The Mafia Don’s Bride

"Run." I thought I'd misheard him. The orchestra played on, filling the ballroom with music while hundreds of guests mingled beneath crystal chandeliers. Waiters weaved through the crowd carrying champagne. Laughter echoed from every corner of the room. Everything looked normal. Except my brother. "What did you just say?" I asked. His grip tightened around my wrist. "I said run." A knot formed in my stomach. "Why?" He glanced toward the entrance before lowering his voice. "Because if Luca De Santis walks through those doors before you leave, it's over." My pulse skipped. The name alone was enough to make people careful. I pulled my hand away. "What are you talking about?" His silence stretched for a second too long. Then understanding hit me. "No." The word escaped before I could stop it. My brother looked away. The knot in my stomach twisted tighter. "No." "Elena—" "No." I shook my head. "Tell me you didn't." The muscles in his jaw flexed. "Listen to me." "Tell me." His shoulders stiffened. That was answer enough. The ballroom suddenly felt too warm. My father had spent his entire life negotiating deals. Some involved money. Others involved territory. Apparently, this one involved me. "Who agreed to it?" I asked quietly. My brother didn't answer. I laughed once, though nothing about this felt funny. "Let me guess. Father." "He was trying to save the family." "There it is." I folded my arms. Whenever someone did something unforgivable, they always dressed it up as sacrifice. My brother stepped closer. "Our situation is complicated." "So your solution was selling me?" His face darkened. "Don't say it like that." "How should I say it?" Neither of us spoke. The answer hung between us anyway. A nearby group burst into laughter over something. Glasses clinked together. Someone proposed a toast. I wanted to throw something. Instead, I forced myself to ask the question I was afraid of. "Who?" His eyes met mine. "Luca De Santis." The room tilted. Not because I was surprised. Because I wasn't. There were only a handful of men powerful enough to force my father into a corner. Luca sat at the top of that list. I stared at my brother. "You're insane." "He wants an alliance." "He can want whatever he likes." "It's already done." My chest tightened. Already done. Not being discussed. Not being negotiated. Done. Like my opinion had never mattered in the first place. The ballroom doors opened. Conversations slowed. People turned. The shift was immediate. No announcement was needed. No introduction. The room itself seemed to react. My brother muttered a curse under his breath. I turned. Several men entered first, moving with the alert focus of people who expected trouble. Then Luca De Santis walked in. For a moment, nobody moved. The music continued, but softer somehow. Further away. He wasn't the loudest man in the room. He didn't need to be. Power had a strange way of announcing itself. People stepped aside before he reached them. Some nodded respectfully. Others avoided looking at him altogether. Luca acknowledged none of it. His attention moved across the ballroom with calm precision. Then his gaze landed on me. I hated the way my stomach dropped. Hated it even more when he didn't look away. Neither did I. A challenge. A mistake. I wasn't sure which. My brother shifted beside me. "Don't do anything stupid." I almost laughed. At this point, stupidity felt like my only remaining freedom. Luca started walking toward us. Every step felt deliberate. Certain. As if he'd already decided how tonight would end. As if everyone else was simply catching up. When he finally stopped in front of us, my brother immediately extended his hand. Luca shook it. Briefly. Then his attention returned to me. Silence settled over the three of us. I refused to break it. So did he. Finally, he spoke. "You weren't supposed to wear black." I blinked. Of all the things I expected, that wasn't one of them. "What?" His gaze flickered over my dress. "The red one would have been more appropriate." I stared at him. Then I laughed. A genuine laugh this time. My brother looked horrified. Luca looked interested. "You think you get a say in what I wear?" I asked. A corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile. "Most people ask my opinion." "Then most people sound exhausting." My brother closed his eyes. Probably praying for patience. Luca didn't seem offended. If anything, he looked amused. Which annoyed me more. "You don't like being told what to do," he observed. "Brilliant deduction." "And you enjoy making things difficult." I stepped closer. "Let me save you some time. I don't want this marriage." The amusement vanished. Not completely. Just enough. "I know." The certainty in his voice irritated me. "You know?" "I wouldn't expect you to." Something about that answer made me pause. Before I could respond, one of his men appeared beside him. The man's expression was tense. Urgent. He leaned down and whispered something into Luca's ear. The change was immediate. Luca's gaze shifted past me. Toward the far side of the ballroom. Every instinct in my body tightened. I turned. A waiter stood near one of the pillars. At first glance, nothing seemed unusual. Then I noticed he wasn't serving drinks. He wasn't moving at all. He was staring directly at Luca. The tray slipped from his hand. It crashed against the marble floor. Guests jumped. Someone screamed. The waiter's hand disappeared inside his jacket. Time slowed. I saw the gun before anyone else reacted. A flash of metal beneath the chandelier lights. My heart stopped. The waiter raised the weapon. Straight at Luca. The first shot exploded through the ballroom. Chaos erupted. People ducked. Glasses shattered. The orchestra stopped mid-note. Before I could move, a powerful arm wrapped around my waist. The floor vanished beneath me. Luca dragged me down just as another gunshot tore through the air. The bullet smashed into the wall where I'd been standing. A woman screamed. Someone shouted for security. Luca's body covered mine as more shots rang out. Then, through the chaos, I heard something that made my blood run cold. The gunman wasn't shouting Luca's name. He was shouting mine. "ELENA!" Another shot fired. And this time, he started running straight toward us.