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THE MAFIA'S REVENGE BRIDE

THE MAFIA'S REVENGE BRIDE

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last updateLast Updated : 2025-11-04
By:  Favy inkOngoing
Language: English
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Synopsis

Dark Romance

First-Person POV

Steamy

Hate to Love

Gay for you

Forbidden Love

Golden Boy

CEO

Arrogant

Dante Russo doesn't forgive. He doesn't forget. And when the President of the United States has the nerve to double-cross him, Dante doesn't go for blood—he goes for the man's heart. By kidnapping his son. Marco Powell never asked to be part of his father's shadowy world of corruption and backroom deals. But when masked assailants drag him from a glittering Washington soiree and into the ruthless grasp of Dante Russo, Marco's existence is distilled to the final bargaining chip. Kidnapped. Held captive. Compelled to kneel at the feet of Italy's most lethal man. Dante Russo doesn't just want ransom—he wants humiliation. He wants the President to hurt. And to make the whole world feel it, Dante does the unthinkable: he marries Marco in a ceremony as legal as it is lethal. An altar of a wedding shrouded in blood. A kiss meant to destroy. A war between two men who should hate each other but can't keep their hands off each other. Marco is everything Dante isn't used to. sarcastic, idealistic, infuriatingly beautiful and Dante is everything Marco should fear: fire, danger, sin, and temptation in a designer suit. Their arranged marriage sparks a deadly obsession. Every touch is a battle. Every kiss is war on their lips. And every night, Marco has to ask himself the question he fears most Does he hate Dante enough to fight him? Or does he want him badly enough to burn? Because in this game, seduction and revenge ignite and the line between love and hate doesn't just blur. It burns.

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Chapter 1

THE MASKED BALL

『異人』

　人間と同じ姿形をしていながら、人間とは明らかに異なった体質や性質を持ち合わせた、異端の存在。

　この物語の主軸であり、中心であり、中枢を担っているこの言葉を、僕（荒木　誠）はこの春に、故郷である九州から、大学がある神奈川の横浜に来て、初めて知った。

『人間とは異なる』というのだから、この言葉が、人間ではない何かに対して誂われた言葉であることは、なんとなく、初めて知る人にも、理解できるかもしれない。

　実際、僕自身も、最初のうちはこの言葉の字面だけを理解していた。

　字面だけを理解して、全てを理解した気になっていた。

　そう、たったこれだけの説明では、どうしたってこれを理解するには......

　完全に理解するには、あまりにも短すぎるのだ。

　そしてそうなると、やはりどうしても、字面だけの、上辺だけを救い上げて理解するような、そういうモノになってしまう。

　いや......これでは『理解した』ではなく、ただ『知った』だけなのだろう。

　ただ見聞を広めて、言葉を知った。

　まるで小さな幼子が、はじめてその言葉を覚える様な......

　まだ意味も真意も意図さえも知らぬまま、言葉だけを覚えてしまっている様な......

　そういう感覚になってしまうのだ。

　けれどもし、この『異人』という言葉の意味が、本当にあの短い説明だけで理解できてしまえるようなモノならば、これから語られるこの物語は、そもそも語り始める前に終わってしまう。

　それでは物語として、成立しない。

　語らずして終わる物語など、成立する筈がないのだ。

　それにこれは、その人間とは明らかに異なった異端の者達が、人間だった筈の僕を巻き込んだ、僕が語り部となって語る御話で......

　だからこれは、僕が大学生になった、この一年を通して起きた出来事の、謂わば経験談のようなモノだ。

　いや、もっと端的に、『思い出』とでも言ってしまおうか......

　それにもしも、これから語る、この数十万の文字で紡がれる思い出を、例えばたった数十文字に要約したならば、きっとこうだろう......

『最初は吸血鬼に奪われて、次は殺人鬼と過ごした後に、旅人と追い求めて、その後は狼に悪戯をされて、結局のところ、雪女に損失させられる』

　そういう御話なのだ。

　やっぱり、これではあまりにも、要領を得ない......

　わかってはいたけれど......

　だからまぁ、退屈しのぎに触れてくれ。

　異人というモノが居ることを、この横浜という場所で初めて知って、初めて理解する青年が、化け物に囲まれながら、ただ青年然としようとする、そんな滑稽な物語を......

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reviews

Liana evadne
Liana evadne
Nice blurb
2025-11-02 23:34:15
0
0
85 Chapters
THE MASKED BALL
Marco's POVI hated parties like this.And my dad was fully aware of that.Actually, he was fully aware of a lot of things about me that I hated being paraded around, that I hated smiling at people and faking that I was interested in them, that I hated tuxedos that cost more than most people paid in rent. He was aware of all of that. But he didn't care.I was his pawn, his golden boy, the son destined to maintain the Powell name shining as if it belonged in history books.Me lucky.I readjusted my black tie for the last time, smoothed out my hair to the back of my head, and tried to give myself a neutral look before heading downstairs. The marble steps glistened under the light of the chandeliers, tempting me with how impeccable everything had to be here — and that included me.The ballroom was alive, with rumor, forced laughter, and the clink of glasses. Gowns shone, cufflinks sparkled, and I hated every second of it. The gatherings were indistinguishable. Wealthy benefactors. Journa
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BLOODY EXITS
Marco's POVMy head throbbed as if it'd been axed to pieces.Cold seeped into bones first — cold tile against my cheekbone, damp air that stank of metal and bleach. My eyelids groaned open, heavy, my vision spinning until the world righted itself into focus.Not my room. Not the White House.Somewhere below ground. Cold naked walls. One light bulb hanging overhead, swaying very slowly.And blood.There was blood on the floor a few feet away from me — dark and half-dried, smeared like someone had been dragged.My heart slammed against my ribs. Was that mine?I tried to sit up and was pulled back at once — my wrists were bound behind me with something stiff that dug into my skin whenever I shifted. My ankles were bound together.Panic crept up my throat."What the fuck""Good morning, sunshine."His voice froze me in my tracks.He was there.Sitting in a metal chair a few feet away from me like he'd been waiting for my wake-up call. Legs apart, gun hanging loose in his hand, head restin
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POWER PLAY
Dante's POVThe office was still, except for the quiet hum of the very old ceiling fan slicing through the stifling Sicilian heat. The gun on my desk glowed in the sunlight, poised like a good dog for me to make the signal. I reclined in my leather chair, my hand casually resting on the armrest, and stared at it.The barrel had a residual odor of gunpowder from last night.I should have killed him.That had been nagging me from morning, perching like a bird of prey. Marco Powell. The golden boy. The President's pristine little boy, in his designer jackets and superior scowl. I should have done for him then and there in the hallway, before he could regard me with those superior blue eyes as if I were some street punk who could be bought off with his father's money.But I hadn't.And now he was in my basement, bleeding on my floor, breathing my air — a hostage, a bargaining chip, a pawn in a game his father had started the moment he decided to double-cross me.I hunched forward, elbows
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A DEADLY ALTAR KISS
Marco's POVThe first thing I was aware of was water.Warm, perfumed, and completely incorrect.I was hauled upright into a sitting position by hands, my head still spinning from whatever purgatory I'd gone through since last night. My shoulder burned where Dante Russo's knife had sunk into me, my forearm hurt where it had been slashed open, and my skull pounded with the memory of his pistol knocking me out cold.I tried to fight, but there were too many of them.They stripped me, threw me into a claw-foot tub, and began scrubbing me with coarse rags like I was a prize horse being cleaned up for a contest. Soap stung in every cut and bruise."Fuck—!" I spat as they pressed hard into my shoulder wound.One of the men grunted in Italian, clearly unimpressed by my reaction.They bathed me till my skin was sore, my hair clean and oily. Then came the bandages — fresh white gauze wrapped around my arm and shoulder, bound tightly like my fingers tingled.I might have spat at them, cursed the
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48 HOURS TILL DOOM
Dante's POVThe moment I put my mouth on him, I knew he was mine.I should not have crossed that line. I should not have laid my hands, my lips, my everything on Marco Powell — the golden son of the man who betrayed me.He was supposed to be leverage. Nothing more.A pawn I would have used to bring his father to his knees.But that kiss…That damned kiss.It was supposed to humiliate him, remind him his life was mine to do with as I pleased. Instead, it seared through me like bourbon, like gunpowder.I could not get out of my head the taste of him — anger and defiance and something sinfully sweet underneath.I threw back another shot of bourbon, the bitter-sweet taste burning its way down my throat.I would not let the spoiled son of an upstart politician get my head twisted like this.The office was quiet except for the gentle snap of the fire behind me, the only light filtering across the dark wood of my desk. Leonardo stood beside me, his face cut from stone as he let me enjoy the
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THE WHITE HOUSE
President Powell’s POVTen hours later, in the Situation Room of the White House, the big TV screen was on, the voice of Anita Baker, CNN’s lead anchor, could be heard“Breaking news: Marco Powell, twenty-three years old and only son of President Richard Powell, is still missing after a deadly attack at a private celebration three nights ago. Sources inside the administration say at least ten security personnel were killed in the ambush…”“Turn it off,” I snapped. My voice coming out harsher than I intended. “Turn the damn thing off!”A junior aide fumbled with the remote, his hands trembling. The screen went black, but Anita’s words had had its effect on the people in the room, making them understand the reality that there was work to be done.I pressed my palms into the polished oak table, staring in the eye of every single member of my security team in the room, the Chief of Staff, the National Security Adviser, the CIA Director, the Secretary of Defense, these were people who coul
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The Dungeon 
Dante's POVThe call with the Volkovs ended just after midnight, their voices laced with suspicion.“Rumors say you lost the shipment, Russo. That you don’t have the goods.”Rumors. In this world, rumors were the first scent of blood in the water, and once sharks smelled it, you either showed teeth or they tore you apart.In the middle of all these was Marco Powell.In the married suit, Marco lay on his side, the white sheets tangled around his legs, bare chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. Leaning against the doorway, my jaw tightened, Messy hair spread across the pillow. For a moment, temptation clawed, the urge to touch, to taste, to claim him. Restraint won. The door closed softly behind before that weakness could be indulged.“Rico,” I said into the comm clipped to my belt.“Yes, boss,” came his voice from the hall.“Car. Five minutes. Take me to the Dungeon.”“Yes, boss.”The ride didn’t take long. Rico pulled up to the front of an highend club, ‘BOUJI CLUB’, I
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24 HOURS EARLIER
Marco's POVThe Bastard thought I was sleeping.By lying still and slowing my breath, a peek through barely open eyes confirmed it, he was watching me.My pulse thrummed in my throat, but I didn’t move a single muscle, not even when his gaze crawled over my body like a physical caress.A few minutes later, the house was quiet. He was gone.My heart was hammered with fear and a dangerous thrill. This could be my only chance.Straining to hear any sounds of life in the house. There were none. The wound in my shoulder throbbed with every step, the bandages stiff and uncomfortable from three days of healing.Pushing the door open slowly, expecting a guard posted right outside. But the hallway was empty, lined with exquisite paintings, a dash of Picasso here, a few other pieces that even I, with my limited knowledge, recognized as expensive and rare.Dante had impeccable taste in art.Downstairs, vintage pieces mingled with contemporary design, creating a space that was luxurious.Moving p
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TWENTY HOURS TO GO
President Powell’s POVMy phone rang in the middle of the security briefing at Pentagon. My security chiefs fell silent, their eyes flicking toward me, each one waiting to see whether I’d answer.With a steady hand, I picked it up. “This is the President.”Silence, then that voice that I knew so well. “Mr. President,” Dante purred. “It’s been a while.”Every muscle in my body went rigid. Dante, “What do you want? Is my son dead” I said, my tone clipped.A laugh crackled through the line. “Come now. You know exactly why I’m calling.”Marco.Just the thought of my son’s name in Dante’s mouth made my throat tighten. I forced myself to keep my voice level. “He’s fine, I trust?”“He’s fine,” Dante said, his words smooth “For now.”“Let him go,” I said. I didn’t bother with diplomacy. Not with him. “This has gone on long enough.”Dante’s chuckle oozed mockery. “Not until I get what I want. What we agreed upon.”My heart pounded, but my mind raced faster. If I gave in, the office I held, wou
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THE WEB TIGHTENS
Tony stood frozen, his eyes wide. "Sir? Did you just say... married?, what does that even mean?.”I turned my back to him, staring out the window at the perfectly manicured lawn. A lawn my son might never see again. "You heard me. No statements. Deny everything.""But, Mr. President... the rumors are specific. They're saying it was a ceremony in Italy. That there are... photos."My blood ran cold. Photos. Dante's game was more vicious than I imagined. He wasn't just holding Marco; he was destroying his name, and mine along with it. A married son? To a man? To a criminal? My conservative base would tear me apart."Photos can be faked," I said, my voice like gravel. "We will say it's a desperate smear campaign by my political enemies. Now, get out."The door clicked shut, leaving me in silence. I picked up the secure line, my finger hovering over the button that would connect me to the CIA Director. But I stopped.I couldn't trust them. Not with this. The official channels were too slow
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