His Unwanted Wife: The True Mafia Queen

Emily POV

The master suite of the Collins Estate felt less like a bridal chamber and more like a high-altitude vault. Heavy, dark velvet curtains blocked the New York skyline behind bulletproof glass, suffocating the room in shadows. I stood in the center of the opulent Italian rug, the weight of my haute couture wedding gown dragging at my shoulders.

Jacob Collins, the newly minted Don of the family, didn't even spare me a glance.

He stood by the door, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp shirt. The faint, jagged outline of a wolf tattoo peeked out from his collar, a brutal reminder of the blood he had spilled to take the throne.

"Don't mistake this ring for reality, Emily," his voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. "Diana Rodriguez might have forced this political theater to keep me on a leash, but I don't play by the Commission's strings. Stay out of my way, and we won't have a problem."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out, heading down to the basement to manage his private military company. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing my isolation.

Britney, my fiercely loyal Soldier who had been standing rigidly in the corner, let out a sharp breath. Her hand hovered over the concealed holster beneath her skirt. "He dares humiliate the Golden family like this? On your wedding night?"

"Let him go, Britney," I said smoothly, moving toward the vanity to unpin my heavy diamond veil. "A Don who feels cornered is unpredictable. Besides, we have bigger problems waiting for us at sunrise. Exa and Gwen won't let a new Mafia Queen breathe without a test."

I was right.

The next morning, the test arrived in the form of Joleen, Gwen Collins's trusted associate. She stood in the doorway of the master suite, her chin tilted in a feigned, arrogant apology.

"The Elder and Mrs. Gwen are suffering from severe migraines," Joleen announced. "The traditional Family Coffee is canceled. You are to remain in your suite today, Mrs. Collins."

House arrest. A blatant attempt to erase my authority on day one and lock me away like a forgotten collateral.

Britney's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with lethal intent. I placed a gentle, restraining hand on her arm.

"How unfortunate," I smiled at Joleen, my voice dripping with aristocratic sympathy. "Ashlynn, please escort Joleen back to the West Wing. Make sure she arrives safely."

Ashlynn, my shadow guard, slipped out from the periphery. Her demure, quiet smile perfectly hid her lethal training. "Of course, Ma'am."

The moment the door closed behind them, my smile vanished. I walked over to the heavy, gold-cornered custom case sitting next to my dowry safe. I popped the locks. Inside, resting against black velvet, were six custom Glock micro-pistols.

I picked one up, the cold steel grounding me, and handed it to Britney. "Load them."

Ten minutes later, Ashlynn slipped back into the room. "Four guards in the corridor, two inside the lounge. The door is heavy mahogany with an electronic lock, but the deadbolt is old and rotting."

"Perfect." I smoothed the skirt of my pristine morning dress. "Let's go greet my mother-in-law."

We moved silently through the sprawling corridors toward the West Wing. Outside Gwen's private lounge, I paused. Through the thick wood, Gwen's voice rang out-clear, vigorous, and entirely devoid of a migraine.

"...forced to accept a Consigliere's pampered granddaughter," Gwen was complaining bitterly, "while Doris gets to parade Julianne around the Main Estate like she owns the place!"

I gave Ashlynn a single nod.

Ashlynn didn't hesitate. She raised her leg and delivered a brutal, calculated kick right at the locking mechanism. The wood splintered with a deafening crack, the rusted deadbolt snapped, and the heavy double doors crashed open.

Before the dust could even settle, Britney and my maids surged into the room. In perfect unison, they drew their Glocks, leveling the black muzzles with terrifying precision at Gwen's stunned security detail. The guards froze, their hands hovering uselessly near their weapons, completely outmaneuvered.

Gwen sat paralyzed on her expensive leather sofa, an espresso cup trembling halfway to her lips.

I stepped over the splintered wood, my posture immaculate, my smile warm and entirely lethal.

"Good morning, Mother-in-law," I said softly, the silence of the room amplifying my voice. "I heard you were unwell, so I decided to bring the Family Coffee to you."

Emily POV

The silence in Gwen's private lounge was deafening, broken only by the ragged breathing of her stunned security detail. Britney's Glock remained perfectly leveled at the head of the lead guard, her finger resting lightly on the trigger.

Gwen sat frozen on the leather sofa, her face pale, her eyes darting between the splintered mahogany of her doors and the black muzzles pointed at her men. She opened her mouth, likely to scream for the rest of the West Wing Soldiers, but a calm, weary voice cut through the tension.

"Enough."

The inner door to the bedroom clicked open. Al Collins stepped out. My father-in-law possessed the elegant, silver-streaked features of a man who had chosen peace over power. He didn't look at the guns. He looked directly at his wife.

"If you call for reinforcements, Gwen, the gunfire will echo all the way to the Main Estate," Al said, his tone mild but carrying an undeniable weight. "Doris and Exa will hear of this humiliation before the blood even dries. Do you really want to give them another reason to laugh at us?"

Gwen's jaw snapped shut. Her hands curled into tight fists in her lap.

Al briefly met my eyes-a look of quiet surprise at my ruthless methods-before he respectfully stepped back, adhering to his strict rule of never interfering in the women's wars.

I smiled and raised a single finger.

In perfect unison, Britney and my maids lowered their weapons, though their stances remained lethally alert. I stepped further into the room, my heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor.

"He is right, you know," I said, my voice dropping to a smooth, conversational murmur. "Why give the Main Branch more ammunition? Look around you, Gwen." I gestured to the room. "Your son is the Don. He holds the power of life and death over New York. Yet Exa keeps you caged in the West Wing with rotting deadbolts and downgraded security, while Doris and Julianne parade through the Main Estate like royalty."

Gwen's face flushed, the raw truth hitting her where it hurt most.

"Exa despises your Thornton blood," I continued, circling the sofa like a predator assessing its new ally. "She thinks your family's heavy artillery and street tactics are beneath her. She favors Doris's old money and legitimate disguises. But I am a Golden. I have the political machinery and the aristocratic bloodline you lack." I stopped in front of her, holding her gaze. "Stop fighting me. Let me be your weapon. Ally with me, and within two years, I will throw Doris out and hand you the keys to the Main Estate."

Gwen stared at me, her chest heaving. The resentment she had harbored for years finally found a proper target. The realization dawned in her eyes-I wasn't a pampered Consigliere's granddaughter sent to replace her. I was the blade she desperately needed.

She stood up, her posture stiffening with renewed pride. Without a word, she walked over to a hidden wall safe behind a painting. Her hands trembled slightly as she spun the dial. She pulled out a heavy, flawless emerald bracelet-a priceless family heirloom-and walked back to me.

With surprising gentleness, Gwen fastened the cold stones around my wrist. It felt like a pact sealed in blood.

"Joleen," Gwen snapped, her voice ringing with authority.

Joleen, who had been cowering near the doorway, scrambled forward. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Prepare the Family Coffee immediately. And send an encrypted blast to all Capos and core members," Gwen ordered, her eyes locked on mine. "Tell them the Mafia Queen is receiving guests."

I gave Ashlynn a subtle nod.

In a blink, the Glocks vanished beneath the folds of their skirts. Britney's lethal glare dissolved into a soft, submissive gaze. Ashlynn lowered her head, her posture instantly morphing into that of a fragile, demure maid.

Gwen blinked, utterly bewildered by the seamless transformation. She looked from my perfectly innocent maids to the splintered mahogany on the floor, her brow furrowing. "How did the door..."

"It seems the West Wing is severely underfunded," I said, my voice dripping with aristocratic concern as I adjusted the emeralds on my wrist. "The deadbolt was completely rotted through. It simply gave way when Ashlynn leaned on it."

Gwen looked at the rusted metal on the floor. Her eyes darkened with fresh, venomous hatred-not for me, but for the Elder who had denied her the funds to maintain her home.

Emily POV

Gwen's dark look at the rusted metal shifted into a frantic, calculating gleam. She realized the weapon she now held in me.

"We are holding the Family Coffee," she declared, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and newfound resolve. "If the estate finds out Jacob spent his wedding night at his underground base instead of your bed, the West Wing will be a laughingstock. We need to show them a united front."

Minutes later, Gwen dragged Al and me through the sprawling corridors to The Elder's Suite. Fronnie, Exa's stone-faced Enforcer Maid, blocked the heavy oak doors before reluctantly letting us in.

Exa was just finishing her morning prayers. She didn't bother to rise, her sharp, cloudy eyes cutting straight to Gwen. "A Don who flees to his soldiers on his wedding night speaks volumes," Exa sneered, her voice like dry leaves. "But to maintain the Collins' facade before the Commission, I will host this ritual. Just remember, Gwen-never complain to me about my favoritism toward the Main Branch again."

Gwen swallowed her rage, nodding stiffly.

By the time we relocated to The Grand Parlor, the air was suffocating with expensive perfume and silent judgment. The core women of the family were gathered, waiting for blood.

When Kiana approached me, the room held its breath. Jacob's infamous mistress stood tall, her striking features radiating arrogance. I maintained a perfect, aristocratic smile and offered her a custom silk scarf. Instead of the explosive tantrum everyone expected, Kiana accepted it obediently, handing me a small brooch in return. We didn't exchange a single word. She didn't need to insult me-in her mind, Jacob's absence last night proved I was nothing but a neglected collateral. She thought she had already won.

I excused myself to the Estate Kitchens to prepare the final offering.

When I returned half an hour later, the parlor was thick with tension. I later learned that Julianne, my ambitious widowed sister-in-law, had tried to mock my "illness" and the delayed ritual. But Gwen, fueled by our new alliance, had viciously invoked Diana Rodriguez's name. *The Commission ordained this Mafia Queen,* Gwen had snapped, using the ultimate authority of the Capo dei Capi's wife to choke Julianne into pale-faced submission.

I approached Exa's velvet high-back chair, carrying a silver platter.

"A traditional Sicilian Cassata, Elder," I murmured. As I leaned in to serve her, my fingers brushed the hidden underside of her heavy wooden table for just a fraction of a second.

Exa took a delicate bite. She froze.

For three agonizing seconds, the cloudy film over Exa's eyes vanished, replaced by a raw, naked bloodlust. She stared at me as if deciding how to dispose of my corpse. I held her gaze, my smile serene and entirely unyielding. The faint, unmistakable scent of bitter almond extract lingered between us-the exact, untraceable poison Exa had used to assassinate a rival Capo decades ago. My grandfather's intelligence network was flawless.

Exa swallowed. The murderous glint vanished behind a mask of grandmotherly warmth.

"Exquisite," she announced, her voice echoing through the silent parlor. "Emily is the undisputed Mafia Queen of this family. Her authority over the estate's internal affairs is absolute."

Julianne turned ashen. Kiana's smug smile shattered into pure panic. Al Collins narrowed his eyes, sensing the invisible blade I held to his mother's throat.

After the ritual concluded, I walked back with my in-laws through the dim West Wing Corridor.

"You did well," Gwen whispered nervously, glancing around to ensure we were alone. "Now, give me back the emerald bracelet. It's registered in the Main Estate's ledger. If Exa finds out I gifted it without her permission, I'll face severe Family Law."

I paused, my fingers lightly tracing the cold, heavy stones on my wrist. I looked at Gwen, letting her own words hang in the air. She had just handed me the loaded gun.

"Return it?" I asked softly, my voice dripping with innocent confusion. "But Gwen, the Elder was so fond of me today. I plan to visit The Elder's Suite quite often to pay my respects. I'm sure she will admire this beautiful heirloom on my wrist."

Gwen's breath hitched. The color drained from her face as the realization hit her.

Al let out a low, defeated sigh beside her. "She has a direct line to the Elder now, Gwen," he murmured, his eyes fixed on me with a new, wary respect. "And she's wearing the physical evidence of your treason."

I offered them a flawless curtsy and turned away, the emeralds heavy and secure on my wrist, as I made my way up to the Master Suite.