Page 3
Story: Mafia Maiden
It is a claim.
“Then I’ll wait,” he murmurs. “But make no mistake,cara mia… I’ll still have you.”
2
LUCA
She doesn’t speak to me during the drive.
She sits beside me, spine straight, shoulders stiff beneath the ivory lace of her wedding gown. Her hands stay folded neatly in her lap, fingers clasped so tightly the tips have gone white. She doesn’t look at me, not once—not even when I glance over and my eyes linger.
I don’t blame her.
She’s just been handed off to a man she has never met before. With a name she was raised to fear. A future she never chose for herself.
But she came with me. No fight, or fuss—no trying to run away.
She stood beside me and said the words ‘I do’. She let me slide my ring onto her finger. She kissed me in front of a hundred witnesses and didn't flinch when I pressed my hand low against her back to lead her away. She came willingly into my fold, into my family, and into my life.
That’s enough—for now.
Still, I can feel her silence like a scream.
When we pull through the iron gates of the villa, dusk has softened the lake to glass. Lights burn low in the windows. The staff have gone—sent home hours ago at my instruction. No witnesses. No interruptions.
No one sees her but me.
I step out first, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt as I round the car. She hesitates for just a moment before placing her hand in mine. Cold fingers. Shaky grip. But she doesn’t pull away.
I guide her up the stone steps, through the heavy front doors, and into the hush of the foyer. The chandelier overhead glows, casting golden light across the polished marble floors. The air smells like rose petals and firewood. Like something sacred waiting to be ruined.
“Where is everyone?” she asks, looking around.
“Gone.”
She swallows. “You cleared the house.”
“Yes.”
“To make sure I couldn’t make a scene or run?”
“No,” I say, and pause. “To make sure no one else could look at you tonight.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t say anything. She just follows me up the staircase, the hem of her gown brushing against the carpet runner like a whisper. I take us to the farthest room—the quietest one. The bedroom I had prepared hours ago, before the ceremony, before the toast, before the ink of our names dried on the marriage register.
When I open the door, the scent of beeswax and roses wafts out.
Candles burn low in wrought-iron sconces. The fire crackles in the hearth. A trail of white petals lines the floor, spilling across the velvet runner at the end of the bed. The mattress is turned down. Champagne chills in a silver bucket by the window.
She freezes in the doorway, not crossing the threshold into the room.
Her eyes scan the room like she’s looking for a trap.
“This was never your choice,” I say, stepping behind her, my voice low. “But it’s still your night.”
She turns to face me, the light catching her eyes. “You promised I’d be safe.”
“You are.”
“Then I’ll wait,” he murmurs. “But make no mistake,cara mia… I’ll still have you.”
2
LUCA
She doesn’t speak to me during the drive.
She sits beside me, spine straight, shoulders stiff beneath the ivory lace of her wedding gown. Her hands stay folded neatly in her lap, fingers clasped so tightly the tips have gone white. She doesn’t look at me, not once—not even when I glance over and my eyes linger.
I don’t blame her.
She’s just been handed off to a man she has never met before. With a name she was raised to fear. A future she never chose for herself.
But she came with me. No fight, or fuss—no trying to run away.
She stood beside me and said the words ‘I do’. She let me slide my ring onto her finger. She kissed me in front of a hundred witnesses and didn't flinch when I pressed my hand low against her back to lead her away. She came willingly into my fold, into my family, and into my life.
That’s enough—for now.
Still, I can feel her silence like a scream.
When we pull through the iron gates of the villa, dusk has softened the lake to glass. Lights burn low in the windows. The staff have gone—sent home hours ago at my instruction. No witnesses. No interruptions.
No one sees her but me.
I step out first, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt as I round the car. She hesitates for just a moment before placing her hand in mine. Cold fingers. Shaky grip. But she doesn’t pull away.
I guide her up the stone steps, through the heavy front doors, and into the hush of the foyer. The chandelier overhead glows, casting golden light across the polished marble floors. The air smells like rose petals and firewood. Like something sacred waiting to be ruined.
“Where is everyone?” she asks, looking around.
“Gone.”
She swallows. “You cleared the house.”
“Yes.”
“To make sure I couldn’t make a scene or run?”
“No,” I say, and pause. “To make sure no one else could look at you tonight.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t say anything. She just follows me up the staircase, the hem of her gown brushing against the carpet runner like a whisper. I take us to the farthest room—the quietest one. The bedroom I had prepared hours ago, before the ceremony, before the toast, before the ink of our names dried on the marriage register.
When I open the door, the scent of beeswax and roses wafts out.
Candles burn low in wrought-iron sconces. The fire crackles in the hearth. A trail of white petals lines the floor, spilling across the velvet runner at the end of the bed. The mattress is turned down. Champagne chills in a silver bucket by the window.
She freezes in the doorway, not crossing the threshold into the room.
Her eyes scan the room like she’s looking for a trap.
“This was never your choice,” I say, stepping behind her, my voice low. “But it’s still your night.”
She turns to face me, the light catching her eyes. “You promised I’d be safe.”
“You are.”