His Unwanted Wife: The True Mafia Queen

Emily POV

The master suite of the Collins Estate felt less like a bridal chamber and more like a high-altitude vault. Heavy, dark velvet curtains blocked the New York skyline behind bulletproof glass, suffocating the room in shadows. I stood in the center of the opulent Italian rug, the weight of my haute couture wedding gown dragging at my shoulders.

Jacob Collins, the newly minted Don of the family, didn't even spare me a glance.

He stood by the door, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp shirt. The faint, jagged outline of a wolf tattoo peeked out from his collar, a brutal reminder of the blood he had spilled to take the throne.

"Don't mistake this ring for reality, Emily," his voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. "Diana Rodriguez might have forced this political theater to keep me on a leash, but I don't play by the Commission's strings. Stay out of my way, and we won't have a problem."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out, heading down to the basement to manage his private military company. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing my isolation.

Britney, my fiercely loyal Soldier who had been standing rigidly in the corner, let out a sharp breath. Her hand hovered over the concealed holster beneath her skirt. "He dares humiliate the Golden family like this? On your wedding night?"

"Let him go, Britney," I said smoothly, moving toward the vanity to unpin my heavy diamond veil. "A Don who feels cornered is unpredictable. Besides, we have bigger problems waiting for us at sunrise. Exa and Gwen won't let a new Mafia Queen breathe without a test."

I was right.

The next morning, the test arrived in the form of Joleen, Gwen Collins's trusted associate. She stood in the doorway of the master suite, her chin tilted in a feigned, arrogant apology.

"The Elder and Mrs. Gwen are suffering from severe migraines," Joleen announced. "The traditional Family Coffee is canceled. You are to remain in your suite today, Mrs. Collins."

House arrest. A blatant attempt to erase my authority on day one and lock me away like a forgotten collateral.

Britney's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with lethal intent. I placed a gentle, restraining hand on her arm.

"How unfortunate," I smiled at Joleen, my voice dripping with aristocratic sympathy. "Ashlynn, please escort Joleen back to the West Wing. Make sure she arrives safely."

Ashlynn, my shadow guard, slipped out from the periphery. Her demure, quiet smile perfectly hid her lethal training. "Of course, Ma'am."

The moment the door closed behind them, my smile vanished. I walked over to the heavy, gold-cornered custom case sitting next to my dowry safe. I popped the locks. Inside, resting against black velvet, were six custom Glock micro-pistols.

I picked one up, the cold steel grounding me, and handed it to Britney. "Load them."

Ten minutes later, Ashlynn slipped back into the room. "Four guards in the corridor, two inside the lounge. The door is heavy mahogany with an electronic lock, but the deadbolt is old and rotting."

"Perfect." I smoothed the skirt of my pristine morning dress. "Let's go greet my mother-in-law."

We moved silently through the sprawling corridors toward the West Wing. Outside Gwen's private lounge, I paused. Through the thick wood, Gwen's voice rang out—clear, vigorous, and entirely devoid of a migraine.

"...forced to accept a Consigliere's pampered granddaughter," Gwen was complaining bitterly, "while Doris gets to parade Julianne around the Main Estate like she owns the place!"

I gave Ashlynn a single nod.

Ashlynn didn't hesitate. She raised her leg and delivered a brutal, calculated kick right at the locking mechanism. The wood splintered with a deafening crack, the rusted deadbolt snapped, and the heavy double doors crashed open.

Before the dust could even settle, Britney and my maids surged into the room. In perfect unison, they drew their Glocks, leveling the black muzzles with terrifying precision at Gwen's stunned security detail. The guards froze, their hands hovering uselessly near their weapons, completely outmaneuvered.

Gwen sat paralyzed on her expensive leather sofa, an espresso cup trembling halfway to her lips.

I stepped over the splintered wood, my posture immaculate, my smile warm and entirely lethal.

"Good morning, Mother-in-law," I said softly, the silence of the room amplifying my voice. "I heard you were unwell, so I decided to bring the Family Coffee to you."