THE MAFIA'S FORCED BRIDE

WEDDING DAY

CHAPTER 5

TITLE: WEDDING DAY

HARLEY

My heart sank into the dark, hollow pit of my stomach. Every nerve ending in my body flared with ice-cold panic as that deep, hoarse voice reverberated through the speaker. The surrounding cabin blurred, the hum of the aircraft engines fading into a dull, distant roar.

“Who... who is this?” I managed to whisper, my fingers gripping the phone, so tightly my knuckles turned white.

A low, smooth scoff echoed from the other end of the line. Then came the voice again, deep, calm, and weirdly captivating. I had spent weeks picturing Don Carlos as a grotesque, hideous monster, an ugly psychopath with the face of a demon. But there was no harshness in his tone. It was gravelly velvet, dark and chillingly composed.

“Your husband, baby.”

The words stole the remaining air from my lungs. I went completely silent, frozen in my window seat like a stone statue.

“I have a little wedding present for you, angel,” he murmured smoothly.

A second later, my phone chimed against my ear.

I pulled the device away with trembling hands. A notification popped up on the screen—a video sent directly from my father’s contact. I swallowed the thick, painful lump in my throat, my thumb hovering over the screen before pressing play.

My breath hitched violently.

The short video showed my living room, but the furniture had been pushed aside. Bound tightly to two wooden chairs in the center of the room were my parents. Thick ropes wrapped around their torsos, heavy duct tape covered their mouths, and their eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated terror.

“What... what do you want?” I choked out, my voice breaking into a terrified sob.

“Isn't it obvious, princess?” he replied softly. “I want my bride.”

The line went dead.

Panic erupted inside my chest like a detonation. I unbuckled my seatbelt in a frantic frenzy, jammed my phone into my pocket, and bolted down the aisle. I ignored the startled looks of the passengers and the sharp calls of the flight attendants as I threw open the cabin door, running blindly down the jet bridge and sprinting out of the terminal doors into the cool night air.

When I burst through the glass exits onto the curb, my boots skidded to a halt.

Idling right in the pickup lane was a massive, pitch-black Escalade with heavily tinted windows. Standing rigidly at each of the four open doors were four tall men dressed in tailored black suits, earpieces fitted snugly in their ears. On the vehicle’s custom license plate, printed in stark silver letters, was a single name: DON CARLOS.

They didn't draw weapons. They didn't shout. They simply stood in silence, waiting for me.

I knew instantly they had come for me. Realizing I had no choice, my parents' lives hung by a thread, I walked toward the vehicle with heavy, hopeless steps and climbed into the plush leather interior without uttering a single word.

I expected them to drive me back to my family’s house, or perhaps straight to a dark, underground dungeon. Instead, the Escalade pulled up to the private entrance of a sprawling, high-end luxury penthouse suite downtown.

The doors swept open, and I was escorted inside. Waiting in the center of the room was a full team on standby,a renowned fashion designer, two assistant stylists, and a glitzy glam squad of makeup artists. Before I could process what was happening, I was whisked away into a whirlwind of silk, powder, and hairspray.

An hour later, I stood staring at my reflection in a floor-to-ceiling mirror, barely recognizing the girl staring back at me.

They had dressed me in an extravagant, pure white ball gown made of rich satin and delicate French lace. The corset top was structured and encrusted with subtle, shimmering pearls, nipping in tightly at my waist before cascading into a dramatic, sweeping skirt that trailed behind me. My hair was swept up into a soft, romantic updo with loose curls framing my face, and my makeup was breathtaking—soft smoky eyes, flawless porcelain skin, and a deep rose tint on my lips. I looked like royalty, but beneath the diamond drop earrings, my skin was clammy and pale with fear.

Once finished, the enforcers escorted me back into the Escalade and drove me through the heart of the city, finally pulling up to the towering grand arches of the city cathedral.

My heart hammered brutally against my ribs—against the surgical scar beneath the pearl corset as the heavy wooden doors of the sanctuary were pushed open for me.

I stepped into the grand hall, my hand trembling as I held a bouquet of white roses. My eyes immediately scanned the pews, and relief mixed with dread washed over me when I saw my parents sitting in the front row. They were no longer tied up, but their faces were ghost-white, their hands clutching each other as they stared at me in heart-breaking guilt.

Then, my gaze shifted to the altar.

My feet froze mid-step.

Standing beside the priest was a man who looked nothing like the ugly, ancient monster I had built up in my mind. He was breathtakingly handsome. He possessed thick, dark hair neatly styled back, a razor-sharp, perfectly carved jawline, and eyes of a striking, piercing grey that shone like polished steel. Peeking up from the crisp collar of his dark suit were dark, intricate tattoos that crept into the root of his neck.

A devilish, arrogant smirk curved his lips as his eyes locked onto mine. He didn't just look at me; he scrutinized me, his gaze scanning down the length of my white ball gown with an intense, burning heat that made me feel completely naked beneath the heavy layers of silk.

Something about his sheer presence made my knees weak. I forced my numb feet to move, dragging myself down the long, carpeted aisle of the cathedral, step by terrifying step, until I finally reached the altar to face the devil.

Up close, his presence was staggering, far more intimidating than I could have ever prepared for. He radiated an overwhelming heat, smelling faintly of expensive cedarwood, slate, and dark tobacco.

The priest began to speak, his voice trembling as he launched into the traditional Catholic vows. But my mind completely checked out. The grand stained-glass windows, the smell of incense, the softly lit candles,it all morphed into a terrifying blur. My chest heaved silently beneath the tight pearl corset of my gown, my heart hammering desperately against my ribs.

I was completely absentminded, detached from reality, until a low, smooth voice shattered my haze and pulled me back to the altar.

“Princess, this is where you say I do.”

I blinked, my eyes snapping at Don Carlos. A devilish, mocking smirk was plastered across his breathtaking face. His eyes filled with cold amusement.

My pride flared, overriding my fear. Acting purely on raw, reckless reflexes, I held my head high and whispered, “Never.”

A collective, horrified gasp echoed through the church pews behind us.

Yet, Don Carlos’s expression didn't change at all. He didn't flinch, get angry, or lose his temper. He remained chillingly calm, his smirk widening just a fraction, as if he had anticipated my defiance all along.

Without breaking eye contact with me, his gaze shifted slightly over my left shoulder.

My eyes instinctively followed his, sweeping toward the front row. My breath caught in my throat, and a cold wave of horror washed over me. Positioned silently in the shadows behind my parents were two men in dark suits, the silenced barrels of their handguns pressed directly against the back of my mother and father's heads. My mother was weeping silently, her eyes wide with frantic, unspoken pleas.

Tears burst from my eyes, burning hot as they spilled down my cheeks.

“I... I do,” I sobbed out, the words tasting like ash on my tongue as I surrendered the last piece of my freedom.

We exchanged heavy, platinum bands, the smooth metal wrapping around my finger like a permanent iron lock.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest stammered out, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You may kiss the bride.”

I set my jaw, determined to prove stubborn to the very end, pulling my chin away as he stepped closer. But Don Carlos simply reached out, his long fingers gently threading through the soft updo at the nape of my neck. His grip was surprisingly tender, yet unyielding.

Before I could pull back, he pulled my face up and slammed his lips onto mine.

The kiss stole every pint of air from my lungs but all I could feel was pure disgust.

As he finally pulled back, his hand lingered at the back of my head. He leaned down, his warm breath fanning against the crook of my neck, and spoke in a low, calm, and firmly terrifying tone.

“You don't know how long I've waited for this, wife,” he whispered into my skin, sending a violent shiver down my spine. “And don't worry... I have another surprise you're going to love waiting for you at home.”