His Substitute Bride

Chapter3

SOFIA'S POV

I didn’t even realize when my knees hit the floor. One second, I was staring at my father in shock, and the next, I was clutching the hem of his trousers, my body shaking as I begged.

He didn't have a heart. He was a monster. How could he do this to his own wife, someone he had claimed to love. How could her keep her in there, for ten good years?

What did my mother ever do to him, what crime did she commit?

“Please, please don’t hurt her,” I cried at his feet, and there was no response from him. I could only hear myself sob, broken from the shock and the pain of watching my mother suffer, the pain of of knowing she had been alive all this time and I wasn't aware.

“Please father, please… I’ll do anything. Just don’t kill my mother. I beg you.”

The tears couldn't stop flowing, he had broken me with the revelation, and now he had me under his control again.

“I'll do all you ask, I'll do anything, I promise. But please…don't hurt her…”

My voice cracked under the weight of my fear, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. All that mattered was saving her. My mother. The woman I thought I had lost forever. My body trembled, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my father’s expensive suit pants.

He had always been a cruel man, but this? This was beyond cruelty. This was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision, but I didn’t wipe them away. I let them fall, let them soak into the silk of my dress. My chest ached, tightening so much that it hurt to breathe. I had already lost her once, years ago, and the pain of that had stayed with me, a deep, empty wound that had never truly healed. And now, knowing she was alive but trapped in some horrible place, suffering who knew what, broke me in ways I couldn’t put into words. The thought of losing her again, this time for good, made my whole body weak.

A sharp, mocking chuckle snapped me out of my thoughts.

I slowly lifted my head, and there he was—Antonio DeLuca, my father, watching me with amusement in his cold, calculating eyes.

He held up his phone again, making sure I got another clear look at the screen.

He wanted me to know that I was at his mercy and he had me in his palms and could make me do anything. He knew how desperate I was to save my mother.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw her—my mother, curled up in a dark, windowless room, her hands tied behind her back, her clothes torn and dirty. Bruises covered her face, and her once beautiful golden-brown hair was a tangled mess. She looked… small.

Fragile. Like a bird with broken wings.

She was sobbing, her voice weak, barely above a whisper. Her lips trembled as she begged, “Sofia, my baby… please… I’m still here… please don’t forget me…”

A sharp sob tore from my throat. My nails dug into my palms, so hard that I felt the sting of pain, but I barely noticed. My entire world had shrunk down to that tiny screen, to my mother’s broken form, to the desperate fear in her voice.

I forced myself to look away, to lift my head and face my father. My vision swam with unshed tears. My lips parted, but I struggled to find my voice. “Why… why are you doing this?” My words were barely above a whisper, shaking just like the rest of me.

He sighed, as if he were tired of my foolishness, as if my pain was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. He tilted his head, and his expression became unreadable. “Well, if you'd really like to know why, I'll tell you. First, because Isabel means nothing to me. Secondly, she threatened to expose my activities to the authorities all because I turned my back on you both,” he said, his voice cold and final. “She stopped being important the moment I got the woman I truly wanted.”

I followed his gaze as he turned slightly to the side, and there she was—Martina. The woman who had taken my mother’s place. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, a satisfied smirk playing on her painted lips. She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t need to. Her eyes said it all. She had won.

A sharp pang of hatred burned through my chest, but before I could say anything, my father spoke again.

“And I already have the daughter I need.”

I barely had time to process his words before another presence stepped forward. Alessia.

She was standing behind him, her hands delicately clasped in front of her, her head tilted slightly as she smiled down at me. A slow, sickening smile.

My stomach turned. Anger boiled inside of me and for a moment, I was tempted to hit her, but the consequences could have been dire.

I wanted to slap that expression off her face, to scream at her, to do something—anything—but I couldn’t. Not when my mother’s life was on the line.

“So, what’s it going to be, Sofia?” My father’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Will you listen and do as I say? Or do I need to make her suffering worse before I finally kill her?”

The air rushed out of my lungs.

I was completely trapped. I had no power here, no choices. No matter how much I wanted to fight back, no matter how much I wanted to refuse, I couldn’t. Not when my mother’s life was hanging by a thread.

I swallowed hard, tasting the salt of my own tears on my lips. My pride, my dignity—everything I had left—it didn’t matter anymore.

I lowered my head. My voice was barely a whisper.

“I’ll do it.”

A cruel smile spread across my father’s face.

“Good girl.”

Martina stepped forward before I had time to process what had just happened. Her fingers closed around my arm in a tight grip, her long nails digging into my skin as she yanked me to my feet. “Now, go clean yourself up,” she said, her voice filled with bitterness.

“Fix your face. Wipe those tears. And walk into that wedding hall with a smile.”

My mind felt distant, detached from my body. I barely felt my feet moving as she shoved me toward the door. I was like a puppet, dragged along by invisible strings.

As we reached the large double doors leading to the ceremony hall, I felt my father and Martina close behind me, their voices like a whisper in my ear.

“Remember,” my father murmured, his voice was low and dangerous. “No one can know the truth. Especially your husband-to-be.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. I had no choice but to obey. If I wanted my mother to stay alive, I had to do exactly as they said.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I pushed open the doors.

The moment I stepped inside, the weight of every single pair of eyes in the room turned to me.

The grand hall was massive, stretching out in front of me like something out of a fairy tale. Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their light reflecting off the polished marble floor. Towering floral arrangements lined the aisle, filling the air with the scent of fresh roses. Guests sat in perfect rows, dressed in expensive suits and gowns, their whispers barely audible over the soft hum of classical music playing in the background.

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. My hands trembled as I gripped the fabric of my dress, forcing my legs to move. One step. Then another.

I walked down the aisle, my head spinning. My father had spoken about my groom with such respect—almost fear. I had assumed he was an older man, someone powerful, someone dangerous. But when I finally lifted my head and saw him, my entire body froze.

He was nothing like I had imagined.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark, piercing eyes. A suit tailored so perfectly it looked like a second skin, highlighting his strong, muscled frame. His sharp jawline, his full lips, the way he stood with absolute authority… He was breathtaking. And terrifying.

A strange feeling settled in my stomach.

I felt my father’s gaze burning into my back, warning me not to make a mistake. But as I took another step closer to the altar, something caught my eye.

A tattoo.

On his wrist, just below his watch, a black snake coiled tightly around a dagger.

A cobra.

My heart stopped.

I knew that tattoo. I knew what it meant.

I knew who he was. There was only one person with that tattoo in this side of the world, and I had heard lots of stories about him.

Panic surged through me, my knees weakening as realization slammed into me like a truck.

This wasn’t just any man.

This was him, Enzo Salvatore, the Don of the Cobra Cartel.

A man whose very name made even the most powerful tremble — despite being only in his mid-twenties. He ruled over the darkest, most feared mafia syndicate in existence.

And now… I was supposed to be his wife.