The Don's Substitute Bride

Serena pov I was tired. Not the kind of tired sleep could fix. The kind that sat in your bones. The kind that came from being useful only when something needed scrubbing. The marble floors were already spotless, but that didn’t matter. In this house, things didn’t need to be dirty for me to clean them. I wrung the mop harder than necessary, jaw tight, when my father’s voice thundered down the hallway. He was yelling again. He was always yelling. Three years ago, my father used to laugh so loudly the whole house felt warm. Now his voice only carried anger — sharp, violent, unpredictable. The kind that made the maids walk faster and the guards look away. I moved quickly, finishing the last stretch of floor. If I could get to my room before he noticed me, maybe I wouldn’t have to endure whatever mood he was in tonight. I bent to lift the mop— A polished heel stepped on it. Of course. I looked up slowly. Bianca. My beautiful, perfect, poisonous older sister. Her dark hair fell flawlessly over one shoulder, makeup untouched, silk blouse pristine. She looked like she belonged in magazines. I looked like I belonged on my knees scrubbing floors. “Hi, sis,” I said sweetly. She tilted her head, smiling in a way that never reached her eyes. “Aren’t you just adorable.” “Can you move your foot?” I asked lightly. “Or I might accidentally use this mop on your face.” Her smile vanished. There it was the real Bianca. The one with fire and fury coiled under her skin. For a second, I thought she might actually slap me. Instead, she stepped back slowly. “You missed a spot,” she said. And then deliberately she walked across the clean floor in her heels, leaving faint streaks behind. She smirked. I stared at the marks, inhaled deeply, and reminded myself that prison orange would not complement my skin tone. So I cleaned again. Because that’s what I did. I cleaned. I stayed quiet.I survived. By the time I was done, my arms felt like lead. I went upstairs, locked my bedroom door, always locked and leaned against it for a moment. Silence. Safe. My room was the smallest in the house, tucked in the far wing where sunlight barely reached in the afternoon. But it was mine. The only place that didn’t feel like a battlefield. I showered quickly, letting the hot water ease the tension in my shoulders. Afterward, I pulled on a pair of worn jeans and a soft T-shirt my mother had bought me years ago. I still kept it. It smelled like nothing now. Just fabric. But sometimes I pretended. Thinking about her hurt. Everything changed after my mother died. Three years ago, cancer took her quietly. She fought like hell — but even she couldn’t win that war. When she was alive, my father was different. Softer. Always kind and caring. After she died, something inside him collapsed, I think he died with her. He gambled more. Drank more. Started disappearing for nights. The debts followed. The shouting followed. The emptiness followed. The house that once had ten maids now had three. Then two. Now it was mostly me. If no one cleaned, who would? Bianca? Please. I picked up the book I’d borrowed from the library earlier that day. The librarian always smiled at me like she knew I didn’t belong in this world of silk and secrets. I had barely reached the second page when my thoughts drifted. Maybe I should reintroduce myself. My name is Serena De Luca. Daughter of a mafia father drowning in debt and pride. Sister to Bianca De Luca — the golden child who shines even when she burns everything around her. There are only three of us left in this family. And none of us are whole. Bianca thinks I steal things from her. I don’t try to. But things happen. Her ex-boyfriend broke up with her… and tried asking me out instead. I refused him. Her professors compliment my work more than hers. I don’t ask them to. Her best friend once confessed he “always found me easier to talk to.” I didn’t encourage that either. But according to Bianca, I love attention. If only she knew how much I hated being seen. I prefer books. Silence. Corners. I have one best friend — Luca. He’s studying medicine abroad. Every time he sends pictures from another country, smiling in front of universities and museums, something twists inside me. He gets to explore the world. I get asked to represent the “perfect image” of De Lucas when it’s convenient. I don’t want this life. If I get another lifetime, maybe I’ll choose something different. A soft knock hit my door. No. Not a knock. A command. “Serena.” My father. I stood immediately. In this house, you don’t keep him waiting. I unlocked the door and walked down the long hallway toward his office. He used to keep the office downtown. Back when business was thriving. Back when he wanted separation between work and family. Now the underworld lived inside our walls. Two guards stood outside the door. They nodded as I passed. I stepped inside. The room smelled like cigar smoke and expensive leather. Heavy curtains blocked out the evening light. My father stood near his desk, phone in hand, expression sharp. He looked older than his fifty-two years. “Dress up,” he said without greeting. “You’re coming to a ball with me tonight.” I blinked. “A ball?” “Yes.” “What about Bianca?” “She’s handling a matter for me.” That meant something political. Or dangerous. With him, it was often both. “I don’t have a dress,” I said carefully. His jaw tightened slightly, as if I’d offended him. He snapped his fingers. One of his bodyguards stepped forward, holding a large black box. My stomach dropped. He had planned this. The guard handed it to me. It was heavier than I expected. “Be ready in an hour,” my father said. “We leave at eight.” “For what occasion?” I asked quietly. He finally looked at me. Really looked at me. There was calculation in his eyes. “An opportunity,” he said. That word settled in my chest like ice. I nodded once and left. Back in my room, I placed the box on my bed and stared at it. Something about tonight felt wrong. Important. Like the air before a storm. I lifted the lid slowly. Inside was a dress deep crimson, silk, elegant and far too expensive for our current financial state. It wasn’t Bianca’s style. It was mine. Simple. Refined. Dangerous in its quietness. Why would he choose something that suited me? My fingers brushed the fabric. And a strange, unsettling thought slid into my mind. This wasn’t just a ball. This wasn’t just an appearance. This was positioning. My father didn’t spend money unless he expected a return. I swallowed. For the first time in a long time, I felt something shift beneath my feet. Like I was standing at the edge of something vast and dark. And I was about to step into it. What I didn’t know then Was that tonight wasn’t about a ball. It wasn’t about music or champagne or polite smiles. It was about contracts. Alliances. And I was walking into a room where my name would be spoken not as a daughter… But as an offering. I didn’t know it yet. But tonight— I was sealing my fate.