Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride

Chapter 16: The Aftermath

[Sloane's POV]

I didn't stop running until I reached my room.

I slammed the door shut behind me, pressing my back against it, my chest heaving. My legs gave out. I slid down until I was sitting on the cold floor, my knees drawn to my chest, my arms wrapped around them.

I was shaking.

Not because I was cold. But because my body was trying to hold itself together when everything inside me was shattering.

I stared at my hands.

They were still stained with his blood.

The sight of it made my stomach lurch. I scrambled to my feet and stumbled into the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and shoved my hands under the water, scrubbing frantically. The water ran pink, then clear. I kept scrubbing until my skin was raw and red.

But I could still feel it.

The warmth of his blood on my fingers. The weight of the knife in my hand. The look in his eyes when he caught me.

That look.

I gripped the edge of the sink, my reflection staring back at me from the mirror. Hollow eyes. Pale skin. Lips that still trembled.

"You're nothing but a debt."

His words echoed in my head. They carved themselves into my chest like a brand.

I pressed my palm against the cold glass of the mirror, my fingers splayed. My breath fogged the surface, obscuring my reflection.

"You're nothing but a debt."

I squeezed my eyes shut. But the darkness behind my lids only brought his face back. The way he'd stood there, blood dripping from his hand, completely unbothered. The way he'd offered me the knife back, daring me to finish what I'd started.

****************

The morning sun crept through the curtains in thin golden lines. I had barely slept through the night. I kept waking up to see if my fingers had been chopped up by that monster.

A chill ran down my spine. The thought of what happened last night made my stomach churn.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The estate was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every footstep echo, every breath sound louder than it should. I made my way down the stairs, my hand trailing along the banister, my bare feet silent against the marble.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped.

The hallway stretched ahead of me, long and empty.

I was halfway to the back door when I spotted a figure in the hall ahead.

I froze.

It was a man I didn't recognize. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a sharp black suit with a silver pin on his lapel that caught the light as he moved. He approached with measured steps, his expression carefully neutral. Not hostile. Not friendly. Just… professional.

"Mrs. Delvecchio."

I tensed immediately. "Who are you?"

"My name is Marco." He stopped a respectful distance away, hands clasped behind his back. "I work for Mr. Delvecchio.”

My pulse quickened. I felt the familiar surge of fear, the urge to run, to hide, to find somewhere safe. But I forced myself to stand still. I forced my voice to stay steady.

"Is there something you want?"

"Mr. Delvecchio has instructed me to escort you into the city this morning." His voice was calm, measured, with the faintest trace of an accent I couldn't place. "Mr. Delvecchio wants you to purchase new clothes and other personal items you might need."

I blinked. "What?”

Marco reached into his jacket, and for one terrifying second, I thought he was reaching for a weapon. But instead, he produced a small black card. Gold lettering gleamed in the light. A credit card.

He held it out to me with two fingers, the same way one might offer a strange dog a treat, carefully, giving me space to decide whether to take it or not.

I stared at the card.

"Mr. Delvecchio's instructions were very clear," Marco continued. "You are to be provided with whatever you need. There are no limits.”

No limits.

The words felt unreal. Like something from a different world. A world where I wasn't a “debt.” A world where I wasn't trapped.

I didn't move.

"Why?" The word slipped out before I could stop it. "Why would he do this?"

Marco's expression didn't change. "I don't question Mr. Delvecchio's orders, Mrs. Delvecchio. I simply follow them."

"Is he here?" I asked. My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. "Mr. Delvecchio. Is he in the house?”

Marco paused. Just barely. A fraction of a second. But I caught it.

"He is in his study, Mrs. Delvecchio. He has been there since early this morning."

The words landed like stones in my stomach.

But then a strange thought surfaced.

If he had wanted to hurt me, he would have done it last night. He'd had every opportunity. Every reason. He'd even given me the knife back, dared me to finish what I started. And he hadn't hurt me.

He'd let me go.

I didn't understand it. I didn't understand him.

Marco was still holding out the card, waiting patiently. His hand hadn't wavered. His eyes hadn't left mine.

"Mrs. Delvecchio," he said quietly, "I'm here to help you. Nothing more.”

"Thank you," I said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.

Marco nodded once. "I will have the car ready in ten minutes. Please dress appropriately."

He turned and walked away, his footsteps steady and measured, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway.

One hour later. I was outside, The wind brushed against my cheeks. The cream dress hung on my body. Marco held the door for me. I got in then zoomed off.

******

[Marco's POV]

I checked my watch again.

2:17pm.

I had been waiting for almost an hour.

My fingers tapped impatiently against my thigh as I stared through the windshield at the boutique entrance.

Mrs. Delvecchio had been gone for so long.

I checked my watch again.

2:23 p.m.

Something wasn't right.

I stepped out of the car. The door closed with a heavy thud, the sound echoing off the stone buildings. My shoes clicked against the cobblestones as I entered inside the boutique.

A woman stood behind a marble counter, her eyes lifting as I entered. She was in her fifties, silver-streaked hair pinned up, an expression of polite inquiry on her face.

"May I help you?" Her voice was warm, professional.

I scanned the room. Empty changing rooms. A single mannequin in the corner. No sign of Sloane.

"The woman who just came in," I said. "Dark hair. Cream dress. Where is she?”

The woman's brow furrowed slightly. "The young lady? She went straight to the changing rooms at the back. I believe she wanted to try on a few pieces."

"How long ago?"

"A few minutes. Perhaps five."

I didn't wait for more. I moved past the counter, my steps quick and purposeful, past the racks of silk and cashmere. The back of the boutique opened into a narrow hallway lined with doors.

"Mrs. Delvecchio?" I called out.

There was no response.

I checked the first door. Empty. The second. Empty. The third. Empty.

The last door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar. I pushed it open.

The changing room was empty.

Fabric hung from the walls, an emerald dress, a deep burgundy gown, a cream coat. But the room itself was empty. No Sloane. No sign that she'd ever been here.

I turned and moved back through the boutique, my eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. The woman behind the counter watched me with growing concern.

"Is something wrong, signor?"

"Did you see her leave?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Did you see the young woman leave?"

Her eyes widened. "No. She never came back through the front. I assumed she was still trying things on."

My jaw tightened. I moved past her, through the front door, and out onto the street. The morning air hit my face, carrying the scent of rain and exhaust.

I stood on the cobblestones, turning slowly, my gaze sweeping the street in both directions.

The car was still there. The street was still quiet. A few pedestrians moved at the far end, too distant, too unhurried. No sign of her.

I moved around the side of the building, scanning every direction.

Nothing.

I checked the parking area.

Nothing.

My breathing grew heavier.

I broke into a run.

I checked the alley behind the boutique, then the next street, then the perimeter again.

"Mrs. Delvecchio!"

Nothing.

I ran farther, my breathing becoming ragged as I searched every corner, every doorway, every possible place she could have gone.

Nothing.

She was gone.

I stopped, bent slightly with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Then I straightened and pulled out my phone.

The screen lit up. I scrolled to Antonio's number and pressed call. The dial tone hummed in my ear, each second stretching into an eternity.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then his voice came through, low and even. "Marco."

I pressed the phone closer to my ear. "There's a problem, boss."

A pause. I could hear the faint rustle of paper, the sound of him setting something down. Then his voice again, quieter now.

"What is it?"

I looked around the empty street.

"I can't find Mrs. Delvecchio."