In The Wrong Mafia Don's Bed

Isabella POV I stared at the pale, terrified stranger in the mirror. The Vera Wang gown was a masterpiece of ivory silk and delicate lace, but as it clung to my skin, it felt like a beautiful, heavy shroud. The bridal suite was choked with the scent of hundreds of white roses, their sweet perfume so thick it made my stomach turn. "Breathe, Bella," Francesca murmured, stepping up behind me. Her own gown rustled softly against the thick carpet. She reached out, her fingers wrapping tightly around my freezing hands. "No matter what happens today, we are in this together. You aren't alone." I met her fierce gaze in the mirror and gave a fragile nod. Our mother, Catherine, hovered near the door, her eyes red-rimmed as she adjusted my veil in silence. There were no words left. In this gilded cage, Frankie and I only had each other. Before we could leave for the cathedral, my father summoned me to his study. The room was dim, smelling of old leather and the stale cigars from last night's ruined negotiations. Richard Griffin didn't offer a hug or an apology. Instead, he pushed a thick stack of legal documents across his mahogany desk. "Your four-million-dollar trust fund, the deed to the Gold Coast apartment, and the title to your pink Bentley," he said, his voice hollow and defeated. "The Morettis demanded a dowry. Sign them over, Bella." I picked up the heavy gold pen. As I signed my name on the dotted lines, the last illusion of my childhood shattered. I wasn't a beloved daughter walking down the aisle; I was a four-million-dollar down payment. A piece of collateral handed over to appease monsters. The ride to Holy Trinity Cathedral was a suffocating procession of power. Frankie and I sat in the back of a stretched white Rolls-Royce, our hands locked together in a death grip. Outside the tinted windows, the streets of Chicago had been entirely cleared. We were flanked by a dozen black bulletproof Cadillacs. Every few yards, a Moretti soldato in a dark suit stood like a grim sentinel against the morning chill. It wasn't a wedding parade. It was a prison transfer, a brutal display of dominance meant to warn the Kramer family and the rest of the city that the Griffins had been swallowed whole. When the heavy oak doors of the cathedral finally opened, the stained glass cast fractured, bloody light across the cold marble floor. I walked down the long aisle on my father's arm, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. At the altar stood my future. Leo Moretti looked bored, shifting his weight with the faint, irritable sheen of a hangover on his handsome face. He didn't even bother to pretend he wanted to be here. Beside him stood the Don. Damien Moretti met my gaze as I approached, his bottomless black eyes sweeping over me with absolute, chilling contempt. The curse I had whispered to the Virgin Mary in this very church echoed mockingly in my mind: Whoever marries him is truly cursed. I looked at Frankie, my heart breaking for the nightmare she was walking into. The priest's voice droned on, solemn and heavy. I exchanged rings with Leo, the cold metal sliding onto my finger like a shackle. "I do," I whispered. The words tasted like ash. In the eyes of the law and God, I was Isabella Moretti. The moment the ceremony concluded, the fragile alliance Frankie and I had formed this morning was brutally severed. Leo immediately turned away from me, walking toward his smirking friends without a backward glance. A few feet away, Damien stepped forward. His presence was suffocating as he claimed Frankie, his hand wrapping around her arm with a ruthless, undeniable grip. They were separating us. As we were ushered out of the cathedral and toward the waiting cars that would take us to the Moretti Estate, I realized I was stepping into the dark completely alone.