The Mafia's Forbidden Bride

Two years later,

The De Luca Annual Charity Gala came again. It was an event hosted yearly by the De Lucases in honor of my parents to raise funds for charity events. From the top of the grand staircase, I paused, staring at the scene before me. Golden light spilled from chandeliers, scattering across polished marble and gowns that glittered like spilled jewels. A string quartet played in the corner.

At one end of the room stood the hosts-Alessandro and his wife, cloaked in grace and authority, shaking hands and offering practiced smiles. Every guest wanted time with them as if the family's approval was currency. One word from them could build or ruin empires.

Over the years, Don Alessandro had built an empire for himself in both the business and the mafia world. He was a force to be reckoned with. A man to be feared.

I exhaled slowly, tightened my grip on the railing, and took my first step down the stairs. It wasn't my first rodeo and certainly won't be my last. I adjusted the slit of my gown-a deep emerald satin that clung to my skin like sin. The kind of dress that dared people to look twice. My hair was swept up, my lipstick dangerous, all thanks to Serafina. She wanted me to be the star of tonight.

When I walked down the stairs, the air shifted. Heads turned. Whispers followed.

But I only search for one gaze-Matteo. While recalling the words he spoke to me 14 years ago. Don't look down.

He stood across the room, tuxedo pressed to perfection, jaw tight, glass untouched in his hands. For a moment, his mask slipped, and the hunger in his eyes nearly undid me.

Then he blinked, and the mask was back. Cold. Controlled.

For a while, I had noticed the changes in our dynamics ever since he returned to Italy. Gone were the innocent sibling bonds we once shared. Things were tense between us. To others, we were perfect siblings, polished and untouchable, but behind closed doors, everything was shifting. My personal training and study sessions turned into lingering touches and subtle flirting. Arguments flared into silences thick with something we dared not name. And the way he hovered-too overprotective, too quick to dismiss any man who so much as looked my way-it was as if he was claiming me without saying a word.

He met me at the bottom of the stairs, offering his arm. "You're late. You shouldn't linger," he murmured, his voice low enough for me to hear.

My lips curved in a teasing smile. "Why? Afraid someone else might notice me?"

"They already have." His jaw flexed. "And I don't like it. Let's go greet our parents."

Possessive. Always possessive.

I wanted to argue, to throw his hypocrisy in his face, but before I could, we were joined by another figure.

Damian Russo.

Heir to one of the ruthless families in Italy, and the De Lucas' greatest ally-or rival, depending on who was talking. His black suit was sharp enough to slice through glass, and his jet-black hair was styled to perfection.

"Well," Damian drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Look who we have here. The De Luca princess."

His eyes lingered on me for a beat before sliding deliberately to Matteo. "And their prince."

Matteo's arm stiffened beneath my hand. tension rolling off him in waves, though his jaw remained locked, unreadable. His stillness was deceptive-like a predator calculating when to strike.

"I don't think we've met, princess." Damian's smile widened as though he had just been handed the evening's entertainment. He gave a short bow, hand pressed to his chest. "I'm Damian. Pleasure to meet you."

I offered him a small, polite smile, my voice softer than I intended. "Same here."

The music swelled around us-violins quickening into a waltz. Damian straightened, his eyes never leaving mine, bold enough to challenge Matteo's silence.

"Would you grant me the honor of this dance," he asked smoothly, extending a hand toward me, "if you aren't... otherwise busy?"

I gasped, heat rising to my cheeks. My eyes darted to Matteo. His gaze was locked on Damian, his lips pressed into a tight line. He appeared calm and collected, but I knew better. I could feel the storm beneath that façade; the restraint he clung to with white knuckled precision

I should have declined. Every bone in my body told me to say no. But a reckless part of me wanted to prod Matteo's armor and watch it crack.

"Why not?" I said lightly, loosening my hand from Matteo's.

At that moment, a guard came, leaned close, and whispered into his ear. His jaw tightened as his gaze shifted to where his parents stood with Bryan Vincenzo, their Consigliere, and a young lady draped in pearls and satin. The picture was enough to sour my mood. There had been talks of an impending marriage to seal alliances. Matteo, ever defiant, had been stalling-rejecting several dates. But his parents, especially his father, had been relentless.

I felt my chest tighten, though I forced my features into calm neutrality.

Damian caught on instantly, his smirk widening as if the whole thing amused him. He leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"Don't worry, you can go on. She's in safe hands."

Matteo's eyes cut to him, cold and sharp as blade. "I don't think that'll be necessary-"

I slid in quickly, cutting him off. "Don't worry." I said softly, taking Damian's outstretched hand. "Seems like Dad needs your presence."

He blinked at me, surprised at my action. A thousand unspoken words passed between us in that silence.

I turned to Damian with a smile that didn't really reach my eyes. "Let's go."

The music swelled around us as Damian guided me into the dance. His hand was steady at my waist, his movements fluid. the dance was easy but no sparks. He talked, teased, even made me laugh at points, but my mind kept straying-kept finding Matteo.

Across the floor, he was done talking with his parents. He was with her. The young elegant lady with perfect posture. Every bit the woman his parents would approve of. I caught the flash of her hand on his arm, the way she tilted her hand to smile at him. And though Matteo's expression was schooled into stoic indifference, I felt the sting all the same.

I forced a laugh at something Damian said, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.