Page 18 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

Marco picked up the papers, scanning them carefully. After a moment, his expression darkened. "The contract's clean. No tricks. You marry Elena, those old bastards hand over the casinos voluntarily. It takes effect automatically after the wedding."

"They knew exactly what I'd care about!" I could barely breathe. "I don't care what you have to do—kill them, takethe casinos by force, whatever—I'm getting those properties my way!"

Marco knew I was too worked up to think straight. He handed me a cigar, lit it, and patted my shoulder. "Cool off, Dante. Signing this contract is our best option."

I knew.

Of course I knew.

Harsh tobacco smoke slid down my throat. I narrowed my eyes. Logic and impulse tore at my brain. Salvador's deals were always hard to refuse. This was his way of proving something.

My company, my plans, my life—all under his control.

If I took the casinos by force, I'd lose people. Unnecessary casualties. Not what I wanted.

"Long-term, once we have the casinos, we cut off their revenue stream. We dismantle their power base gradually." Marco's tone was serious. I knew he was right. "The marriage actually speeds up our timeline. And we don't lose any of our own people."

One cigar burned down. My internal war reached its conclusion.

"You're right. Marry Elena, I get what I want." My eyes turned cold. "What I do to her after the wedding? Salvador can't touch that. I can torment her, humiliate her, while I expand my power until I'm completely free of Salvador's control."

"As long as I'm patient enough," I said each word deliberately, "I can make both Elena and Salvador regret today."

In a few years, Salvador would age out. The Moretti family would be fully mine. Then I could divorce Elena. She'd just be a powerless mob wife. No way to fight back.

Elena and Salvador played a game.

Fine. I'd play mine.

I laughed coldly. "Three days. We go back to the manor for the wedding."

Chapter Six

Elena

The lawn was carpeted in flowers. The whole manor dripped with luxury and precision—guests in designer everything, New York's power families on full display. And me, the bride, standing there waiting for my groom to show up.

I'd already changed into the most elaborate wedding gown imaginable. This expensive, complicated dress came from New York's most famous bridal designer. I used to picture myself walking down the aisle in something I'd made with my own hands, marrying the man I loved.

Today, all of that became an impossible dream.

The ceremony time crept closer. Still no Dante. Alfredo promised me he'd show. I stood alone at the end of the aisle, my made-up face hidden behind the veil, both hands gripping the bouquet like a lifeline.

Finally, footsteps. Uneven weight.

I lifted my stiff neck and saw him—my soon-to-be husband. Dante wore a designer tuxedo that matched my dress, same brand. He walked toward me slowly.

The memory from three nights ago hit me. My face flushed. I said his name anyway. "Dante."

His face was still striking, but his eyes were ice. He leaned down, lips near my ear, voice like a ghost. "Congratulations, Elena. You finally got what you wanted—to be my wife."

I started to speak. He grabbed my wrist. Hard. Hard enough to make me want to scream, like he was trying to crush bone.

People turned to look. I bit down on my lip, kept myself quiet. I just stared up at him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to make you suffer." He smiled. To everyone else, we probably looked romantic. But his words dropped my heart into my stomach. "Starting today, your nightmare begins. I'll make you regret marrying me."

Pain brought tears to my eyes. I twisted my wrist, trying to break free. Dante released me suddenly, and I lost my balance—fell backward, hit the ground hard.