Mafia King's Pretend Wife

Elena De Luca always knew that blood would be the end of her life.

She just didn't think she'd have to go down the aisle to get there.

The heels of her Louboutin stilettos sounded like gunshots as they echoed along the marble hallway of her father's house, the Palazzo De Luca, which was on the edge of the Amalfi Coast. The emerald necklace her mother gave her hung around her neck like a noose. Her face looked like a porcelain mask, and her spine was straight.

She was the perfect mafia bride to anybody who saw her: elegant, calm, and quiet.

In?

She was already on fire.

Four soldiers stood behind her like a funeral procession. The chapel doors were open ahead, and they were gleaming with golden light.

Her wedding was waiting.

To a man she didn't love.

To a man who might kill her.

Dante Callahan, the Butcher King of the West Syndicate. American. Irish blood. Mafia royalty with a body count longer than a shipping manifest. The man who'd turned Chicago's underworld into an empire. He was ruthless. Cold. Calculating.

And now, he was her husband-to-be.

A political marriage, they'd said. To unite empires. To terminate the blood feud between the De Lucas and the Callahans.

But Elena wasn't a pawn.

She was a ticking bomb.

And this marriage would be her implosion.

Thirty Minutes Earlier

"Elena. Sit down.

Her father's voice was as cutting as the dagger tucked inside his suit jacket. Alessandro De Luca stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of Chianti in hand. The Mediterranean water gleamed behind him like an insult.

Elena remained standing. "I said no.

Across the room, her mother, Isadora, flinched.

Alessandro turned slowly. "You don't get to say no.

"I'm not marrying a murderer.

"You are," he responded calmly, "or I'll hand your mother over to the Marquette family myself."

Elena's mouth went dry.

That name. Marquette.

They weren't just enemies. They were butchers in fancy outfits. And they didn't take prisoners.

"You wouldn't, she muttered.

Her father shrugged. "Try me.

Isadora cried out, "Please, Elena. Just... survive. That's all that matters.

Elena gazed at her mother, then back at the guy who had sold her future like stock in a bankrupt firm.

"Why him?

"Because Dante Callahan is the only one who can protect what's left of our name," Alessandro remarked. "Because the Marquettes are circling like wolves. Because your sibling was too weak to live. And because you, my daughter, were born a De Luca. Not a dreamer. Not a romantic. A weapon.

Elena's fists clenched.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to run.

But she didn't.

Because her mother's eyes were begging.

And because behind every confined woman in this world was another woman who had already paid the price.

So Elena nodded.

And sealed her fate.

Present

The music swelled.

Organ. Latin chorus. Bells.

Dante stood at the altar like a statue carved from vengeance. Black suit, black shirt, no tie. Not even the priest dared instruct him how to dress.

His eyes fixed onto hers as she came into the chapel.

Sharp. Unforgiving.

And hungry.

They didn't blink. Didn't smile.

Didn't pretend.

It wasn't love at first sight.

It was war at first glimpse.

Elena reached the altar. Alessandro stood between them, hands folded.

"By the power vested in this bloodline," he added, not bothering with the priest, "we now bind the houses of De Luca and Callahan."

Dante reached out his hand.

Elena took it.

His skin felt heated.

His grip was steel.

"Do you, Dante Callahan, take Elena De Luca as your wife, under the protection of the old codes and the law of blood? Alessandro intoned.

"I do, Dante answered, without looking away from her.

"Elena?

She stared up at him.

Into the eyes of a killer.

And nodded.

"I do.

Alessandro stepped back. "Then the oath is sealed.

They kissed.

It wasn't gentle.

It was possession.

Later That Night The honeymoon suite was nothing like what Elena envisioned.

No rose petals. No soft jazz. No champagne.

Just silence, and the sound of the lock turning behind them.

She stood in the center of the room, still in her bridal gown. Dante placed his jacket on the bed and loosened his cuffs.

"You're quiet, he said.

"I'm calculating.

He raised his brow. "Care to share?

"How long before you decide to kill me like you did the Marquette heir?

Dante turned. Slowly.

"I didn't kill him, he said. "I just made him wish I had.

"Comforting.

He walked toward her, unhurried. "You don't like me.

"I don't know you.

"That'll change.

"And if I don't want it to?

"You made a vow.

Elena's jaw constricted. " Under duress.

Dante stopped just short of her. He smelled like smoke and leather and blood-soaked fabric.

"Do you think I wanted this?" he said gently. "A De Luca wife? Tied to the same bloodline that ordered the hit on my mother?

Elena flinched.

Dante didn't miss it.

"Thought you'd know, since your father signed the papers.

"My mother had nothing to do with it, she responded, voice harsh.

"And you?

"I was sixteen.

"Sixteen old enough to hold a gun.

She stared at him. "I didn't kill your mother.

He gazed back. "And I haven't killed you. Yet.

Midnight

Elena couldn't sleep.

The suite was very cold. The sheets are very slick. The man in the opposite room was too dangerous.

She got up, barefoot, and wandered onto the balcony. The sea stretched eternally before her.

Below, two armed guards walked the grounds.

Behind her, she felt him approach.

"You always walk around in silk and defiance? Dante asked.

She didn't turn. "You always sneak up on your wife?

"I prefer 'observe.'

"Is that what this marriage is to you? A game of observation?

"No. It's a power play.

She turned now. "Then here's your first lesson: I'm not a pawn.

Dante stepped closer. "You're a queen in the wrong castle.

"And you're a king with a throne built on bodies.

"Better than bones.

She tilted her head. "Not by much.

They glanced at each other.

Something electrifying went between them.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something more deadly.

A recognition.

"I have rules, he added.

"So do I.

"You don't lie to me. You don't spy for your father. And you don't run.

Elena smirked. "You'll have to catch me first.

Dante smiled.

Not warm.

But real.

Three Days Later, Callahan Estate, Chicago

The private jet touched down at midnight. Elena marched into her new dominion with a spine of steel.

The Callahan Estate was a fortress draped in velvet.

Security at every exit. Marble halls, steel doors, and a staff that bowed without eye contact.

Dante's empire was efficient. Silent. Deadly.

And cold.

No family portraits. No laughs. Just the fragrance of power.

"You'll sleep in the west wing," Dante replied, guiding her down a secluded passageway. "You have the right to request security or deny it. Luca handles operations. You'll meet him tomorrow.

"And if I decide I want to leave?

Dante hesitated.

"You're free to walk out the front door.

"And the sniper on the roof?

"He's not as forgiving as I am.

"Good to know.

He opened the door to her suite.

Lavish. Clean. Empty.

Like her future.

"I don't want your silence," she added as he turned to go. "Or your threats.

He looked back. "Then what do you want, Elena?

She didn't blink. "The truth.

He grinned slightly. "Be careful what you wish for, Mrs. Callahan.

And suddenly he was gone.

Meanwhile-Unknown Location

A screen flickered.

Grainy security film aired on repeat, Elena in her bridal gown, standing by Dante. Accepting his kiss.

A man watched from a leather chair, cigarette smoke swirling around him.

His face was buried in shadow.

"Beautiful, isn't she? a voice purred next to him.

Celeste Marquette strode into the light, dressed in crimson like war.

"She's more than that," the man murmured. "She's the key.

Celeste raised a brow. "You think she doesn't know?

"She hasn't yet. But she will.

He stood, adjusting his ring.

"She's not a De Luca. Not truly. And once she knows the truth... she'll burn them all.

Celeste smiled.

And the screen went black.