The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride

Three days before the wedding.

I was hiding in the dressing room, watching my fiancé caress the swollen belly of another woman.

Luca, the man who had saved my life five years ago, was smiling at his mistress, Sofia. But the real knife to the heart wasn't the affair—it was the dress.

The custom wedding gown he had "lovingly" ordered for me featured intricate silver embroidery along the hem.

It didn't spell Elena.

It read Sofia.

He was planning to make me walk down the aisle wearing his mistress's name.

Later that night, I found a video of him mocking me to his crew, calling me a "dead fish" and admitting he only wanted my family's Capo status. He planned to keep his "true love" on the side while I played the role of the oblivious, ornamental wife.

He thought I was just a sheltered princess. He forgot that my bloodline was built on vengeance.

I didn't cry. I didn't confront him. Instead, I scrubbed his scent off my skin and dialed a number everyone in Chicago feared.

"The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked my father, my voice cold as stone. "Is it still valid?"

"Dante is the Underboss now," my father warned. "He is a butcher. He breaks men for sport."

"Good," I replied. "I am done playing with boys."

I secretly booked the Gold Ballroom across the hall from my original venue. Luca thought he was walking into a marriage on Saturday.

He didn't know I was bringing a monster to the altar instead.

Chapter 1

Elena Vitello POV

I stood in the dressing room of Chicago's finest bridal boutique, my nails digging into my palms so hard the pain was the only thing keeping the nausea at bay.

My finger hovered over the call button on my phone.

Through a gap in the velvet curtains, I watched the man I loved caress the pregnant belly of another woman.

My reflection in the gilded mirror mocked me. Twenty-two years old. Daughter of a don. Raised to be a prize. But the sickness climbing up my throat wasn't fear. It was the taste of gunpowder and ash.

I pressed the phone to my ear.

Papa answered on the first ring.

"The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked. "Is it still valid?"

Silence on the other end. But it was the kind of silence that had weight. That pressed down.

"Elena?" my father asked.

"That contract was signed when you were a child."

" Dante Cavallaro is Underboss now. "

"He has a reputation. Broken bones and early graves. He would tear a boy like Luca apart without a second thought. "

"Why are you asking me this three days before your wedding?"

"Because I'm done playing with boys, Papa. Call the Godfather. Tell him the Vitello daughter accepts. I'm marrying Dante Cavallaro on Saturday."

I hung up before he could argue.

My heart hammered against my ribs, but my hands were steady.

The boutique was empty, cleared out for the princess of the Vitello family. But in the corner, standing by the display window, was Luca Moretti.

My fiancé.

One of my father's soldiers. The man who had pulled me from a burning warehouse five years ago.

And he was speaking in low, urgent tones to a woman with dark hair and a swollen belly.

Sofia.

She was everything a made man was not supposed to have. A mistress. A liability.

I watched Luca kiss her forehead, a tenderness he rarely showed me anymore. He pressed a thick roll of cash into her hand, his eyes darting toward the dressing rooms where he thought I was buried in tulle.

I stepped out of the alcove. The chandeliers in the boutique blazed to life above me, a spotlight for the stage.

The boutique owner rushed toward me, pale as paper.

"Miss Vitello," she stammered. "There's been a problem with the embroidery."

"Move."

She scrambled aside.

I walked to the mannequin that held the gown Luca had ordered for me.

It was beautiful. A waterfall of lace and seed pearls. Expensive. Opulent.

And then I saw the hem. Delicate silver thread woven through the white fabric.

It didn't say Elena.

It said Sofia.

Luca turned. He saw me standing there, staring at his whore's name stitched into my wedding dress. His eyes went wide.

"Elena," he said, the lie smooth as oil. "It's a mistake. We can postpone. Order a new one."

He came toward me, arms open, blocking my view as Sofia scurried out the back door like a rat.

I let him hug me.

I breathed in the cheap perfume that clung to his jacket, the scent of her. My stomach lurched.

"Everything okay, Principessa?" he asked, kissing the top of my head.

"Everything is perfect, Luca," I lied, pulling back to look into his eyes.

Traitor's eyes.

I looked at the dress again. "Keep the name," I said softly, my gaze flicking over Luca's shoulder to the terrified shop owner. "Box it up. Seal it. I don't want anyone to see it before the wedding. Not even Luca."

Luca frowned. "What?"

I smiled. "Nothing. I was just telling her I want everything exactly as you planned."

Luca's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, a flicker of something—pleasure—crossing his face. Sofia.

He made his excuses and left.

I turned to the receptionist.

"I need to book the Gold Ballroom for Saturday."

"But Miss Vitello, you already have the Silver Ballroom reserved. For your wedding to Mr. Moretti."

"I know," I said, placing my black card on the marble counter. "The bride in the Silver Ballroom won't be me. The Gold Ballroom is for the man I'm actually marrying."