I became the Mafia Bride

ChapterFive

CASSIUS’s POV

5:30 AM.

I woke up before the alarm went off. It didn't matter what time I slept or how little I did, my body had adjusted.

The penthouse was dark and quiet. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city still half-asleep.

My phone was already lighting up with messages.

Father: Meeting at the office. 9 AM. Don’t be late.

Luca: Need your signature on the Brooklyn deal.

Matteo: The shipment’s delayed. Call me.

Fifteen messages before six in the morning. So many requests and demands. Threats dressed up as opportunities. I was sick of it all but I had a role to play— for now.

I looked at my reflection while knotting my tie. The suit fits perfectly.

The man inside didn’t fit at all.

This was my life. Every morning the same: wake up as Cassius Moretti, heir to the empire. Put on the uniform. Play the role. Again, I hated it.

My brother had tried to take it off once.

They found him wrapped around a telephone pole three days later.

“Accident,” the police report said.

I knew better. I wasn’t dumb. I just didn’t have any leads to pursue the mystery behind his death.

Twenty-six years old and already serving a life sentence. That’s how it felt.

I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

Today would be different, though.

Today I’d see her.

Sienna.

We haven’t had many interactions till recently, but I’d taken a liking to her.

The Moretti estate sat on the edge of the city.

I pulled up at seven. My father, Antonio Moretti, made it mandatory for us to have breakfast at least once at the family estate.

My mother was already at the table when I walked into the dining room. Isabella Moretti, elegant and composed as always, was reading the paper with her coffee.

“Cassius.” She didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

“C’mon mum, I’m early.”

“Compared to me, you’re not.”

I kissed her cheek and sat. “Where’s Lucia?”

“Still sleeping. She has an exam today.”

My younger sister. Twenty-two, a college student, carefully kept away from the business. The only pure thing left in this family.

“Good,” I said. “Let her sleep.”

My mother set down the paper and finally looked at me.

“I heard you’ve been… charitable lately. Your father wasn’t too happy about it.”

Here it comes.

“I’m always charitable. I don’t give a f**k what he thinks.”

“Watch your language when you’re around me.”

“Sorry mum, but it’s frustrating, you know? My moral compass isn’t as twisted as his. I understand not mixing emotions with business, but I’m not cruel.”

“Cassius.” Her voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse. “Be careful. Sentiment is expensive in our world.”

“I know, but he hit me. I’m not going to take out a family because they didn’t fulfill their requirements. The Smith family been loyal to us for years and the one time they fail I’m supposed to eliminate them?”

I met her eyes. She was being realistic.

She’d loved my father once, before she understood the cost.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” She leaned back. “Because I’ve seen that look before. On your brother’s face, right before he tried to leave.”

The words hit like a fist.

“I’m not Marco.”

“No. You’re smarter. More careful.” She paused. “But you’re still your father’s son. And that means you have to play by his rules.”

Before I could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway.

My father entered the room.

Antonio Moretti.

He just stood at the head of the table, checking his watch.

“We leave in twenty minutes. The meeting with Mathilda Armstrong can’t wait.”

I nodded.

His eyes narrowed. “You look tired. Don’t embarrass me today.”

“Sure.”

He glanced at his phone. “The Castellano situation is escalating. We need Mathilda’s full cooperation to move our operations through her channels. I don’t want excuses from her today.”

I’d heard this speech before. Verizon Industries—the perfect front. Legitimate on paper. Useful for everything else.

My father made another call, switched to Italian, and walked out still talking.

My mother watched me over her coffee cup.

“Sentiment is expensive,” she repeated softly. “Don’t forget that.”

I stood. “I won’t, mum.”

Lucia appeared in the doorway, hair messy, wearing an oversized sweater.

“There you are!” She bounced into the room. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Well, you should’ve been louder about it.” She flopped into the chair across from me, tucking her legs under her. “Are you coming to my recital next week?”

“What recital?”

“Piano. Cassius c’monI told you about it like three times.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been distracted lately.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You’re always busy.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

I envied her. She didn’t have to deal with so many obstructions.

The drive to the office was tense silence.

My father scrolled through his phone, making calls in rapid Italian. I watched the city pass by.

“The Brooklyn deal.”

I tensed.

“What about it?”

“You rejected it.”

“The terms were bad. Fifteen percent over market rate for half the territory. We’d be losing money.”

“We’d be gaining presence.”

“Presence doesn’t matter if we’re bleeding capital.”

My father’s jaw tightened. “I told Luca to move forward with it.”

“And I told him to wait for my review. It’s a bad deal.”

“It’s my decision.”

“You put me in charge of expansion. That includes vetting deals, so let me do my job.”

He turned to look at me fully. “Since when do you question my judgment?”

“Since you asked me to run this side of the business. You want me to lead, let me lead. You want me to follow orders, then say that.”

The car went silent.

“Two weeks,” he said finally. “You have two weeks to find a better deal. If you don’t, we take Brooklyn on my terms.”

“Fine.”

But I knew what it meant. My father was testing me. Seeing if I’d bend or break.

The car pulled up to Verizon Industries.

I put on my mask.

Time to be the heir again.

We made our way to Mathilda’s office. My father, two of his men, and I.

She sat behind her desk, clearly expecting us.

“Antonio. Cassius.” She smiled. “Right on time.”

“We need the eastern routes opened by next month,” my father said without preamble. “The shipments are backing up.”

“The eastern routes are being watched. DEA has been sniffing around.”

“Then make them stop sniffing.”

Mathilda’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m not a miracle worker, Antonio. I’ve already paid off three inspectors this quarter.”

This was routine for them. Their money did the talking. Their network opened impossible paths.

Everyone profited.

Except for the law.

“I can reroute through the southern channels,” Mathilda continued. “But, as usual, it’ll cost more.”

“How much more?”

“Fifteen percent increase in transport fees.”

My father’s jaw tightened. “That’s excessive.”

“That’s the market rate for risk.” She leaned back. “You need me, Antonio. My company provides legitimacy. Without it, you’re just another crime family the feds can shut down.”

True. And she knew it.

“What about the northern route through Jersey?” I said. First time I’d spoken.

Both turned to me.

Mathilda considered. “Possible. But the Castellanos have been operating there.”

“Then we push them out,” my father said flatly.

I kept my expression neutral. The last thing we needed was more violence. It’s a never-ending cycle.

Mathilda pulled out a folder. “I’ve secured contracts with three city council members. They’ll approve everything you need for the new development project.”

It wasn’t a development project. It was a warehouse for the distribution of all their products. It’s supposed to serve as a central hub for all Moretti products.

“The building permits are already falsified,” she continued. “As far as the city knows, you’re building affordable housing.”

My father smiled. “Excellent.”

She slid a document across her desk. “My fee.”

The number was obscene.

My father didn’t blink. “Done.”

I watched the exchange with familiar disgust. This was my world.

Mathilda Armstrong was as corrupt as they came. She was untouchable because she was smart. Everything she did was technically legal on paper.

Her eyes shifted to me. “I saw you have new hires this quarter.”

Why did she care about new hires?

“Yes. It’s standard recruitment.”

“Anyone… notable?”

Something in her tone made me alert. “Should there be?”

She smiled. “Just curious. I like to know who’s in my building.”

“Are we done?” my father asked, interrupting.

“For now.”

We left.

In the hallway, my father’s expression darkened. “She’s getting too comfortable. Too expensive.”

“She’s also necessary.”

“For now.” The way he said it was ominous.

I knew what that meant. Eventually, they’d replace her. Or something worse.

That’s how this worked.

No one was irreplaceable. It was a matter of who played their cards right.

I finally got to my office at ten-thirty.

Alone. Finally.

A stack of emails awaited me.

One caught my eye. From my father, marked confidential.

Subject: Regarding the S.S. Incident — 26 Years Ago

I opened it.

“We still haven’t recovered what was taken. The Castellanos are proving stubborn again. If they find out we lost it because of S.S.‘s betrayal, they’ll use it against us. Find out if there’s any remaining connection to S.S. in the building. Eliminate loose ends.

I read it twice.

S.S.—someone or something my father clearly blamed for something major. Twenty-five years ago. Before I was even born.

Something was stolen or lost. The Castellanos knew about it. They knew they could use it as leverage. Explains why we haven’t made any immediate moves on them.

And my father wanted “loose ends eliminated.”

That meant killing anyone connected.

I didn’t know who or what S.S. was. Some old family business gone wrong, I presumed. But “25 years ago” and “in the building” meant it involved the company.

Someone who worked here. Someone who betrayed the Morettis.

And apparently got away with it.

I closed the email.

I didn’t have time to dig into old grudges. Not when current threats were pressing.

I checked the time. 11:00 AM.

Sienna would be at her desk by now.

I wanted to see her.

I found reasons to walk past her floor.

Told myself it was a coincidence when it clearly wasn’t.

She was at her desk. Head down, focused.

She looked better than last week. Still grieving, but holding together.

I admired that.

She didn’t see me. I just watched from afar.

When I looked at her, the mask slipped. I wasn’t the heir. Wasn’t Cassius Moretti with all that weight?

Just Cassius.

A man who wished he could be normal.

A coworker approached. “Mr. Moretti, do you need something?”

“No. Just passing through.”

I walked away.

But glanced back once.

Sienna was watching now.

Our eyes met briefly.

Then she looked away.

Sienna was an interesting person. Not because of who she was, but because of what she made me want and how she made me feel when I opened up. Maybe it was the moment I craved and not her.

A shot at freedom, a different life.

And in my world, wanting that was weak and dangerous.

It got you killed.

Noon brought another meeting.

My father and other Moretti associates discussed the Castellano problem.

They were encroaching on our territory. Moving product through routes we controlled.

“We hit them hard,” my father said. “Make an example.”

“Where?” one of the men asked.

“Their distribution center in Brooklyn, we will burn it.”

“That’ll start a war,” I said.

Everyone looked at me.

“We’re already at war,” my father snapped.

“A cold war. You’re talking about making it hot.”

“And?”

“And that means bodies. Police attention. Fed attention. That’s the last thing we need.”

His eyes narrowed. “Since when are you afraid of attention?”

“I’m not. I’m being strategic.”

“You’re being soft.”

The room went quiet. Challenging Antonio was dangerous. Even for his son.

I held his gaze. “I’m being smart. We have other options.”

“Like?”

“Cut their supply chain. Bribe their contacts. Economic pressure.”

He considered. “You think that’ll work?”

“It’s cleaner.”

After a long moment: “Fine. You have a few weeks. If it doesn’t work, we do it my way.”

I nodded.

Small victory.

But temporary.

Violence was always the answer eventually.

After the meeting, one of the men pulled me aside.

“You’re making your father look weak.”

“I’m keeping us out of a war.”

“Same thing in his eyes.”

Warning received.

I was walking a tightrope. Defy him too much, and I’d be replaced.

Or worse.

Two o’clock.

I’d made a decision.

Pulled out my phone. Stared at it for a full minute.

This was reckless. I did it anyway.

Walked to Sienna’s desk.

She looked up, surprised.

“Hey.” Easy smile in place. “How are you doing?”

“Better. Thank you for everything.”

“Of course.” I paused. “Listen, I know you just got back, but… would you want to grab coffee tomorrow afternoon? Just to catch up?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Great. I’ll swing by then?”

“Sounds good.”

Walking away, I felt lighter. Like I could breathe again.

One conversation with her and the weight lifted.

Even temporarily.

She was worth it.

Six PM.

My phone rang as I was leaving the office.

My father.

“Where are you?”

“Leaving.”

“Come to the estate. We need to discuss the Castellano response.”

“I thought we agreed on my plan.”

“We did. Doesn’t mean I trust it. Get here. Now.”

He hung up.

I sat in my car, exhausted.

The day had been long. Playing the heir. Making deals.

All of it felt hollow.

I thought about Sienna. About coffee tomorrow.

The way she made me feel human.

But my father was waiting.

The life I wanted versus the life I had.

They were incompatible.

Eventually, I’d have to choose.

Or the choice would be made for me.

I started the car. Drove toward the estate.

Away from the city.

But every time I saw her, I understood why he’d tried.

Some things were worth dying for.

The question was: was I ready to find out if she was?

I arrived at the estate.

I walked in and found him alone this time, standing by the window with a glass of scotch.

“The Brooklyn deal,” he said without turning around. “You embarrassed me today.”

“I prevented us from making a bad investment.”

“You questioned my judgment in front of the men.”

“You put me in charge of expansion. I was doing my job.”

He turned then, eyes cold. “Your job is to do what I tell you.”

“Then why give me the title? Why not just make me another soldier?”

“Because you’re my son. My heir. But that doesn’t mean you’re ready.”

The words stung more than I wanted to admit.

“I’m twenty-six. Marco was running half the operation at my age.”

“Marco is dead.” His voice was flat. “Because he thought he knew better than me. Thought he could make his own rules. In the end, he got himself killed because he overstepped, wasn’t ruthless enough and our enemies got him.”

“I’m not trying to make my own rules. I’m trying to keep us profitable, is that not what you want?”

“Two weeks,” he repeated. “Find a better deal or we take mine. And Cassius?”

“Yes?”

“Stop second-guessing me in front of the men. I won’t tolerate it again.”

I nodded. “Understood.”

“Good. Now get out. I have calls to make.”

I left.

In the hallway, I loosened my tie, breathing hard. This was my life. Every decision is scrutinized. Every move was questioned. Every action is measured against my dead brother’s mistakes.

I decided to leave for home and checked my phone.

Six missed calls from an unknown number. I found that odd. I would’ve ignored it till the next day, but six certainly left some curiosity.

Then I got a text:" You’re Marco’s brother, aren’t you?

Taken aback, I called immediately.

“Who are you?” I said angrily.

A pause. The voice sounded older and raspy.

“I don’t have much time left, and I can’t die with what I know. Your brother deserved better. Meet me, and I’ll show you why.”

I relaxed a bit. “What is it you want?”

“Meet me at an old Yorkshire warehouse. I can’t say much on the phone.”

“I don’t trust you, I can’t put myself at risk here. How about my Uncle's restaurant? I countered. “It’s down the city block.”

“It’s too risky for me, I can’t put myself on unknown grounds.”

I paused a bit. Suspicious but more curious.

“Okay fine, the warehouse it is.”

“Good, I’ll be waiting.”

I left the estate immediately.

It arrived at the warehouse about twenty minutes later. The building was abandoned, windows shattered, graffiti scarring the brick walls. My headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating rusted equipment and scattered debris.

Part of me knew I was walking into a trap, but the other part didn’t care. I needed answers.

I checked my firearm, loaded it, and tucked it under my blazer.

A man gestured to me from inside the warehouse. He was alone as far as I could tell.

I approached slowly. Eyes scanning the surroundings as I entered.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said.

He was much older than I expected. Probably in his late fifties or sixties. He looked sick, with pale skin and very hollow eyes.

“Tell me what you know, I shouldn’t be seen here,” I said anxiously.

He handed me an envelope. “I don’t have direct info regarding your brother’s death but this should help, it traced back to this individual.”

I took the envelope. “Why are you helping me?” What’s in it for you and who are you?”

“Someone who doesn’t have much time left. I can’t go out without telling someone what I’ve found, I know at least you’d act on it. Everyone I know would rather have me dead.”

“Why?” I pressed.

“Doesn’t matter now." He murmured. “Just open it.”

I opened the documents. Inside were family photos, financial trails. I flipped them quickly and then slowed as the pieces connected.

My breath stopped.

It makes sense now, it makes so much sense now. The reason certain businesses backfired and were hijacked before the movement.

Mathilda Armstrong.

She was not only behind some of these shady deals collapsing, but she was also a Castellano by birth.

I stood there, envelope in hand, heart pounding.