The Mafia's Boss Unexpected Bride

Chapter 2: Sacked

Bianca’s POV

The manager looked at me with pity, the kind that made your stomach twist before a single word was even spoken, his eyes soft but heavy like he was carrying bad news he didn’t want to deliver, his lips pressed tightly together as if he had already rehearsed what he was about to say and knew there was no softer way to say it, his shoulders slightly lowered, defeated, and that look alone was enough to tell me everything was about to change, everything was about to end.

I couldn’t move, my body felt stuck in place while my mind raced too fast for me to catch up, my chest tightening with a strange pressure that made it hard to breathe, and for a brief second it felt like I had stepped out of myself, like I was watching everything happen from a distance, like my soul had quietly slipped away to avoid whatever was coming next, guilt hit me first, sharp and immediate, cutting through me as the image of my hand connecting with his face replayed over and over again, then came fear, creeping in slowly but settling deep, wrapping around my ribs and squeezing tighter with every passing second, then regret followed, heavy and suffocating, dragging me down as I realized there was no undoing what had already been done.

“Bianca.”

His voice came again, firmer this time.

“Come with me.”

I swallowed hard and forced my legs to move, following him through the narrow hallway as the music from the club faded behind us, each step feeling heavier than the last, my heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that suddenly sounded too loud, too final, and when we stepped into his office and the door shut behind us, the sound echoed in my chest like a closing chapter.

“What were you thinking?” he asked, pacing once before turning to face me, his hands resting on his hips as he stared at me like he was trying to understand how I had managed to create such a disaster in a matter of seconds.

“He touched me,” I said, my voice lower now, less confident than before, but still holding onto the only justification I had left.

“I have rules.”

“Rules?” he repeated, letting out a humorless laugh as he shook his head.

“Bianca, you really think your rules mean anything to someone like him?”

“I didn’t know who he was,” I replied quickly, my fingers curling slightly into my palms as if that would somehow ground me.

“That doesn’t matter,” he snapped, his patience thinning.

“It doesn’t change what you did.”

“Then who is he?” I asked, my voice quieter now, uncertainty creeping in despite myself.

The manager stared at me for a moment, then sighed deeply, like a man about to say something that would only make things worse.

“That man is Ian Shaman.”

The name hung in the air, unfamiliar yet heavy, and I frowned slightly because it meant nothing to me, and yet everything in his expression told me it should.

“He owns this club,” the manager continued, his voice dropping slightly as though even saying it out loud required caution.

“And not just this club… he owns the businesses, the streets, the people. This city runs because he allows it to, and anyone who forgets that doesn’t last long.”

My stomach twisted.

“And you,” he added slowly, disbelief still evident in his tone, “slapped him. In front of everyone.”

Silence settled between us again, thicker this time, pressing in from all sides.

“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered, though even as I said it, I knew it didn’t matter.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” he replied immediately.

“Men like him don’t care about intentions, Bianca. They care about respect, control, power… and you challenged all three.”

I shook my head slightly, my thoughts refusing to settle.

“He touched me first.”

“And he could have done worse,” the manager said bluntly, his gaze hardening.

“Do you think a man like that needs permission?”

The words made something in me recoil, anger and fear mixing in a way that left me feeling both defensive and exposed, but before I could respond, he had already turned away, walking toward his desk and opening a drawer with a quiet sigh, and when he pulled out an envelope, my heart dropped instantly because I already knew what it meant.

“Take it.”

My hands didn’t move at first, my eyes fixed on the envelope like it was something dangerous, something final.

“My pay?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Yes.”

The simplicity of it made it worse.

“You’re firing me.”

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No pause.

Just a single word that erased everything.

“I’m sorry, Bianca,” he added, though his voice carried more exhaustion than sympathy.

“But I can’t keep you here. Not after what happened. If he comes back and sees you still working, it won’t just be you who suffers, it’ll be all of us.”

I let out a slow breath, something bitter rising in my chest.

“So I lose everything… just like that?”

“It wasn’t just anything,” he replied quietly. “It was him.”

My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out and took the envelope, its weight almost nonexistent in my hand, mocking the heaviness pressing down on my chest.

“Get your things and leave.”

I nodded slowly, unable to trust my voice, and turned away before he could see the tears gathering in my eyes, stepping out of the office and back into the club where everything felt distant now, like I was no longer part of it, like I was already gone.

“Bianca!”

Anne’s voice cut through the noise as she hurried toward me, her expression filled with concern as she grabbed my arm.

“What happened? Everyone’s talking what did you do?”

“I messed up,” I said, my voice breaking as the tears finally slipped free.

“Anne… I messed up so badly.”

She pulled me into a hug without hesitation, holding me tightly as I struggled to steady my breathing.

“Talk to me,” she murmured.

“I slapped someone,” I said, pulling back slightly, my words rushed now as if saying them faster would make them less real.

“He touched me and I reacted, I didn’t think, I just”

“Who was he?” she asked quickly.

“Ian Shaman.”

She froze instantly, her grip on me tightening.

“Bianca…” her voice dropped, serious now. “Do you understand what that means?”

I shook my head weakly.

“He’s not just some rich man,” she continued. “He’s dangerous. People like him don’t forgive, they don’t forget, and they definitely don’t get embarrassed in public without consequences.”

Fear settled deeper in my chest.

“I lost my job,” I whispered. “That was all I had.”

She cupped my face gently, forcing me to look at her.

“You’re going to be okay,” she said firmly, though I could see the worry behind her eyes. “We’ll figure something out. You’re not alone.”

I wanted to believe her.

I really did.

But something inside me told me things were already spiraling beyond anything we could fix.

“I need to go home,” I said quietly.

“Call me when you get there,” she replied.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I would.

The walk home felt endless, my thoughts tangled, my chest tight with a mixture of fear, guilt, and exhaustion, every step weighed down by the uncertainty of what was coming next, and by the time I reached our street, something felt wrong, the air heavier than usual, the silence too loud, and my eyes immediately caught the state of our house.

The front door was slightly open.

One of the windows was cracked.

And our belongings clothes, old boxes, broken items were scattered outside like they had been thrown out without care.

My heart started racing instantly.

“No…” I whispered, my pace quickening.

Each step felt heavier, dread building with every second until I reached the door and pushed it open slowly, my breath catching in my throat as I took in the scene before me.

The house was destroyed, chairs overturned, plates shattered across the floor, drawers pulled out and emptied, everything in complete chaos like a storm had torn through it without mercy, and in the middle of it all

My father.

My sister.

Both tied to chairs.

Bruised.

Shaking.

Terrified.

“Dad!” I rushed forward, panic flooding through me as I dropped beside them.

“Bianca don’t!” my sister cried, her voice trembling.

Too late.

I was already there, my hands shaking as I tried to untie the ropes.

“What happened?” I asked frantically. “Who did this?!”

My father lifted his head slowly, his eyes filled with shame.

“They came,” he said weakly.

“Who?” I demanded, my heart pounding.

But deep down…

I already knew.

And as fear settled into something colder, something heavier, one truth became painfully clear.

This wasn’t over