In The Wrong Mafia Don's Bed

Damien POV

*"But God isn't the one who needs to hear what I actually want in a husband."*

Isabella Griffin’s naive, spoiled voice echoed faintly off the vaulted ceilings of the cathedral as she walked down the main aisle with her associate.

I remained perfectly still in the suffocating shadows of the side chapel. I hadn't come to Holy Trinity to eavesdrop on the pathetic prayers of a ruined family's daughter, but her sheer audacity kept me rooted to the spot. A liability. That was what I had called her at the gala, and listening to her now only cemented the fact.

"I'm serious, Nina," Isabella continued, her heels clicking against the marble. "If I have to marry, he must be breathtaking. Built like a Greek god. And he needs to be filthy rich, because I have expensive tastes."

A dark, cynical amusement twisted in my chest. The Griffin empire was crumbling into dust, yet this pampered princess was still dreaming of fairy tales.

"And loyalty," Isabella’s voice grew sharper, echoing back to me. "Absolute loyalty. If he ever dares to take a mistress, I’ll take him to the cleaners. I’ll leave with half his fortune and move into the biggest, most luxurious estate in Chicago."

I stepped out of the alcove just as the heavy oak doors of the cathedral shut behind them. *Shameless.* She was a delusional, gold-digging child who understood nothing of our world. In the *Famiglia*, marriage wasn't born of love or loyalty; it was a brutal transaction of blood and power. Whoever ended up shackled to that foolish girl would be dragged straight to hell by her sheer ignorance.

Dismissing the irritating encounter, I turned and headed for the side exit.

The biting March wind whipped through the stone cloister as I stepped outside. I reached into my tailored coat for my keys, but my instincts flared a fraction of a second before the shadows detached themselves from the ancient pillars.

Six men blocked the narrow walkway. *Enforcers.* My Enforcers.

I stopped, my posture instantly shifting into the lethal stillness that demanded absolute obedience. "What is the meaning of this?" I asked, my voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register.

From the center of the group, Luca stepped forward. My most trusted Soldier. His face was a blank, unreadable mask, but his hands were empty of weapons.

"Forgive me, Don Moretti," Luca said, his tone devoid of its usual deference. "But I come with orders from Elena."

My jaw tightened. My grandmother. The Matriarch and the sole Elder of the Moretti family.

"Tomorrow," Luca continued, his eyes meeting mine without flinching, "you will marry Francesca Griffin, the eldest daughter of the Griffin family."

A cold, violent fury surged through my veins. "I am the Don," I commanded, the absolute authority of my title lacing every syllable. "Stand down, Luca. Now."

No one moved.

"The Matriarch invoked the Old Law," Luca stated, referencing the sacred, ancient decree that allowed an Elder to force a union if the family's survival or bloodline was at stake. It was a law older than the Chicago Outfit itself, a mandate that even a Don could not easily shatter without inciting a civil war.

For a fraction of a second, the sheer audacity of my grandmother's maneuver distracted me. I calculated the political fallout, the sudden, desperate alliance with the decaying Griffins.

That split second of distraction was all Luca needed.

He moved with the terrifying speed that had earned him his rank. Before I could draw my weapon, he was behind me. A thick cloth, reeking of a potent chemical sedative, was clamped brutally over my mouth and nose.

I reacted instantly, driving my elbow backward into his ribs, hearing a satisfying crack. But the Enforcers swarmed, pinning my arms with heavy, coordinated precision. I held my breath, fighting the iron grips holding me down, but the fumes were already burning my eyes, seeping into my bloodstream.

My vision blurred, the stone arches of the cloister spinning wildly.

"We have men at the club right now," Luca grunted near my ear, struggling to keep the rag over my face as my knees finally buckled. "They are grabbing Leo. He weds the younger sister, Isabella."

A dark, bitter laugh died in my throat as the drug dragged me under. Isabella Griffin wanted a loyal Greek god. Instead, she was getting my degenerate, playboy brother.

The darkness swallowed me whole, sealing my fate for the night.