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Trapped By The Mafia King's Secret Obsession Novel Cover

Trapped By The Mafia King's Secret Obsession

To pay off her late father's mafia blood debt, she takes a lethal job: impersonating a cloistered Mafia Princess at an arranged marriage meeting. Across the table sits Felix Falcone, the terrifying Underboss—and the boy she secretly loved for three years. He doesn't recognize her, so she plays the perfect fake bride—until her treacherous memory betrays her, revealing intimate details about his habits. Instead of executing her, Felix uncovers her true identity, and his cold indifference turns into obsessive possessiveness. He cancels his mafia marriage, traps her in his corporate empire as his exclusive secretary, and threatens any man who looks at her. Why does the ruthless predator who once despised her now hunt her with dark devotion?
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Chapter 2

Cece POV

His words hit like a hand plunging my face into ice water.

A sharp, hollow pain flared behind my ribs. I silently mocked my own foolish, lingering hopes. Why had I ever thought a man of his brutal calculus could harbor a soft spot for a nobody like me?

"Since you're so curious about my past, Gianna, let's talk about yours." Felix leaned forward, resting his muscular forearms on the table. "How many men have you entertained before me?"

I froze. Gianna was a proud Mafia Princess—jaded, experienced. Play the part.

"I've had about ten past relationships," I lied, lifting my chin.

Felix stopped moving. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Ten?" The word sounded like a lethal threat.

"We were just playing around," I explained quickly, my palms sweating. "Nothing serious. It's normal in our circles."

He let out a chilling, mocking laugh that scraped against my nerves like jagged glass. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck. I'd misstepped, and the fragile pretense of civility between us had dissolved.

"Perhaps we should call off this arrangement," I said, gripping the edge of my seat. "We clearly don't align."

Felix stood slowly. His towering frame cast a shadow that seemed to press down with physical weight.

"Do you treat a blood-bound union as a game?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "Do you think you can sit at my table, waste my time, and simply walk away?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat had locked shut.

Felix turned his back to me, walked to the heavy oak door, and left without another glance.

I sat alone, my heart aching so deeply I could barely breathe. A minute later, a heavily armed soldier stepped into the room.

"The Underboss has already paid the bill," he stated flatly, and stepped back out.

I wrapped my shaking hands around my teacup. Once I'd regained a fraction of control, I pulled out the burner phone and texted Gianna: *He left. The meeting is over.*

Ten minutes later, the door opened again. Gianna walked in flanked by her own guards, visibly annoyed.

"What happened?" she demanded, dropping into the chair Felix had just vacated.

"He asked about my past. I told him I had ten ex-boyfriends to sound like you. He got angry and walked out."

Gianna rolled her eyes. "You idiot. Felix is a possessive psychopath. Ever since he was sent away for brutal training as a kid, he doesn't share his toys. He certainly doesn't tolerate a bride with a long history."

So the rumor went. Felix had disappeared for two years in his early teens—no explanation, no contact with anyone outside the Family. When he came back, he was different. Colder. Everyone at the academy whispered about what they'd done to him. No one knew for sure.

I looked down at my hands. "I'm sorry. I failed."

Gianna sighed heavily. "I knew he had a hidden obsession. He's too cold, too calculated. I'm terminating your contract. I'll pay you the hazard fee for today, but we're done."

I nodded, a heavy weight settling on my shoulders. It was for the best, I told myself.

Then my burner phone lit up, vibrating against the dark wood.

I picked it up, and a chill seized me so profoundly my limbs felt disconnected, the muscles in my back and neck locking rigid.

A direct message from an unknown, encrypted number.

*I will see you on Friday at eight. Do not be late, Gianna.*

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