Married To The Mafia Devil

Chapter 5: A Marriage Written in Blood

I chose white.

Not because I'm pure—God knows that ship sailed the night. I crawled through my family's blood to escape—but because white is what they'd expect. A virgin sacrifice dressed for slaughter. Let them think what they want. Let them see the lamb walking to the altar while I sharpen my teeth behind the smile.

The council chamber sits in the heart of Manhattan, disguised as a legitimate corporate headquarters. Nineteenth floor. Corner office. Windows that overlook the city my family once helped build. I remember my father bringing me here as a child, his hand warm and steady on my shoulder as he introduced me to men who smiled with too many teeth.

Most of those men are dead now. The ones who remained killed them.

I stand outside the ornate double doors, alone. Dante wanted to come, insisted on it actually, his scarred face creased with worry. But this is a power move, and power doesn't flinch. Power doesn't need an army of guards to walk into a room of enemies.

Power wears white and dares them to spill blood on it.

I push open the doors myself. No announcement. No escort. Just me and the click of my heels against marble that my grandfather's money probably paid for.

The room falls silent.

Five men sit around a table made of dark wood and darker secrets. Each one represents a family, a legacy, an empire built on violence and loyalty in equal measure. I know their faces the way you know a recurring nightmare—intimately, unwillingly.

Don Moretti sits at the head. Lorenzo's father. The man who gave the order that orphaned me. He's older than I remember, with silver threading through his dark hair, but his eyes are still as sharp as broken glass. He watches me enter with something that might be respect or might be the look a hunter gives a doe before pulling the trigger.

To his right, Castellano. Fat and cruel, with fingers like sausages wrapped around a tumbler of whiskey. He's the one who wanted my family's territory most. The one who moved in before my father's body was cold.

Ricci sits across from him, thin and nervous, always checking his phone like the world might end if he misses a message. He owns half the judges in New York. The other half are too expensive even for him.

Valentino slouches in his chair with deliberate casualness, young for a Don at forty-two, handsome in a way that makes people forget he's capable of terrible things. His family runs the drug trade. He's the only one who voted against forcing this marriage. I haven't decided if that makes him an ally or just a different kind of enemy.

Greco completes the circle. Silent, watching, always collecting information. His family deals in secrets. He knows things that could topple governments. I wonder what he knows about me.

"Miss De Luca." Don Moretti's voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "Or should I say, the late Miss De Luca? We'd heard you were dead."

"I got better." I move deeper into the room, each step measured and deliberate. I stop at the foot of the table, standing where supplicants stand, where people beg for mercy or favors. But I'm not begging. "You called this meeting. I'm here. Let's not waste time on pleasantries we both know are bullshit."

Castellano chokes on his whiskey. Ricci's fingers freeze over his phone. Even Greco's eyebrows lift a fraction.

Don Moretti almost smiles. Almost.

"Very well. Straight to business." He steeples his fingers, a gesture I remember my father making. The similarity makes my stomach clench. "Your family's assets remain in dispute. By law and tradition, they should pass to you as the sole surviving heir. However, your... absence... has created complications."

"Complications you've been profiting from." I let my gaze sweep the table. "My family's shipping contracts. Our real estate holdings. The protection networks my father spent thirty years building. You've carved up his legacy like vultures fighting over a corpse."

"Strong words from a girl with no army," Castellano sneers. "You're alone, principessa. No soldiers. No allies. No power."

I turn to face him fully. "Is that why you're sweating?"

His face flushes purple. Valentino coughs to hide a laugh.

"Gentlemen." Don Moretti's voice carries quiet authority. "We're here to offer Miss De Luca a solution. One that benefits everyone at this table."

Here it comes. The trap dressed as mercy.

"You will marry my son, Lorenzo Moretti, within thirty days. The union will legitimize your claim to the De Luca assets while bringing them under the protection of my family. Refuse—"his voice hardens—"and your claim is forfeit. You become an enemy of the Five Families. And we both know how we deal with enemies."

The temperature in the room drops. Four men stare at me with varying degrees of anticipation. Waiting to see if I'll break. If I'll cry or rage or run.

I do none of those things.

"And what do I get in return?"

Silence. Then Greco actually laughs, a dry sound like rustling paper.

"Excuse me?" Don Moretti leans forward.

"You heard me. This marriage benefits you more than it benefits me. You get control of my family's assets, legitimacy for whatever you've already stolen, and a puppet you can parade around as proof of your mercy." I place my hands flat on the table, leaning in. "So I'll ask again. What do I get?"

Don Moretti studies me for a long moment. I can see him recalculating, adjusting his assessment. He expected a victim. He's getting something else.

"What do you want?"

"A seat on this council."

"Absolutely not," Castellano sputters. "She's a—"

"Control of the De Luca finances. Complete control. My own accounts, my own lawyers, my own decisions." I ignore the interruption. "The right to maintain my own security. My people, my choice, no interference."

"Anything else?" Don Moretti's tone is dry. "Perhaps you'd like a crown?"

"Just those three things. And the respect you'd show any other member of this council."

"You're not a member of this council."

"Not yet."

Something flickers in his eyes. Surprise? Approval? It's gone before I can identify it.

"I'll agree to the financial control and personal security." He straightens. "But the council seat? That you'll have to earn."

"How?"

"Prove you're worthy of it. Prove you're more than your father's daughter playing dress-up in her mother's pearls." His smile is thin. "Survive your marriage. Navigate this world without getting yourself killed. Show us you belong here, and maybe—maybe—we'll give you a chair at this table."

It's not enough. But it's more than I expected. More, perhaps, than I could have demanded with a gun to his head.

"I want to meet him first." The words come out steadier than I feel. "Your son. Before I agree to anything, I want to meet Lorenzo."

Don Moretti nods slowly. "That can be arranged. Tonight, if you wish."

Tonight. In a few hours, I'll come face-to-face with the man whose intelligence helped murder my family. The man I'll have to smile at, touch, and pretend to love while I plot his destruction from the inside.

The man I've been preparing to kill for eight years.

My heart pounds against my ribs, but my voice stays level. "Tonight works."

"Then we have an agreement." Don Moretti stands, and the others follow suit. "Welcome back to New York, Miss De Luca. I suspect the next thirty days will be... interesting."

I turn and walk toward the door, spine straight, head high. The white dress swirls around my legs like foam on ocean waves. Like a wedding dress. Like a shroud.

Behind me, I hear Valentino murmur something I'm not supposed to catch: "She's got more balls than half the men in this room."

The door closes behind me, and I allow myself one shaking breath. Then another.

I did it. I walked into that room and negotiated with the men who destroyed everything I loved. And I won. Not completely, not yet. But enough.

Tonight I meet Lorenzo Moretti. The devil himself.

And tomorrow I begin the long, patient work of making him love me just enough that destroying him will hurt him the way he hurt me.

The elevator descends, and I watch my reflection in the polished doors. White dress. My mother's diamonds at my throat. My father's determination in my eyes.

I look like a bride.

I smile at my reflection, and it's all teeth.

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