My Mafia gay Husband

The rain lashed against the windows of the limousine, a relentless drumming that drowned out the sounds of the city outside. Aria Romano stared blankly through the tinted glass, her fingers clenched around the bouquet of white roses in her lap. They felt heavy, like shackles disguised as petals. She wasn't sure if it was the chill in the air or the icy fear gripping her chest that made her shiver.

"Are you nervous?" her father asked, his voice laced with a desperation he didn't bother to hide.

Nervous? The word didn't even begin to cover it. She was on her way to marry a man she had never met, a man who was known to be cruel, unfeeling-a man who didn't even want her. But she couldn't say any of that, not when her father's eyes were filled with a pleading she had never seen before. He had made a deal with the devil to save his business, and Aria was the sacrificial lamb.

"I'm fine," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Fine?" Her father's gaze faltered, and he looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "This will secure our future, Aria. You have to understand that."

Secure our future. The phrase rattled around in her mind like a hollow promise. Her father's debts had spiraled out of control, and the Salvatore family had offered a solution-a marriage that would seal an alliance and settle the score. What no one spoke of, what they all pretended not to notice, was the glaring fact: Damien Salvatore was gay. The mafia prince, the cold, calculated heir who had never looked twice at a woman. This wasn't a marriage-it was a transaction, a mockery of vows she'd never dreamed she'd have to take.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the imposing gates of the Salvatore mansion, and her heart seized in her chest. The estate loomed like a beast in the storm, its dark silhouette outlined by flickering lightning. It was a fitting place for a nightmare to begin.

The door swung open, and a bodyguard motioned for her to step out. She hesitated, casting one last look at her father, who sat with his head bowed, his hands clasped together as if in prayer.

"You'll be fine," he murmured, but he didn't sound convinced.

With a deep breath, Aria stepped out into the rain, her white dress trailing behind her like a ghost. She felt the weight of it, like she was walking towards her own execution.

Inside, the mansion was all marble and gold, a display of wealth that screamed of power and control. The air was thick with the scent of roses and cigar smoke, a strange, unsettling combination that made her stomach churn. She was ushered into a grand room, where Damien Salvatore stood by the fireplace, his back turned to her.

He didn't move as she entered, didn't even acknowledge her presence. It was as if she were invisible, as if this moment-their wedding-was nothing more than an inconvenience to him.

"You're late," he said, his voice a low, cold drawl that sent a shiver down her spine.

Aria swallowed hard. "I came as quickly as I could."

He turned then, slowly, and she was struck by how handsome he was, in a dangerous, almost unreal way. Damien had the kind of face that could have been sculpted from marble-sharp jawline, high cheekbones, dark, piercing eyes that seemed to see right through her. He was dressed in a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin, exuding a power that was impossible to ignore.

His eyes flicked over her, a quick, dismissive scan, and his lips curled into a smirk. "You look scared."

"I'm not," she lied again, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

"Good," he replied, stepping closer. He loomed over her, his presence overwhelming. "Fear doesn't suit you."

She flinched at the casual cruelty in his tone, but she didn't back down. "This is just a business deal to you, isn't it?"

His smirk widened. "Isn't it to you?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but no words came. He was right. This marriage wasn't about love or even lust-it was about power, control, and settling a debt. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow.

"Do you have any idea what you've agreed to, Aria?" he asked, his voice soft but edged with steel.

"I know enough," she said, squaring her shoulders. "I know you didn't want this any more than I did."

Damien's eyes flashed, a brief flicker of something she couldn't quite place-surprise, maybe, or amusement. "You know nothing," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. "And you'll regret this. Mark my words."

Before she could respond, he stepped back, putting an ocean of space between them. The priest, who had been standing off to the side, cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the tension crackling in the air.

"Shall we begin?" the priest asked, glancing nervously between them.

Damien nodded once, curtly. "Let's get this over with."

The ceremony was a blur, a haze of words she barely registered. Damien's hand was cold when he slipped the ring onto her finger, his touch impersonal, almost mechanical. He didn't look at her when he recited his vows, and she forced herself not to flinch at the hollow sound of his voice.

When it was over, when the priest declared them husband and wife, Damien didn't kiss her. Instead, he turned away, already walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" she called after him, her voice cracking with the strain of holding back tears.

He paused, just for a moment, and glanced back at her, his expression unreadable. "To take care of business. Don't wait up."

And then he was gone, leaving her standing there, a ring on her finger, alone on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

Aria closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. This was her new reality-a marriage in name only, bound to a man who couldn't care less if she disappeared off the face of the earth. But as the first tear slipped down her cheek, she made a silent vow to herself.

She wouldn't let him break her. Not now, not ever.

Aria stood in the empty hall, the silence around her deafening. The priest and the few witnesses-mostly bodyguards and associates of the Salvatore family-began to shuffle out, whispering amongst themselves, as if they were afraid their voices might disturb the tense, fragile stillness of the room. She watched them leave, feeling as though she were fading into the background of her own life.

No one looked at her with pity. No one dared. In this world, sympathy was a weakness, and weakness was a death sentence.

She slipped the bouquet from her hands and dropped it onto the floor, watching as the delicate petals scattered across the polished marble. It felt like a small act of rebellion, but it did nothing to ease the ache in her chest. With a deep breath, she forced herself to walk towards the grand staircase. Her heels echoed in the empty space, each step a reminder of her isolation.

The mansion was beautiful, in a cold, clinical way. Everything was pristine, from the sparkling chandeliers to the expensive artwork lining the walls. But it felt more like a museum than a home, as if everything had been placed there to impress and intimidate, not to be lived in.

A maid approached her, bowing slightly, her eyes downcast. "Mrs. Salvatore," she said, her voice respectful but detached. "I'll show you to your room."

Mrs. Salvatore. The title felt foreign on her tongue, like a cruel joke.

Aria nodded, following the maid up the staircase. She had expected Damien to at least make some kind of gesture, some act to uphold the illusion of a real marriage. But he hadn't even bothered. It was clear she was nothing more than a formality to him, a paper wife. Her chest tightened at the thought, but she swallowed down her emotions, forcing herself to focus on what lay ahead.

The maid led her down a long corridor, stopping at a heavy wooden door. "This is your room," she said softly. "If you need anything, just ring the bell."

Aria hesitated, her hand hovering over the door handle. "And Damien's room?"

The maid's face faltered for a split second, a flash of pity breaking through her professional mask. "Mr. Salvatore's quarters are in the west wing," she said. "He... prefers his privacy."

Of course he does. Aria's lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded, dismissing the maid. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her.

The bedroom was just as opulent as the rest of the mansion-dark mahogany furniture, a massive bed draped in silken sheets, and a fireplace that crackled with a low, comforting fire. But it felt empty, devoid of warmth. The kind of room designed to impress guests, not to provide comfort to a wife.

She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hands clenching the fabric of her dress. The silence pressed down on her, amplifying the sound of her own ragged breathing. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she had clung to a foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't be as bad as she had feared.

But they were worse.

A sharp knock at the door made her flinch. She stood up quickly, brushing a hand over her hair, trying to pull herself together. "Come in," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The door swung open, and Damien stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever. He didn't look at her; his eyes scanned the room, as if he were inspecting it for flaws.

"I see you've settled in," he said, his tone devoid of any real interest.

Aria forced herself to meet his gaze. "Is this how it's going to be?" she asked quietly. "You ignoring me, pretending I don't exist?"

He raised an eyebrow, finally looking directly at her. "What did you expect, Aria? A honeymoon? Candlelit dinners? You knew what this was when you agreed to it."

Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. "I didn't have a choice."

"Neither did I," he snapped back, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. He stepped closer, and for a moment she thought he might reach out, might touch her. But he didn't. He stopped just short, the space between them humming with tension.

"This isn't a game," he continued, his voice low and dangerous. "You're here because I need you to play a role. Smile, nod, and act like the perfect wife when we're in public. But don't expect anything more from me."

"And what about when we're alone?" she shot back, surprising herself with the bite in her tone. "What do you want from me then?"

Damien's eyes darkened, a flicker of something she couldn't quite place-something almost like desire. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual cold mask. "Nothing," he said. "I want nothing from you."

The words stung more than she'd expected. She forced herself to nod, swallowing down the lump in her throat. "Fine," she said, her voice brittle. "Then I'll stay out of your way."

"Good," he replied curtly. He turned on his heel, already halfway to the door before she could say another word.

But then he paused, his hand on the doorknob. He didn't look back at her, but his voice was softer when he spoke again. "There's a dinner tomorrow night. You'll be expected to attend."

Aria nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I understand."

Without another word, he left, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound echoed in the room, final and unforgiving. Aria let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she sank back down onto the bed.

So this was it. Her life as Mrs. Salvatore. Alone in a mansion, married to a man who couldn't care less if she lived or died. The realization settled over her like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

But as she stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace, she made a silent promise to herself. If this was her reality, she would find a way to survive it. She would learn the rules of this twisted game, and she wouldn't go down without a fight.

Because despite everything, despite the icy way he treated her, she had seen that flicker of something in Damien's eyes. A crack in his armor. A sign that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than he let on.

And if there was one thing Aria Romano knew how to do, it was find the weakness in even the strongest walls.

The mansion was silent that night, the kind of quiet that felt unnatural, as though the world held its breath in anticipation of something dark. Aria lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts a chaotic swirl. She couldn't sleep, not with the image of Damien's cold, distant face imprinted in her mind. The way he'd looked at her, like she was nothing more than an inconvenience, kept replaying in her head. It wasn't anger she felt-it was something deeper, a twisting ache that she couldn't quite name.

Throwing off the blankets, she slipped out of bed. The hardwood floors were cool beneath her bare feet as she crept towards the window. Outside, the storm had passed, leaving the world washed clean and eerily still. Moonlight spilled across the manicured gardens, casting long, ghostly shadows.

She pressed her forehead against the glass, watching the night with a strange sense of longing. What had she expected? That he would fall for her instantly? That the marriage would be anything other than a strategic move? She had been foolish to hope for more.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway made her tense. They were too deliberate, too heavy to belong to one of the maids. Aria held her breath, listening as they drew closer, stopping just outside her door. For a moment, she thought it might be Damien. Her heart raced at the thought, a confusing mix of fear and anticipation thrumming through her veins.

But the door didn't open. Instead, there was a faint rustling sound, like someone sliding something beneath the door. A letter? A note? She waited until the footsteps receded into the distance before she moved.

Curious, she crept to the door and bent down to pick up the folded piece of paper. Her fingers shook as she opened it, revealing a single line scrawled in neat, hurried handwriting:

Be careful who you trust.

Her blood ran cold. There was no signature, no clue as to who had left it. But the warning was clear. Someone was watching her, and someone knew that this marriage wasn't as straightforward as it seemed.

Before she could make sense of the message, she heard voices from downstairs. Damien's voice-low, angry, laced with a sharp edge she hadn't heard before. She couldn't make out what he was saying, but the tone was unmistakable. He was furious.

Against her better judgment, Aria opened the door a crack and peeked into the hallway. It was empty, the shadows long and still. She slipped out, padding silently towards the grand staircase. The voices grew louder as she descended, echoing off the high ceilings.

"...told you this was a mistake," a deep, unfamiliar voice said. It was clipped, with an accent that suggested he was a foreigner, not one of the local men.

"You don't get to question me," Damien snapped back. His tone was cold, final. It sent a shiver down her spine.

Aria crouched behind one of the large columns, peering around it to see who Damien was speaking with. Two men stood in the middle of the foyer, shrouded in the dim light. One was Damien, his posture tense, his fists clenched at his sides. The other was a tall, imposing figure with silver hair slicked back. He wore a tailored suit that screamed money and power, but his expression was hard, almost menacing.

"Bringing her here-marrying her-was a risk," the silver-haired man continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Luca won't take this lightly."

Luca. The name hit Aria like a punch to the gut. Luca Moretti, the man Damien had been involved with before this sham of a marriage. The man who, according to the whispers she'd overheard, was far more dangerous than anyone in the Salvatore family.

Damien's eyes narrowed. "Luca has no say in what I do. He lost that right a long time ago."

"You're a fool if you think he'll just let this go," the man spat. "He still loves you, you know. Or maybe he just hates you now-it's hard to tell with him."

Damien's jaw tightened, a flicker of something like pain crossing his face before it hardened again. "This isn't about love. It never was."

The silver-haired man scoffed, taking a step closer, lowering his voice. "You're playing a dangerous game, Damien. You think marrying that girl will make you safe? You've only painted a bigger target on her back."

Aria's breath caught in her throat. She knew she should leave, retreat to her room before they noticed her, but she was frozen, unable to tear herself away.

Damien's face was a mask of fury, but there was something else there too-something vulnerable, hidden deep beneath the surface. "I'll deal with Luca," he said quietly. "He won't touch her."

The other man laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Is that a promise, Damien? Because I remember the last time you made promises like that. They didn't end well."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched out, heavy and charged. Then Damien turned away abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "Get out," he ordered, his voice cold. "Before I change my mind about letting you leave."

The silver-haired man gave him a mocking salute. "As you wish, boss. But remember-this isn't over. Not by a long shot."

He turned and strode out, the front door slamming shut behind him. Damien stood there for a moment, staring after him, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

Aria knew she should leave before he noticed her, but her body refused to move. And then, as if sensing her presence, Damien's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto hers. The shock on his face was quickly replaced by a flicker of annoyance.

"How much did you hear?" he demanded, his voice sharper than the blade of a knife.

Aria stepped out from behind the column, her hands twisting together nervously. "Enough," she admitted. "Who was that?"

"None of your concern," he snapped, striding towards her. He was angry, but there was something else in his eyes-fear, maybe. It was the first real emotion she'd seen from him since they'd met.

"You're wrong," she said quietly, standing her ground. "It is my concern. If I'm in danger because of you, I deserve to know."

Damien stopped inches away from her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body. He glared down at her, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscles twitching. "You're in danger because you chose to marry into this life," he said, his voice low and venomous. "And the only way you're going to survive it is if you do exactly what I say."

Aria swallowed hard, but she didn't back down. "And what is it you want me to do?"

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes boring into hers as if he were trying to read her soul. Then, without warning, he cupped her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to his. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words.

"Stay out of my way," he whispered. "And don't trust anyone. Not even me."

Before she could respond, he released her and walked away, disappearing up the stairs. The sound of his footsteps faded into the silence, leaving Aria alone once again, clutching the warning note in her trembling hand.

She sank back against the column, her heart pounding in her chest. In that moment, she realized the truth.

She was trapped in a game far more dangerous than she'd ever imagined. And the man she'd been forced to marry might be the only one who could save her-or the one who would destroy her.