The Mafia King's Runaway Ghost Bride

Isabella POV

The warm, boyish smile Marco usually wore for me vanished the second his eyes registered the Soldier's grip on my arm. It was replaced by the cold, lethal mask of The Bull.

He set the white pastry box on the glass display counter with terrifying calmness. Before the Soldier holding me could even blink, Marco crossed the room. Two sickening cracks echoed through the boutique in rapid succession. The massive men collapsed to the thick wool carpet, screaming in agony, their arms bent at grotesque, unnatural angles.

Natalia shrieked, the color draining from her heavily painted face. "Marco! What are you doing? I'm your fiancée!"

Marco didn't even look at her. He stalked forward, grabbed Natalia by the wrist—the exact one I had bitten—and dragged her stumbling toward me. His eyes burned with a dark, protective fury that made the air in the room feel heavy.

"Hit her, Bella," he commanded, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that shook my bones. "Show her that no one touches a Valentine woman."

Natalia stared at me, her eyes wide with confusion and terror, still completely unaware of who was hiding beneath the black netting.

I didn't hesitate. I channeled five years of stolen life, the terror of the alleyway, and the sheer indignity of the last ten minutes into my palm. I struck Natalia's cheek with a resounding crack. She gasped, crumbling to the floor, clutching her face as tears ruined her makeup.

Marco looked down at her with absolute disgust. "The engagement is over."

He threw a thick stack of bills onto the counter for the scarlet dress, wrapped his heavy, comforting arm around my trembling shoulders, and walked me out of the boutique without looking back.

The interior of Marco's 1928 Cadillac was quiet, insulated from the roaring Chicago streets. I sat in the passenger seat, my hands still shaking slightly in my lap.

I looked at my brother's clenched jaw. "Why, Marco? Why were you engaged to a monster like her?"

He sighed, the violent rage bleeding out of him, leaving only a profound exhaustion. "After you 'died', we tracked the assassins' escape route to a freighter leaving the Chicago port. Capo Gallo controls the docks and the manifests. The engagement was the only way he'd cooperate. It was the only way to find who took you from us, Bella."

Tears pricked my eyes. My fierce, loyal brother had sacrificed his own happiness, tying himself to a viper just to avenge my ghost. I reached out and squeezed his massive hand. "I won't let that woman marry into our family."

"She won't," Marco said firmly, his grip tightening around mine. "It's done."

I took a deep breath, the lingering scent of gunpowder and expensive leather in the car grounding me. "Marco... teach me how to shoot. I don't want to be just a bird in a cage anymore. I need to protect myself."

He looked at me, surprised by the steel in my voice, before a slow, proud nod tipped his chin. "Tomorrow. We start tomorrow."

Damien POV

My penthouse office was a tomb of glass and shadows. The city lights of Chicago bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the darkness inside me swallowed it all.

I sat behind my ebony desk, rhythmically tapping my gold signet ring against the wood. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"And then he bought the dress, left the Gallo Soldiers bleeding on the floor, and drove away with the veiled woman," my Enforcer finished, his head bowed respectfully.

I stopped tapping.

Marco Valentine, The Bull, had publicly crippled two of Capo Gallo's men and shattered a five-year alliance. Over a random woman in a boutique.

It made no sense. Marco was a brute, but he wasn't stupid enough to start a war over a whore. He had endured that engagement for years for the sake of his family's business. Unless... the woman wasn't random.

My mind raced, connecting the jagged pieces. The Valentines had lied to me at the social club. I had seen the microscopic flash of panic in Antonio's eyes when I told them the tomb was empty. They were hiding something. And this mysterious, veiled woman Marco was willing to burn bridges for was the key to their little conspiracy.

"Investigate her," I ordered, my voice a lethal whisper that made the Enforcer stiffen. "Find out everything about this woman. Where she came from, her name, what she eats for breakfast. Leave no stone unturned."

"Sì, Don Moretti(Yes, Don Moretti)," he murmured.

I turned my leather chair to face the dark skyline, the phantom scent of dried roses haunting my senses. "And the search for Isabella continues. But remember... when you find her, do not inform the Valentines. Bring her directly to me."