Her Mafia Father’s Wrath

I turned towards the voice and saw a striking man standing in the doorway. Four bodyguards in black suits flanked him from behind.

He wore a tailored charcoal-gray suit that day. At nearly six-foot-three, he stood out in any crowd, and his face looked like something straight off a magazine cover.

If I had to find something to criticize, it was the icy coldness in his eyes when he looked at me.

He strode into the room, and his leather shoes made a dull, heavy sound against the marble floor.

“Nicole,” he said, his voice laced with impatience. “I told you to come here to try on the wedding dress. How could you start a fight in public and cause such a scene?”

Nicole’s expression shifted instantly. She pouted and put on a wounded face. “Leon, she started it! She cursed at me first, and then she even tried to take the dress away from me!”

I studied the man in front of me. “So you’re Leon?” I asked. “My soon-to-be husband?”

“Yes, I’m Leon Scott,” he said, turning to face me. His voice came out cold.

I opened my mouth to introduce myself. “Nice to meet you, I’m—”

He raised his hand and cut me off. “Don’t bother. I have zero interest in who you are.”

I nearly questioned my own hearing — surely I hadn’t heard that right.

I was the only daughter of the Moretti family, the most cherished princess of the New York underworld.

Yet, my fiancé had the nerve to talk to me like that before the wedding even started? Unbelievable!

“Leon,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm despite the fire burning in my chest. “I know we’ve never met before, and I know this marriage was arranged by our fathers. But cutting me off mid-sentence like that—don’t you think that’s a little rude?”

My words wiped the indifference off his face. He gave me a sidelong glance, and a mocking smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “Rude? Rosalina, take a good look at yourself in the mirror. Do you honestly think you deserve someone like me?”

His eyes swept over me from head to toe—the knit sweater, the jeans, the flat shoes.

In a room filled with haute couture gowns, I did look like a tourist who had wandered in by accident.

He let out a cold snort. “Let me make this crystal clear. If my father hadn’t forced me to marry you, I wouldn’t even spare you a second glance—a nobody with no background and no talent, just a pretty face.”

He raised his voice on the last few words, as if he wanted everyone in the room to hear. “And don’t get it twisted—marrying into the Scotts doesn’t make you one of us. I will never touch you. Not now, not ever.”

I knew he had no idea who I really was. And I had no interest in arguing with him.

I waved my hand dismissively, and a faint smile even tugged at my lips. “Since you’ve made yourself so clear, I won’t push it. But there’s one thing—there’s no point in going through with our upcoming wedding, is there?”

I had hoped we could part ways peacefully. But this man wouldn’t listen. He probably thought I was just throwing a tantrum.

“Rosalina, don’t play hard to get with me!” He stepped forward and towered over me. “Do you have any idea how many women in New York are dying to marry into my family?”

Instead of getting angry, I laughed. “Leon, I don’t care what other women want. I just don’t want anything to do with you. And as for your precious Scott family—all I can say is, they mean nothing to me.”

The moment the words left my mouth, the entire fitting room erupted.

“Oh my God, this girl is insane! She actually spoke to Mr. Scott like that—is she out of her mind?” one of the shop assistants covered her mouth in disbelief.

“No kidding. Leon is every woman’s fantasy in New York—rich, good-looking, tall, and built. And this clueless woman doesn’t even understand how fortunate she is—she’s been handed the chance of a lifetime!” another assistant chimed in with a shake of her head.

“I’d wear a trash bag if I had to, as long as I got to marry into the Scott family,” someone else muttered under her breath. “That’s like winning the lottery!”

The whispers kept coming from every direction, but I didn’t care.

In New York, the Scott family was indeed a prominent name. Their business empire stretched across the entire country. But in the face of absolute power, all that money was just numbers on a page.

I still remembered Anthony Scott—Leon’s father, the family patriarch, the titan of industry who commanded respect in every boardroom—bowing and scraping in front of my father.

He had promised, with his hand over his heart, that Leon would take good care of me.

He probably had no idea yet that his son, with his own hands, had just destroyed the one connection that could have elevated the Scott family to heights they had never dreamed of.

“Rosalina!” Leon’s voice shot up an octave, and a flicker of genuine anger finally showed in his eyes. “I’m asking you one last time. Do you really want to call off the wedding?”

I met his gaze without flinching. Then I gave a slow, firm nod. “Absolutely.”