The Dead Bride's Vicious Mafia Comeback
A year ago, my husband Marco traded my life for a political alliance.
I watched his mistress's taillights fade into the dark as the freezing waters of Lake Michigan swallowed me whole.
They called my drowning a tragic accident and burned a fake body before anyone could demand an autopsy.
Tonight, Marco is marrying that same mistress, Isabella, in a lavish ballroom filled with Chicago's underworld elites.
They even conceived a child during my mourning period, a deadly sin in our traditional Mafia family.
They thought I was rotting at the bottom of the lake, completely forgotten.
But they didn't know I had survived, bleeding through brutal underground training just to crawl my way back.
When the wedding venue plunged into darkness and a single spotlight hit me standing there in a white mourning gown, Marco dropped his glass.
"Arabella? No... you're dead," he choked out, his face draining of blood.
Isabella shrieked, looking like she had seen the devil himself.
Did they really think a little water could wash away our sacred vows?
They stole my life, my name, and my family, expecting me to stay a compliant ghost forever so they could secure their power.
I smiled coldly as I handed the Mafia Don a decree of absolute protection from The Commission.
I am Arabella Stark, and my vendetta only ends when they drown in their own blood.
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Chapter 8
Seraphina POV
The metallic click of the lock echoed in the Formal Dining Hall, sealing the room like a vault. Isabella stood frozen in the center of the wreckage, the reality of her cage finally settling over her.
I picked up my porcelain coffee cup, the rim still warm, and glided toward her pale, trembling form.
"Welcome to your new home, Isabella," I murmured, my voice a velvet whisper meant only for her ears. "The Starks' most expensive prisoner."
The words snapped the last fragile thread of her sanity. She lunged at me, though the Stark guards instantly restrained her by the arms.
"You think this will hold me?!" she shrieked, her voice tearing through the heavy silence, pointing a manicured finger at the entire Stark family. "If I am ruined, I swear to God I will drag this entire family to hell with me! I'll tell the Falcones! I'll go to the FBI! Your laundered accounts, the smuggling at the docks—" She whipped her wild, venomous eyes toward her cowering fiancé. "And you, Marco! I'll tell them exactly how we orchestrated your bitch of a wife's 'accidental' drowning!"
The threat of breaking Omertà—the ultimate, unforgivable sin in our world—sucked the oxygen straight out of the room. Marco violently flinched, his face turning the color of ash. Lena Stark's jaw clenched so hard I thought her teeth might shatter. Isabella's madness had struck the Starks' most vulnerable nerve.
"Take her to the east wing guest room," Don Silas ordered, his voice a deadly, flat rumble. "Lock her in."
As Isabella's hysterical screams faded down the corridor, Lena rounded on me, her eyes flashing with pure hatred. "Look what you've done! For your pathetic Vendetta, you've dragged this entire family to the brink of war!"
I didn't flinch. I took a slow sip of my coffee, letting the bitter liquid coat my tongue. "You are wrong, Lena. The Morettis will not start a war. At least, not right now."
The room stilled. I met Don Silas's heavy gaze, laying out the intel Enzo 'The Ghost' had secured for me. "Their youngest daughter is currently finalizing a marriage contract with the heir of the New York Falcone family. That alliance is the only way the Morettis can secure the East Coast weapon routes. They will absolutely not let Isabella's scandalous out-of-wedlock pregnancy ruin that deal." I set my cup down, the clink sharp against the saucer. "A Don always sacrifices a princess to save his kingdom."
Silence stretched across the remnants of breakfast. Don Silas tilted his head, his dark eyes assessing me not as a nuisance, but as a calculated asset. Beside him, Aunt Francesca offered a faint, approving smirk. Lena opened her mouth to argue, but found she had no ammunition left.
By late afternoon, the anticipated Moretti retaliation arrived—not with an army, but with a single black SUV. Carmela Moretti, Isabella's mother, was escorted inside by two heavily armed Soldiers.
I remained in my suite, letting my loyal maid, Sofia, act as my eyes and ears. When Sofia returned, her voice was a hushed whisper as she recounted the brutal meeting in the guest room.
"Isabella threw herself at her mother, crying to go home," Sofia reported, folding my evening shawl with trembling hands. "But Donna Carmela slapped her. Hard. She told Isabella her stupidity had jeopardized the entire family's future. She ordered her to stay here, to have the child, and act as a hostage to buy the Morettis time."
A cold satisfaction bloomed in my chest. Isabella had finally realized she was nothing but a disposable pawn.
"But there is more, Signora(Madam)," Sofia added, her eyes darkening with worry. "Donna Carmela held her and made a promise. She said, 'Endure, my daughter. I promise you, before this child is born, I will let you watch that Valeriano bastard return to the hell she belongs in.'"
I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror. Isabella hadn't been soothed by the promise. According to Sofia, she had screamed that she didn't want to be a breeding mare—she wanted to kill me with her own hands, so Marco could propose to her over my dead body.
The blood pact was sealed. The Morettis' intent to assassinate me was no longer a shadow; it was a certainty.
I stood up, smoothing the dark, expensive fabric of my dress. Carmela Moretti's visit was concluding. I walked out of my suite and headed toward the Grand Foyer to watch the Moretti matriarch depart.
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9.3
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8.9
My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin.
7.8
⚠️ DARK ROMANCE CONTENT WARNING
This is a very dark mafia romance intended for mature readers (18+).
It contains a morally gray anti-hero, obsession, possessiveness, emotional manipulation, explicit sexual content, and disturbing adult scenes.
If you crave danger, obsession, and morally complicated passion, this dark romance will grip you-but reader discretion is strongly advised.
Convinced that Rosa had drugged him to crawl into his bed, Italian Don Luciano Mancini took her supposed betrayal as a blow to his pride. He served her divorce papers without hearing a single explanation-and exiled her not only from his home, but from the country itself.
Years later, Rosa returned with a secret.
Their son was dying.
Diagnosed with high-risk acute lymphoblastic leukemia, the boy needed a stem-cell transplant from a biological sibling to survive. And to make that possible, Rosa had to conceive again-with the one man who despised her.
Her ex-husband.
Luciano Mancini.
But Rosa refused to reveal the real reason for her return.
Getting pregnant by a devil was never going to be easy-especially when that devil hated her. She hadn't stolen his seed before... but this time, she was ready to commit the sin if it meant saving her child.
Seeing his ex-wife again-no longer innocent, no longer obedient-awakened something Luciano had never felt for any woman. He wanted her and...
he wanted to own her this time.
But Rosa was already slipping beyond his grasp.
Because Dr. DeLuca, the man treating her son, was in love with her. He was willing to accept her in any condition-even if she carried her ex-husband's child once more.
When life finally offered Rosa safety, love, and a future free from cruelty...
why would she ever return to the Italian Don?
Except Luciano Mancini isn't going to let her go.
No one takes what belongs to him.