I Ran From My Wedding Straight Into the Mafia Don's Bed

I saved my first time for my wedding night.

Adrian knew that.

So did my maid of honor.

Apparently, that was why they thought it would be funny to have sex in my bridal suite while I was downstairs waiting to marry him.

I heard Adrian tell her, “Vivienne is the wife. You're the woman I actually want.”

So I walked out.

Still wearing my wedding dress.

Still carrying his ring.

And straight into a restricted penthouse where an armed stranger shoved me against the wall and told me not to scream.

I thought he was a hired gunman.

I should have been terrified.

Instead, hours later, I whispered, “I was supposed to become someone else's wife tonight. Make tonight belong to me.”

He made me ask twice.

By morning, his phone rang.

“Don Vescari,” a voice said. “Romano's bride is missing.”

I froze.

I'd just given my wedding night to my fiancé's deadliest enemy.

***

Today was my twenty-sixth birthday, and after eight years of devotion, I was finally marrying Adrian Romano.

I had laid out the sheer lace stockings and white silk slip across the bed in the bridal suite hours ago. Adrian had always respected my decision to wait until our wedding night. He treated my virginity like an altar, something precious to be claimed only after vows were exchanged.

The door clicked open, and Adrian walked in, looking striking in his black tuxedo. He stepped behind me, lifting the diamond necklace from its velvet box, and fastened it around my throat. Beneath the diamonds, my mother's slim silver pendant still rested against my skin. His lips pressed into the curve of my neck, warm and possessive.

His hand drifted down the bare skin of my back, fingers tracing the dip of my spine until they rested on the swell of my hips. He paused right at the edge of the satin gown, gripping my waist.

"Tonight, Vivienne," he murmured against my ear, his voice rough with promise. "After eight years, you're finally mine."

Every fantasy I had built about our future felt solid in that single touch.

Twenty minutes before the ceremony, I realized the lace stockings were missing from my dressing table. I must have left them upstairs in the private wedding-night suite where we were staying after the reception.

I took the back stairs to avoid the guests. The heavy double doors of the suite stood slightly ajar.

A sharp, ragged moan drifted through the crack.

My heart stalled. That wasn't a maid cleaning.

I pushed the door open.

Camilla sat on the edge of the king-sized mattress—the bed meant for my wedding night. Her skirt was pushed up to her waist, and stretched over her thighs were my white bridal stockings. Adrian was standing between her parted legs, his hands gripping her hips, his head buried in her neck.

When the wood groaned, Adrian snapped his head around. He didn't shove her away. He didn't stumble backward in shame. His immediate reflex was to step directly in front of Camilla, shielding his mistress from my sight.

Camilla leaned around his broad frame, a smirk curling her painted lips. "Adrian?" she purred, tracing a finger down his lapel. "Who do you actually love?"

Adrian looked straight at me. There was no guilt in his dark eyes, only cold calculation.

"Vivienne is the wife," Adrian said, his voice level and devoid of warmth. "You're the woman I actually want."

The words struck like a physical blow, tearing through eight years of loyalty in a single second. I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I reached down, stripped the five-carat engagement diamond from my left hand, and dropped it into the half-empty champagne glass on the console table. The heavy stone sank to the bottom with a quiet clink.

I grabbed the heavy skirt of my wedding gown, turned on my heel, and ran.

"Vivienne! Stop her!" Adrian's voice roared behind me.

I sprinted down the corridor and slipped into the service elevator, slamming the button for the restricted penthouse floor. Adrian’s security guards burst into the hallway just as the metal doors slid shut.

The elevator opened onto a dimly lit, private hallway. Before I could take three steps toward the emergency exit, a heavy, iron arm snaked around my waist from the dark and yanked me backward into a suite.

The door slammed shut.

In the next second, I was pinned against the wall, and the cold, unforgiving steel of a handgun barrel pressed hard against the outside of my bare thigh.

"Make a sound, and I'll put a bullet through you," a deep, gravelly voice warned against my ear.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and bleeding. Fresh dark stains smeared the front of his torn white shirt, smelling of gunpowder and copper. He clamped a gloved hand firmly over my mouth.

Heavy footfalls pounded in the hallway outside.

"Check every room!" a Romano guard barked through the wood. "Don't let the bride leave this floor!"

The handle of our door jiggled. The stranger tensed, his grip on the gun tightening.

I didn't freeze. If Adrian’s men dragged me back, I would be forced down that aisle like a trophy.

I grabbed the stranger's bloody collar, twisted in his grip, and smashed my lips against his.

His body went rigid for a split second. Then, his hand left my mouth, catching the back of my neck to drag me flush against his chest. His mouth opened over mine, rough, demanding, and tasting of metal.

Outside, the footsteps paused, then continued down the hallway.

When the silence returned, neither of us pulled away.

His chest rose and fell heavily against mine. His gray eyes stared down at me, sharp as broken glass.

"What the fuck was that, little bride?" he rasped.

My pulse hammered in my throat. I looked at the blood on his shirt, the lethal line of his jaw, and the complete absence of Adrian’s polite lies.

"I was supposed to lose my virginity tonight," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos in my veins. "I'm fully sober. And I don't want your fucking pity."

His eyes darkened with something dangerous. He shoved his gun into his shoulder holster, grabbed my waist, and spun me around, slamming my hips back against the massive vanity mirror.

"Look at yourself," he ordered, his voice dropping into a commanding growl. He stepped up behind me, pressing his hard frame against my back until I was trapped between him and the glass. "Tell me what you want."

I looked at our reflection. My veil was crooked, my white gown pristine, while he looked like a killer who had just crawled out of an alley.

"I want you," I said, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "Fuck me."

"Say it again so I know you're certain."

"Fuck me right now."

He pulled a combat knife from his belt and sliced upward through the tight laces of my corset. The satin gave way with a sharp rip. The heavy dress fell away, exposing my bare breasts and stomach to the cold air.

He tossed the blade aside, spun me around, and hoisted me onto the marble counter. His hands were rough and calloused as he shoved my thighs wide apart.

"Look at me, bride," he commanded, unbuckling his belt.

He didn't give me time to hesitate. He lined himself up against my entrance and pushed forward.

A sharp gasp tore from my throat as he broke through the barrier, stretching me completely. The fullness was overwhelming, an intense burn that made my fingers dig into his muscular shoulders.

"Fuck," he grunted, holding my hips still as he buried himself to the hilt. "You're bleeding on me, bride."

"Don't stop," I gasped, wrapping my legs tightly around his waist. "Don't you dare stop."

A dark, possessive look took over his face. He leaned down, sinking his teeth into the crook of my neck, biting hard enough to leave a bruise that would last for days. Then he began to move.

He set a punishing, relentless pace, slamming into me against the cold marble. Every thrust drove out the memory of Adrian's fake promises, replacing eight years of waiting with raw, unvarnished friction. My moans bounced off the glass as he took complete control of my body, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing in hard, fast circles until the sharp sting dissolved into blinding waves of pleasure.

"You're mine tonight," he growled against my ear, thrusting deep, hitting the exact spot that made my vision white out. "Say it."

"Yours," I cried out, my nails scoring lines down his back as my climax shattered through me, gripping him violently from the inside.

He threw his head back with a rough curse and drove into me three more times, emptying himself completely inside me before collapsing against my chest.

***

An hour later, I lay across the massive bed, wrapped only in his oversized black dress shirt. The exhaustion made my limbs heavy, but for the first time in years, my head felt clear.

On the nightstand, a burner phone vibrated aggressively.

The man stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung over his bare, tattooed shoulders. He picked up the call and hit speaker.

"Speak," he said.

A frantic voice crackled over the line. "Don Vescari, we survived the ambush. But Romano's men are tearing the city apart. Adrian Romano's bride disappeared before the vows."

I froze beneath the sheets, my eyes snapping wide open.

Dante Vescari.

The head of the rival family. The ruthless boss Adrian had spent the last three years trying to assassinate.

I had just given my wedding night to my fiancé's deadliest enemy.