In The Wrong Mafia Don's Bed

Isabella POV

The scent of melting wax and ancient myrrh in Holy Trinity Cathedral usually brought me peace. Today, it only fueled the bitter fire burning in my chest.

I knelt before the marble statue of the Virgin Mary, the cold stone biting into my knees. It was early March, and the Chicago wind howling outside matched the turmoil I'd carried since returning from my forced exile in Europe.

My fingers trembled as I lit a votive candle. The flickering flame mirrored the flash of cameras from that disastrous night last fall at The Drake Hotel.

I closed my eyes, but the memory was a relentless loop. The charity gala. The suffocating scent of expensive perfume and illegal champagne. Victoria Kramer, the spoiled princess of our rival family, standing in her pristine white silk gown, loudly mocking the Griffin family's crumbling empire. She had deliberately outbid me on a sapphire necklace that once belonged to my late mother, her voice dripping with venom about my father's failing bootlegging routes.

I hadn't planned it. But the sight of her smug smile had snapped the last thread of my restraint. The crystal goblet of Bordeaux in my hand had tipped, the dark red liquid splashing across Victoria's bodice like a fresh bloodstain.

The ballroom had erupted. A public vendetta waiting to happen.

And then, he had stepped in.

Damien Moretti.

The Don of the Chicago Outfit. The undisputed king of the city's underworld.

When Damien moved, the room didn't just quiet down; it stopped breathing. He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't even looked at Victoria. He had simply walked up to me, his tailored black suit absorbing the chandelier's light, his eyes as dead and freezing as Lake Michigan in midwinter.

He looked at my father, who was already sweating, and delivered his verdict with a voice that left no room for appeal.

"Uncontrolled. A liability."

Three words. That was all it took for the Don to strip away my dignity. Three words that branded me a foolish, reckless girl in front of the entire Chicago elite, forcing my father to ship me off to Florence the very next morning to avoid the Moretti family's wrath and a potential war with the Kramers.

"I hate him," I whispered to the Virgin Mary, my voice echoing faintly in the cavernous nave.

I gripped the wooden rail of the kneeler, my knuckles turning white. "Damien Moretti is a cold-blooded monster. He ruined my life over a spilled glass of wine. He has no heart, no soul."

I stared into the painted, compassionate eyes of the statue, my chest heaving with a toxic mix of anger and helplessness. In our world, a Don's word was absolute law. But here, in the sanctuary of the church, I could speak my truth.

"Whoever marries him is truly cursed," I hissed, the venom tasting bitter on my tongue. "She will be chained to a corpse."

A sudden, chilling draft swept through the nave, making the candle flames dance wildly.

From the deep shadows of the side chapel to my left, a sound broke the heavy silence. It was faint-a low, dark scoff, barely louder than the rustle of a priest's robes.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I peered into the pitch-black alcove, the heavy velvet curtains obscuring whoever was inside. A suffocating weight pressed down on me, the distinct, terrifying sensation of being watched by an apex predator.

Before I could investigate, the sharp click of heels echoed from the main aisle.

"Bella?"

I flinched, turning to see Nina, my loyal associate, hurrying toward me with my wool coat draped over her arm.

"Are you finished praying?" Nina asked softly, her eyes darting nervously around the empty pews.

I stood up, smoothing down the skirt of my dress, forcing my heart to slow its frantic beating. I cast one last, uneasy glance toward the darkened side chapel. Nothing moved.

"Yes," I said, turning my back on the shadows and linking my arm through Nina's. "But God isn't the one who needs to hear what I actually want in a husband."

Damien POV

*"But God isn't the one who needs to hear what I actually want in a husband."*

Isabella Griffin's naive, spoiled voice echoed faintly off the vaulted ceilings of the cathedral as she walked down the main aisle with her associate.

I remained perfectly still in the suffocating shadows of the side chapel. I hadn't come to Holy Trinity to eavesdrop on the pathetic prayers of a ruined family's daughter, but her sheer audacity kept me rooted to the spot. A liability. That was what I had called her at the gala, and listening to her now only cemented the fact.

"I'm serious, Nina," Isabella continued, her heels clicking against the marble. "If I have to marry, he must be breathtaking. Built like a Greek god. And he needs to be filthy rich, because I have expensive tastes."

A dark, cynical amusement twisted in my chest. The Griffin empire was crumbling into dust, yet this pampered princess was still dreaming of fairy tales.

"And loyalty," Isabella's voice grew sharper, echoing back to me. "Absolute loyalty. If he ever dares to take a mistress, I'll take him to the cleaners. I'll leave with half his fortune and move into the biggest, most luxurious estate in Chicago."

I stepped out of the alcove just as the heavy oak doors of the cathedral shut behind them. *Shameless.* She was a delusional, gold-digging child who understood nothing of our world. In the *Famiglia*, marriage wasn't born of love or loyalty; it was a brutal transaction of blood and power. Whoever ended up shackled to that foolish girl would be dragged straight to hell by her sheer ignorance.

Dismissing the irritating encounter, I turned and headed for the side exit.

The biting March wind whipped through the stone cloister as I stepped outside. I reached into my tailored coat for my keys, but my instincts flared a fraction of a second before the shadows detached themselves from the ancient pillars.

Six men blocked the narrow walkway. *Enforcers.* My Enforcers.

I stopped, my posture instantly shifting into the lethal stillness that demanded absolute obedience. "What is the meaning of this?" I asked, my voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register.

From the center of the group, Luca stepped forward. My most trusted Soldier. His face was a blank, unreadable mask, but his hands were empty of weapons.

"Forgive me, Don Moretti," Luca said, his tone devoid of its usual deference. "But I come with orders from Elena."

My jaw tightened. My grandmother. The Matriarch and the sole Elder of the Moretti family.

"Tomorrow," Luca continued, his eyes meeting mine without flinching, "you will marry Francesca Griffin, the eldest daughter of the Griffin family."

A cold, violent fury surged through my veins. "I am the Don," I commanded, the absolute authority of my title lacing every syllable. "Stand down, Luca. Now."

No one moved.

"The Matriarch invoked the Old Law," Luca stated, referencing the sacred, ancient decree that allowed an Elder to force a union if the family's survival or bloodline was at stake. It was a law older than the Chicago Outfit itself, a mandate that even a Don could not easily shatter without inciting a civil war.

For a fraction of a second, the sheer audacity of my grandmother's maneuver distracted me. I calculated the political fallout, the sudden, desperate alliance with the decaying Griffins.

That split second of distraction was all Luca needed.

He moved with the terrifying speed that had earned him his rank. Before I could draw my weapon, he was behind me. A thick cloth, reeking of a potent chemical sedative, was clamped brutally over my mouth and nose.

I reacted instantly, driving my elbow backward into his ribs, hearing a satisfying crack. But the Enforcers swarmed, pinning my arms with heavy, coordinated precision. I held my breath, fighting the iron grips holding me down, but the fumes were already burning my eyes, seeping into my bloodstream.

My vision blurred, the stone arches of the cloister spinning wildly.

"We have men at the club right now," Luca grunted near my ear, struggling to keep the rag over my face as my knees finally buckled. "They are grabbing Leo. He weds the younger sister, Isabella."

A dark, bitter laugh died in my throat as the drug dragged me under. Isabella Griffin wanted a loyal Greek god. Instead, she was getting my degenerate, playboy brother.

The darkness swallowed me whole, sealing my fate for the night.

Isabella POV

The heavy oak doors of the Griffin Estate study slammed shut behind me, sealing me inside with the suffocating scent of stale cigars and my father's silent despair. I had barely taken off my coat after returning from Holy Trinity Cathedral when the summons came.

"Sit down, Bella," my father, Richard, muttered, staring blankly at his empty crystal glass.

My mother, Catherine, stood by the unlit fireplace, her posture rigid and her face devoid of its usual warmth. "Tomorrow morning, you and Francesca are getting married."

I froze, a nervous, breathless laugh escaping my lips. "Married? To whom?"

"The Moretti brothers," my father said, his voice hollow. "Frankie will marry Damien. And you will marry Leo."

The room spun violently. *Leo Moretti.* The degenerate. The notorious playboy who practically lived in Chicago's most depraved underground clubs.

"No," I gasped, backing away toward the door. "No! You can't do this! I won't marry that disgusting pig! I'll run away!"

"Run where?" Catherine snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. She crossed the room, her perfectly manicured fingers digging brutally into my shoulders. "Wake up, Isabella! The Griffin empire is crumbling. The Kramer family is circling us like vultures. Do you think your pink Bentley and your trust fund will magically protect you? Without the Moretti alliance, you will have absolutely nothing. You won't be a princess; you'll be a plaything for our enemies."

Tears blurred my vision, hot and humiliating. I looked at my father, begging for him to intervene, to protect me like he always did, but he couldn't even meet my eyes. They were selling me. I wasn't a beloved daughter anymore; I was a piece of collateral.

"Frankie will be with you," my mother added, her tone softening just a fraction, though her grip remained iron-tight. "You won't be alone in that house."

A sob tore from my throat. The only tiny mercy in this nightmare was my sister. Defeated by the terrifying reality of poverty and the monsters waiting outside our gates, I let my head drop. I had no choice.

*

Damien POV

The heavy, metallic taste of the chemical sedative still coated my tongue when I opened my eyes. The air was freezing, thick with the scent of damp earth, mold, and aging oak. The Moretti wine cellar.

"I'm going to kill them," a voice snarled from the shadows.

Leo paced like a caged animal between the racks of priceless vintages, his tuxedo jacket torn, his knuckles bruised and bleeding. He had clearly put up a fight when they dragged him from whatever club he'd been wasting his night in.

"We shoot our way out," Leo demanded, turning to me with wild eyes. "I am not marrying that spoiled Griffin brat."

I pushed myself up from the cold stone floor, my muscles heavy and uncoordinated. "Stand down, Leo."

"Damien, they locked us in a fucking cellar!"

"By the order of the Matriarch," I said, my voice a low, dangerous rasp that demanded immediate submission. "Elena invoked the Old Law. The Enforcers are loyal to the tradition. If we fight our way out tonight, we start a civil war within the *Famiglia*. I will not burn my own empire to the ground over two ruined women."

Leo dragged a hand through his messy hair, panic bleeding into his anger. "So what? We just roll over? I'm not being shackled to a wife."

"We play the game," I said coldly, leaning against the stone wall as my mind rapidly calculated our exit strategy. "We stand at the altar tomorrow. We say the vows. But we do not touch them."

Leo stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing in the dim, flickering candlelight.

"The marriages will be *non consummatum*," I explained, the plan solidifying in my mind with ruthless clarity. "We give Elena her public alliance to stabilize the territory. But behind closed doors, the girls remain untouched. When the time is right, and our power is absolute, we file for annulment. We send them away without a scratch, and the Old Law cannot bind us."

Leo let out a harsh breath, a dark, cynical smirk slowly forming on his face. "A sham marriage."

"Exactly." I adjusted my cuffs, the lingering effects of the drug completely replaced by a cold, calculated fury. The Griffin sisters thought they were securing their survival tomorrow. They had no idea their marriages were dead before they even began.