Forced bride of mafia king

Lena’s pov 

  

  A scream tears through the Virelli mansion. 

  My mother’s. 

  I’m down the stairs in three seconds, barefoot, heart in my throat. 

  I find her in the living room, collapsed. Shaking. Makeup ruined. 

  “Mom—” I hit my knees beside her. “What happened? Talk to me.” 

  She doesn’t. Can’t. Just claws at her chest like she’s trying to dig the air out. 

  “Please,” I grab her shoulders. “Mom, you’re scaring me.” 

  She looks up, her eyes extremely red—voice broken glass. 

  “Your father is dead.” 

  The floor drops out.

  “What?” The word doesn’t sound like mine. “No. He’s — I just saw him this morning.” 

  The front door slams open. 

  Luciano. My father’s right hand and also my godfather. Steps in.

  His face says it before his mouth does. 

  “Luciano.” I’m on my feet, choking. “Tell me she’s lying. Tell me it’s a mistake.” 

  He doesn’t blink. He remains silent. 

  “I’m sorry, Lena. He’s gone.” 

  Luciano doesn’t cry. Not when we buried his wife. Not when rival bullets grazed his ribs. 

  But today he’s crying now. 

  That’s when my knees give. 

  I hit the rug. The sobs rip out of me, ugly and loud. 

  Luciano kneels. His voice drops. This isn’t for me. 

  “Carla.” He says to my mother. “It wasn’t an accident.” 

  My mother freezes mid-sob. Grief evaporates. Something colder takes its place. 

  “Explain.” One word. Virelli steel. 

  “Brakes were cut. Clean. Professional.” Luciano’s jaw ticks. “He argued with Dante Moretti last week. Moretti said he’d be ‘collecting’ soon.” 

  Dante Moretti. 

  The name lands like a gunshot. 

  Heir to the Moretti family. The family that’s bled us for ten years. The man my father called a ‘snake in a Tom Ford suit.’ 

  “He threatened him?” My mother’s voice is dead. 

  “Dante doesn’t do empty threats.” Luciano won’t look at me. “And now he’s calling in the debt.” 

  Debt. I taste bile. “What debt? We—” 

  “The Morettis are done waiting.” Luciano finally meets my eyes. And I see it. The second bomb. “They want payment in blood or in vows.” 

  My stomach plummets. 

  “Marriage,” he says. “Dante Moretti wants a wife. He wants you.” 

  “No.” The word rips out of my mother. She’s on her feet, shielding me like I’m five again. “I won’t let my daughter marry that murderer.” 

  Luciano doesn’t flinch. “The offer wasn’t for you, Carla.” 

  My brother chooses that moment to walk in. Marco. Twenty-three. My father’s men at his back. He’s been crying too. But his eyes are dry now. Calculated. 

  “Of course she accepts,” Marco says to Luciano, not to me. “A Moretti alliance clears the debt. Saves the family. You tell Dante we agree.” 

  Luciano nods. Once. Then leaves. 

  No one asked me. 

  “Marco—” I can’t breathe. “He killed Dad. You want me to share his bed?” 

  Marco doesn’t look at me either. He looks at Mom. 

  “It’s done, Lena. The Virellis survive. That’s what Dad would want.” 

  My mother comes to me then. Strokes my hair. Her whisper is only for me: 

  “This is for the best, sweetheart.” 

  She says it like she believes it. 

  She says it like she’s relieved it’s me and not her. 

  I stand in my father’s living room frozen.

  And in a few days, I marry the man who murdered him. 

  My name is Lena Virelli. 

  And I just became a truce.