Erased From The Frame: Runaway Bride

Seven days before I was set to marry the most feared Mafia Don in the country, I was asked to step out of my own wedding photos. Because my shadow was ruining the shot. The photographer then took ninety-nine pictures—of my fiancé and my adopted sister. When I refused to give up the master suite meant for a wife, the man I loved called me ungrateful. He abandoned me at a remote compound to take her to a nail salon. So three days before the ceremony, I returned his keys, his ledgers, and his world. I left a single note: 'Thank you.' Eight years later, I came back home—and found him waiting for me on the same road where he once left me behind. He promised to wait forever. He broke that vow in the worst way possible. And I never even heard the crash.

Chapter 1

Gia POV

Exactly seven days before I was supposed to marry the most terrifying Mafia boss in the country, I stood in the boutique's grand mirror, the weight of the bespoke gown pressing down on my shoulders. I turned my head toward the viewing area, only to find my adopted sister's hands intimately adjusting my fiancé's silk tie.

The official Family photographer snapped their picture and casually asked me to step out of the frame because my shadow was ruining his perfect shot.

I stood there frozen in my heavy, bespoke bridal gown.

The white silk clung to my skin, suddenly feeling less like a celebration and more like a burial shroud.

Dante was the Don of our syndicate.

He was a man who had slaughtered an entire rival cartel at the age of twenty-two just to claim his throne.

He exuded a dark, dangerous energy that made grown men drop their gaze the second he walked into a room.

As soon as he entered a room, even the forty- and fifty-year-old capos would instinctively extinguish their cigars and stare down at the toes of their own shoes. His wealth was incalculable, and his possessive nature was a bloody legend in the underworld.

But right now, all of that dark, consuming attention was focused entirely on Sienna.

Sienna smiled up at him, her hands delicately smoothing the lapels of his custom dark suit.

The boutique stylist—a low-level Family associate who was visibly trembling from Dante's overwhelming presence—rushed forward with a velvet tray of diamond cufflinks.

The stylist offered the tray directly to Sienna.

She completely bypassed me as if I didn't even exist.

"Which ones do you prefer for the ceremony, future Queen?" the stylist asked Sienna, her voice shaking with reverence.

Sienna did not correct her.

She simply picked up a pair of onyx cufflinks and held them up to Dante's broad chest.

Dante looked down at Sienna, a slow, indulgent smile touching the corners of his mouth.

It was a smile that used to belong solely to me.

Silvio, a Family Soldier who had grown up with me and was now acting as our official photographer, was entirely consumed by his task. He stepped backward, his shoulder brushing against the heavy tulle of my dress as he fought for a better angle.

The contact was solid, yet he registered nothing, his eye pressed firmly to the viewfinder.

The shutter clicked rapidly.

One. Ten. Fifty. Ninety-nine.

I counted the blinding flashes of light.

Every single shot featured Sienna and Dante.

I was completely erased from the frame of my own life.

The air in my lungs grew thin, and a familiar, dull ache settled behind my ribs.

The scar on my left knee began to throb, a faint, phantom pain from a memory long-since buried. I was seven when I'd shoved her out of the way of a falling vase, taking the shards of porcelain in my own skin. That was the first secret I had swallowed for her. Then came my dolls, my dresses. Now, it was my husband.

Dante finally turned his head and noticed me standing in the shadows of the corner.

His dark eyes swept over my wedding dress, but there was no heat in his gaze.

There was only a cold, detached impatience.

He walked over and casually pulled my bridal bouquet right out of my hands.

"Go review the guest list of Capos and Underbosses," Dante told me, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. "Sienna and I need to finalize the visual archives for the press."

I stared at my empty hands, my fingers still curled around stems that were no longer there.

Silvio lowered his camera and looked at me with a vague, distant air, his focus still on the play of light in the room.

"Apologies, Gia. Could you move a little to the left?" Silvio asked, his tone calibrated only to the needs of his lens. "The way the light falls on them is much better over there."

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

I was a ghost haunting my own Mafia wedding.

I silently turned around and walked toward the fitting room.

I unzipped the heavy gown myself, my fingers clumsy and numb against the delicate fabric.

I changed back into my everyday jeans and sweater.

I grabbed my purse from the velvet chair and walked toward the heavy glass doors of the heavily guarded boutique.

The security chime rang loudly as I pushed the door open.

I paused on the cold sidewalk.

I waited for Dante's deep voice to call my name.

I waited for Silvio to run out and apologize.

I turned my head and looked through the expansive glass window.

The three of them were laughing.

Sienna was holding my bridal bouquet, posing intimately against Dante's chest, while Silvio adjusted his camera lens.

Then, Sienna turned to the trembling stylist. I could not hear the words, but I saw the imperious gesture, the smooth, commanding shape her mouth made. "Have the bridal gown packed and sent to my penthouse. I will keep it safe."

No one even noticed I was gone.

I climbed into my armored SUV and locked the doors, the heavy click sealing me in.

My phone vibrated in the cup holder.

It was a message from the Consigliere's wedding coordinator.

'Your sister has altered the security detail and the floor plan for the venue. Shall I proceed with her changes? We also need a decision on the invitations.'

Before I could type a response, another text popped up.

'On second thought, perhaps Sienna should make the final selection. Her taste in modern design is so much more refined.'

I stared at the glowing screen, the harsh light burning my tired eyes.

I typed back a single sentence.

'Let her handle it.'

I smiled a bitter, hollow smile, knowing the planner was likely breathing a sigh of relief.

My phone pinged with a notification from our encrypted Family group chat.

Silvio had uploaded the high-resolution photos from the fitting.

I opened the folder.

Image after image of Sienna and Dante filled the screen.

They looked powerful. They looked exactly like the Don and his Queen.

I let out a dry, raspy laugh that scraped against my throat like sandpaper.

I used to dream of this grand Mafia wedding.

I believed our Blood Oath would secure my place in his ruthless world.

I thought my silent loyalty would finally be rewarded with his love.

I put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb, leaving them behind.

When I walked into my penthouse twenty minutes later, the first thing I saw was the stainless steel refrigerator.

A bright yellow sticky note was pressed against the gleaming door.

'7 Days to the Wedding.'

I reached out, peeled the note from the steel, and dropped it into the kitchen bin. It landed softly on a bed of coffee grounds, its bright yellow a stark contrast to the dark, discarded dregs of the morning.

I stared at the crumpled note lying among the coffee grounds, and for the first time, the countdown did not fill me with anticipation. It filled me with a quiet, unfamiliar dread.

Something inside me had begun to crack—and I did not yet know if I wanted to stop it from shattering.