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The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride
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The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride Novel Cover

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.
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Chapter 9

Elena Vitello POV

The limousine was silent. My father sat across from me, his face carved from stone.

He wore an impeccable suit, but the cut couldn't hide the bulge of a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

"Are you sure, Elena?" he asked for the tenth time. "Once this is done, there's no going back. The Morettis will be shamed. It could start a war."

"Let them try," I said, smoothing the skirt of my dress.

It wasn't the gown Luca had ordered. This was something else. Elegant. High-necked. Long-sleeved. Made of lace imported from France.

It was a dress for a woman. Not a girl.

We pulled up to the hotel. A crowd had gathered.

Photographers. Guests. Onlookers.

The door opened. I stepped out. Flashbulbs exploded, a million tiny lightning strikes that blinded me for a moment.

Then I heard it. A voice.

"Elena! You're early!"

Luca was running down the stone steps.

I had to admit, he looked handsome in his tuxedo.

But it was a hollow handsomeness. An empty shell.

He stopped short. His eyes landed on my dress. Confusion flickered across his handsome features.

"That's not... where's the dress I bought you?" he frowned.

Before I could answer, a taxi screeched to a halt at the curb. A white figure launched herself out.

Sofia. Wearing the dress. My dress.

The one with her name on the hem.

She threw herself at Luca, sobbing. "Luca! You can't do this! You can't marry her! Look! Look at the dress! You bought it for me! It has my name on it!"

She lifted the hem, shoving the embroidery in his face.

"See? Sofia! You love me!"

The crowd went silent.

Cameras clicked frantically, a mechanical roar eating up every second of the scandal.

Luca's face went white. He stared at the name stitched in silver thread. Comprehension dawned. Too late.

"Sofia, what the hell are you doing here? Get out!"

She clutched his lapels. "But our baby! You said you loved me! You said she was just a business deal!"

"You put my name on the dress!"

I stood there. A still island in the storm.

My father moved to my side, his hand firm on my arm.

Luca looked at me. Panic flickered in his eyes. He looked from the damning embroidery to my face, trying to piece it together. But his arrogance blinded him.

"Elena, this... she's crazy... I don't know..."

I looked at him. Then at Sofia, crumpling to the ground, the white tulle of my stolen dress pooling around her like a shroud.

"I'm not here for you, soldier," I said, loud enough for the reporters to hear.

Luca blinked.

"What?"

Sofia scrambled up. "If I can't have you, no one can!" she shrieked.

She turned and ran. Straight for the massive stone pillar at the hotel entrance.

It was too theatrical. Too pathetic.

She hit the pillar with her shoulder, not her head. She crumpled, screaming, "My baby! My baby!"

Luca looked at me. Then at Sofia.

He made his choice.

He ran to her.

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