The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride

Elena Vitello POV

Luca came out of the shower with a towel slung low on his hips, water dripping down his chest.

To any other woman, he was carved from marble.

To me, he was rotten wood pretending to be stone.

"Come here," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low register that used to make my knees weak.

"Headache," I said, my voice flat. "Wedding stress."

"You think too much, Elena. It's just a party."

"It's a sacrament, Luca."

He rolled his eyes at my piety and turned to the dresser to get dressed.

I reached into the bedside table drawer and pulled out a small velvet box. Ebony.

"I have a gift for you," I said.

He turned, interest flickering in his eyes.

"Early? Bad luck to give gifts before the wedding."

"Open it at the altar," I said. "Promise me. It's a surprise."

He took the box. Weighed it in his hand.

He smiled. That smug, self-satisfied curve of his mouth that told me he thought he had this all figured out.

"I promise." He didn't put it in his pocket. He set it on the nightstand, next to his watch and his loose change. "Don't want to lose it at the club tonight."

He checked himself in the mirror.

"I'll put it in my jacket pocket tomorrow morning."

He didn't know the box didn't hold a ring.

It held a single wedding invitation. Elegant script. A death warrant printed on cardstock.

The groom's name wasn't Luca Moretti.

It didn't matter when he found out.

The ending was already written.

I needed him gone.

The air in the room had become suffocating.

"I need to sleep," I said.

"Goodnight, love. I need to hit the club. Make sure the guys are ready for my bachelor party tomorrow." The club was more important than comforting his stressed fiancée.

He kissed my forehead, dressed quickly, and left. The velvet box sat on the dark wood of the nightstand.

The door clicked shut.

I couldn't sleep. I grabbed my phone and opened my anonymous account.

I searched for Sofia's profile.

It was public.

Stupid, or desperate to be found.

An hour ago, she had posted a new video. The caption read: My Forever.

I clicked play.

The video was shaky, filmed vertically on a phone in low light.

Luca was in it. Wearing the same suit he'd left my bedroom in. On one knee in a club booth. Sofia sat on a velvet couch, fanning herself like a queen holding court.

He held a ring.

Not my ring.

A bigger one. Flashier.

"I promise, baby," he was saying in the video, his words slightly slurred. "As soon as the old man kicks it and I move up, I'm done with Elena. But I need the Vitello name. Just wait."

The camera panned.

I saw Luca's crew. Men I had cooked for. Men I had welcomed into my home.

They were cheering. They were clapping.

They knew. All of them knew.

I wasn't just being betrayed by one man.

I was the punchline of a joke the entire organization was in on.

A cold calm washed over me. The tears froze before they could form.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

I dialed a number I had memorized years ago from my father's private books.

One ring.

"Cavallaro." The voice was low. Gravel on steel.

"This is Elena," I said.

"I know who this is," Dante replied. No surprise.

"I'm sending you a video," I said.

"Send it."

I forwarded it. A full minute of silence on the other end. The kind of silence that precedes an explosion.

Then Dante spoke.

"Do you want his head in a box as a wedding gift?"

"No," I said. "I want his soul in hell."

"Done."