Unmaksing my Mafia Groom

Chapter 4 – Bride by Force

If I thought I could walk away from him that night, I was wrong. Dead wrong.

I should have run. I should have travelled to another country into that night when he let me go home to “cool.of steam” but I didn’t understand the kind of man Bruno is. You don’t simply walk away from the devil once he’s looked you in the eye.

The next morning, pounding on the door of my father’s tiny apartment wakes me. Heavy. Unrelenting. My stomach flips before I even open it.

And there he is.

Bruno.

Two men in black suits flank him, their presence suffocating. His gaze cuts through me like glass. He doesn’t need to push his way inside his aura alone forces me back a step.

“You didn’t think I’d let you refuse me, did you?” His tone is calm, too calm, like a blade polished before it strikes.

I wrap my arms around myself, heart hammering. “I didn’t agree to anything. You can’t just decide I’m your … your bride!”

His eyes narrow, glinting like steel. “You’d rather belong to the men who had you pinned against a car last night?”

The memory makes bile rise. My lips part but no words come.

He steps closer, close enough that the air between us feels crushed. “I don’t play games, girl. If you won’t stand at my side, I’ll hand you back to them. They’d be more than happy to finish what they started.”

My breath snags. He looks like he means it. He’d do it.

I want to spit in his face, scream that I’d rather die. But death isn’t only mine to gamble with anymore I'm my father's last bet at resting in peace.

Bitterness is all I have left.

Tears sting, but I blink them away. “You’re a monster.”

He doesn’t flinch. “I’ve been called worse.”

Silence stretches, sharp and suffocating. With every ounce of hate I have, I force the words out: “Fine. I’ll do it. But don’t fool yourself, i’ll never forgive you for this.”

Something like satisfaction or possession curves at his mouth. “Pack your things. You’re coming with me.”

By the time his car pulls up at the gates of his mansion, my throat is raw from silence.

I press my forehead to the cold glass of the window, watching familiar streets blur past like someone else’s life. First the CEO steals my father from me; then some hoodlums think they can steal my maidenhead; now the man who claims me takes my freedom. My world is being carved into pieces I don’t recognize.

The car stops. When the door opens, I step out into another universe.

The mansion looms like a fortress—stone and glass, guards at every corner. Inside, the air smells of leather and smoke and the kind of wealth that doesn’t apologize. Every step echoes on polished marble; gold accents wink under chandelier light. It’s beautiful and it’s a cage dressed in diamonds.

“This is your home now,” Bruno says behind me, voice flat and commanding.

I spin to face him, fire flaring in my chest. “Don’t call it that. A prison isn’t a home.”

For a heartbeat something crosses his face—something brief, almost human—but then the mask slides back on. He turns and walks deeper into the house. “Follow me.”

I want to run. But his men are everywhere—eyes sharp, hands near guns—so I follow, hating every step.

He stops at a pair of heavy doors and pushes them open. The room beyond is lavish: a king-size bed, velvet drapes, a balcony that looks over the city. It’s a room for a queen.

Or for a captive.

“This will be yours,” he says simply.

I fold my arms, jaw tight. “You think you can buy me with silk sheets and chandeliers? I don’t care how pretty the cage is. I'll never truly be yours.”

He moves closer, his presence pressing in. His eyes lock on mine with an intensity that feels invasive. “I don’t need to own you,” he says quietly. “I just need the world to believe I do.”

The words chill me. This isn’t about me at all. It’s about power—appearance, control, the silent wars men like him fight. I am the pawn dragged onto his board.

My chest tightens with anger, helplessness, the sharp edge of betrayal. I want to tear everything in this room apart.

Instead I whisper, more to myself than to him, “I’ll never forgive you for this.”

He hears me. For the briefest second his gaze softens—so small I think I imagined it—then the mafia king returns.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Hatred makes people sharp. In my world, sharpness is what keeps you alive.”

He turns and leaves. The door clicks shut behind him.

I stand in that opulent room, fists clenched, heart roaring.

Bride by force. Prisoner by name.

But a vow burns under the rage: I’ll play his game, wear his chains if I must. I will learn his rules, learn his world, and I will not let this man break me.