’t survive without you. Just this last time, ” My throat burns, but I can’t look at him. I storm out, the door slamming behind me. Nico, my cousin, catches me in the hall, his lean frame looking way too tense. “You okay?” he asks, scanning my face. “No,” I almost growl, my voice shaking. “Dante Salvatore, Nico. Can you believe it? Dad’s definitely lost it this time.” He frowns, stepping closer, his voice low. “He’s bad news, Alessa. Word is he’s ruthless—the man killed his own cousin to secure his spot as the heir. You sure you want to go on with this?” My stomach twists painfully, but I shake my head. “I don’t really have a choice, Nico. But I need to know what I’m walking into. I need to see Dante without his mask.” Nico nods, his eyes serious. “I’ll dig. But you have to watch your back. He's no ordinary Made-men." I squeeze his arm, grateful. “Always.” The next morning, I’m at the Ricci Enterprises, trying to drown my thoughts in loads of work. “Your dad just called. He wants you at the house tonight.” Carla, my assistant, tells me. I nod, barely listening, my mind still stuck on the Dante issue. Why him? Why now? I spend the morning buried in contracts, but Dante’s name keeps creeping in. During a break, I pull up what I can find about him—public records say he’s 30, heir to the Salvatore empire, no trace of criminal records or arrests. No, this is too clean. Clean on paper, but the dark web tells a different story: he's cunning, brutal, a man who doesn’t hesitate. I find a photo from a charity gala—dark suit, sharper eyes, a smile that’s all edge. My future husband. Dante. My enemy. I stare at it too long, I start to scold myself, my fingers hovering over the screen. “Get a grip, Alessa,” I mutter, closing the tab. At lunch, Carla drags me out of the office to the café downstairs. “You look like you’re planning a murder, boss” she says, sipping her latte. "You can talk to me." I force a laugh. “Just a wedding, Carla," I say, taking a sip of my latte. Her eyes widen to the size of a tennis ball. “Wait, what? You’re engaged?” I wince, realizing I had unintentionally slipped. “It’s… complicated, Carla. Family stuff. It's not what you think.” She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. She knows me too well. “Well, if he’s very pleasing to the eyes, send pics.” I snort, shaking my head. If only it were that simple. Back at the office, I’m drafting emails when my phone buzzes, shaking me out of my thoughts—Nico. “Got something,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “Dante’s been meeting with a fixer, not his usual Salvatore crew. I have a feeling he could be planning to screw us over.” I lean back, frowning. “What do you mean? Like what? Money? Power?” Nico hesitates. “Not sure yet. It could be tied to the raids. I’ll keep checking for a loophole.” I grip the phone. “Do it fast. We don't have much time. I need to know what he’s really after.” He agrees, and I hang up, my mind racing. If Dante’s got a hidden agenda, I’ll find it. I won't let anyone mess with my family. That evening, I’m back at the mansion, avoiding Dad like a plaque. Luca’s in the living room, sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his iPhone. “You really gonna marry that psycho?” he asks, not looking up from the device. I grab a water from the fridge, rolling my eyes. “Not by choice, genius.” He glances at me, his signature smirk gone. “Just… don’t get yourself killed by that monster, okay?” I pause, surprised by his worry. “I’ll be fine. I know how to look after myself just well,” I say, ruffling his hair. He swats my hand, muttering, but I see the concern in his eyes. Luca and I never really had ad the typical sibling relationship. Being affectionate was a foreign thing to us. Suddenly it's dinner, an it is tender than it usually is. Mom's annoyingly fussing over the food while Dad’s silent, his mind probably far from us. I push my plate away, appetite nonexistent. “I’m heading upstairs,” I say, standing. Dad nods, barely looking up. Mom reaches for my hand, her voice soft. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” I pull away, not trusting myself to answer. I look at her, wondering if I made a mistake accepting this marriage. Her eyes are distant, almost like they're fighting to concentrate on one thing. She's high...again. When will this ever end? How did my family get to this dark place? Suddenly, I knew. Nothing about this is okay. Around midnight, I slip onto my balcony, the night air cool against my hot skin. The garden below is dark, Mom’s roses just shadows in the moonlight. I lean on the railing, thinking of running—anywhere but here. Vancouver, maybe. Or Rome. Somewhere where no one's ever heard of the Ricci's or Salvatore's. Somewhere I can be normal…human. Then I see it—a large shadow moving near the hedges. My heart skips a beat, and my hand tighten on the railing. A figure steps into the dim moonlight, tall, broad-shouldered, his face sharp and unforgiving. Dante Salvatore. His dark eyes immediately lock on my hazel one, and a chill runs down my spine, not just from the night air. He’s here, staring at me, on our property, uninvited, and the audacity of it sparks something in me—fear, yes, but also defiance. I'm unharmed and I don't know what's hiding under his sleeves. Fuck! I should probably go back inside and hide away till when I'm forced to put a ring on his finger. But instead, I step forward, doing well to hide the fear behind my eyes. “So you’re my future wife,” he calls up, his voice low, laced with a mockery that cuts. “I expected more.” I see a smirk stretch on his lip. I grip the railing harder, my knuckles turning white, my fury almost blinding, drowning out the fear. “And I expected a man, not a creep skulking in my garden like a f*cking criminal,” I shoot back, my voice sharp, carrying across the distance. He tilts his head, his lips twitching in an annoyimg manner—not quite a smile, but close, like I amuse him. He steps closer, the moonlight carving out the hard lines of his sharp defined jaw, his tailored coat shifting as he moves. “Bold for a Ricci,” he says, his tone shifting, sharper now but laced with curiosity, like he’s testing me. “You think you can handle my world, principessa?” I lean forward, my pulse pounding, but I don’t back down. “I’m not here to handle it, Salvatore. I’m here to own it.” I let my smile show. My words hang in the air, and his eyes narrow, studying me like I’m a puzzle he didn’t expect to solve tonight. A puzzle too complex for his daft brain. He chuckles, a dark, low sound that sends a shiver through me, not entirely unpleasant. I hated it. I wanted to rip out the sound and shove it up his ass. “Big talk, princess,” he says, his voice dropping, each word deliberate, precise. “But you’re mine now. And I don’t share my properties.” My breath catches, not from the threat but from the challenge in his eyes, the way he’s daring me to defy him, push back. “You won't have to share it, because you'll never have me, Salvatore” I say, my voice steady despite the heat that warms it way to my chest. He steps even closer, now at the edge of the garden, his face half-lit, half-shadowed. “Run if you want,” he says, his voice almost a whisper, but it carries, heavy with a deadly promise. “I’ll find you. Even in the afterlife. Even in hell. I will always find you.” The words aren’t just a threat—they’re a vow, and the weight of them settles in my bones, do in my blood, in my soul. I feel the intensity of it. My heart’s hammering, but I refuse to show it. “Try me,” I say, leaning further over the railing, my eyes locked on his. “I’m not the one who hides in the dark.” For a long moment, he just stares, the air between us crackling, electric. I can’t read him—anger, amusement, something else—but he’s not backing down, and neither am I. Then, slowly, he inclines his head, a predator acknowledging prey that might just bite back. His hands lifts up to touch the soft skin of my neck, as I fight the urge to close my eyes an d enjoy his callous skin on mine. His eyes glint with mischief. “We’ll see, Alessandra,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue like a warning. “We’ll see.” He steps back, his figure blending into the shadows, gone as quickly as he appeared, leaving only the echo of his words.