The Underboss's Secret: A Mafia Bride's Escape
For three years, I was Dante Moretti's secret. I was the Underboss's property, the cure for a violent curse that plagued him. He promised that if he wasn't married by his twenty-fifth birthday, I would be his bride.
But on the eve of that birthday, he ended our arrangement. He brought home another woman, Sienna, and introduced me as "the help."
Sienna, with feigned innocence, knocked a precious memento from my hand, shattering it. When I confronted her, Dante slapped me twice in public, the humiliation searing my soul.
Later, I discovered Sienna had framed me for kidnapping her, a lie Dante readily believed. To force a confession, he had my mother tied in a sack and thrown into the freezing lake to drown. He left her there to die.
That was the moment the girl who loved him died, too. I saved my mother, and we fled the country, seeking refuge with my childhood friend, Julian.
I thought I had escaped. But then Dante appeared in Australia, begging for forgiveness. I rejected him, choosing a future with Julian. I thought it was over.
Until a car, driven by a vengeful Sienna, barreled towards us. The last thing I saw was Dante throwing himself in front of me, taking the full impact.
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Chapter 4
Elara POV:
My mother survived, but only just. The doctor at the public hospital said the shock and icy water had blossomed into severe pneumonia. She was fragile, tethered to a web of tubes and monitors. The rhythmic, anxious beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the sterile room.
I sat by her bedside, holding her hand, consumed by a guilt so heavy it felt like I was still at the bottom of that dark water. This was my fault. My stupid, blinding love for Dante had brought this upon her.
My mother's eyes fluttered open. She looked at me, her gaze clear and sharp despite her weakness.
"It wasn't your fault, tesoro mio," she whispered, her voice a raspy thread. "I knew what he was. I just hoped... I was wrong." She squeezed my hand, a flicker of her old strength returning. "We leave. As soon as I can walk, we leave this city and never look back."
The door opened and Dante walked in. He looked utterly out of place in his thousand-dollar suit against the backdrop of peeling paint and scuffed linoleum floors. He carried a bouquet of lilies, their cloying, funereal scent instantly filling the small room.
"I'm sorry about what happened to your mother," he said. The words were a formality, hollow and cold. His gaze held no remorse, only the cold calculus of suspicion, as if he were still weighing how I was to blame.
I didn't answer.
Later that day, desperate for a reprieve from the antiseptic quiet, I went to the hospital cafeteria for coffee. As I rounded a corner, I heard a familiar, saccharine voice. It was Sienna, talking on the phone in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. I ducked behind a large potted plant, my heart beginning to hammer against my ribs.
"Grandma, it worked perfectly," she chirped. "He thinks she's a jealous psycho. The kidnapping story was genius. He'll put a ring on my finger, and the Moretti empire will be ours."
My blood turned to ice. Every piece clicked into place with sickening clarity. She had orchestrated everything.
Sienna ended her call and turned, her eyes landing directly on me. A smile of pure venom bloomed on her face. She knew I'd heard.
Her gaze flickered past me to her grandmother, an elderly woman I hadn't noticed, sitting in a wheelchair a few feet away. In a flash, Sienna's expression morphed into one of theatrical panic. She rushed forward, grabbed my hand, and yanked it toward her grandmother's wheelchair. With my hand forced onto the handle, she gave the chair a violent shove.
The wheelchair tipped, sending the old woman tumbling into a decorative fountain in the center of the lobby.
"Help!" Sienna screamed, her voice shrill with manufactured terror. "She pushed my grandmother! Somebody help!"
Dante appeared as if summoned, his face a thundercloud. He saw Sienna sobbing over her drenched, sputtering grandmother, and he saw me, standing frozen, my hand still outstretched from where Sienna had forced it.
He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate.
He strode over to me, his rage absolute.
"You venomous bitch," he hissed.
The first slap cracked across my face, snapping my head to the side. The sting was sharp, electric. Before I could recover, the second one came, just as hard. The public humiliation was a brand, searing itself into my soul. The lobby had gone silent, all eyes on us-a jury of strangers.
"Apologize to her," he commanded, his voice low and shaking with fury.
I met his gaze, the taste of blood on my tongue. Something inside me, something that had been drowning, broke the surface.
"No."
A nurse who had been watching from the reception desk discreetly slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand as Dante dragged a hysterical Sienna away. On it was a phone number. Below it, two words: I have video.