His Hidden Secret, The Mafia Boss's Bride

"I saved you. Now you're mine."

Five years ago, Matteo De Luca took a bullet for me. Ever since, I willingly stayed hidden as the secret lover of New York's most ruthless Mafia heir.

He claimed the shadows were the only way to protect me from rival families. I believed him—right up until his former flame, Serena, returned to the city.

Suddenly, his protective instincts shifted. He left me alone with an IV in my arm just to rush to her side for a mild stomachache.

But the real wake-up call came when I accidentally opened the locked attic he never let me enter. It wasn't full of syndicate weapons or secrets. It was covered wall-to-wall with intimate photographs of him and Serena.

Staring at the shrine he kept for her, my five years of devotion felt like a pathetic joke.

I didn't scream or cry. I just pulled out my phone and dialed Sicily.

"Papa," I said steadily, staring at the empty room. "Tell the Ferraro family I've changed my mind. Set the wedding date."

Alessia

"Alessia, has something happened?"

Papa's worried voice traveled across the Atlantic. For one dangerous second, I almost told him everything.

Instead, I looked through the tall windows of my New York villa and said, "Nothing happened. I just miss home. The Sicilian sun is warmer than anything in New York."

He gave a soft laugh, but the concern did not leave his voice. "My principessa has finally grown tired of the outside world. Come home soon. I miss you."

"I will. I only need a little time to finish things here."

"Do you want me to invite Matteo De Luca when you return? I heard the two of you are still neighbors."

Neighbors.

For five years, that was all the world had been allowed to call us.

I lowered my eyes to the fading bruise on my shin. "Don't invite him. Once I leave New York, I won't be seeing him again."

Papa was silent for a moment. He knew me too well to mistake those words for a passing mood.

"Then come home," he said quietly. "Everything else can wait."

After the call ended, I sank back against the sofa.

To the outside world, Matteo De Luca and Alessia Bellandi belonged to separate lives. He was the feared heir to the De Luca family. I was Don Bellandi's cherished daughter, raised among Sicilian vineyards, old stone villas, and people who had never asked me to make myself smaller.

Five years ago, Matteo had taken a bullet meant for me.

I had fallen in love with him while his blood soaked through my hands.

He told me hiding our relationship was the only way to keep me alive from his enemies. Like a fool, I believed him for five years.

I stared at the wall across the room. It held the few photos we actually kept in this house—the only proof of our love.

But lately, those weren't the photographs breaking my heart.

At a party three weeks earlier, I had gone upstairs looking for Matteo after he disappeared with Serena. I caught my leg on a broken champagne flute near the attic stairs. While searching for something to stop the bleeding, I opened the attic door and found an entire wall covered with old photographs of Matteo and Serena.

He had never told me they were there.

When I hurried back to the party in a panic, he didn't even notice my bleeding leg.

I pushed the memory away with a bitter smile and stared at the black velvet box on the coffee table. Inside lay a pair of custom cuff links engraved with our initials, my gift for our fifth anniversary.

Now, I didn't need them anymore.

The front door opened.

I slipped the gift into a drawer just as Matteo entered the room. He loosened his tie with one hand and tossed his jacket across the sofa. His gaze found me, and the hard lines of his face softened.

"You didn't hear me come in. What are you doing, baby?"

"I was speaking to Papa."

He crossed the room and leaned over me, one knee pressing between mine. "What about? Your eyes are red."

His fingers traced my jaw. He kissed me before I could answer, familiar and possessive, his breath carrying mint and tobacco.

I put a hand against his chest.

His collar shifted beneath my fingers, and the scent of roses rose from his skin.

I had never worn rose perfume.

When I tried to pull away, the bandage on my shin caught the edge of the sofa. Pain shot through the half-healed cut.

I gasped as a fresh line of blood seeped through the white gauze.

Matteo froze, staring at my leg. "What happened?" His brow tightened. "How did you get hurt? Why didn't you call me?"

He really didn't remember.

I could have reminded him about the party, the shattered glass, and how he walked right past me because Serena called his name. But I kept my mouth shut.

"Don't cry." He kissed my forehead and stood up. "I'll get the first-aid kit."

At the doorway, he glanced back. "You're terrible at taking care of yourself. What would you do without me?"

I watched him leave.

Once, his words would have made me feel safe. Now, they just sounded like a joke.

I was still Don Bellandi's daughter. I crossed an ocean for Matteo, but I never lost the ability to cross it back.

Soon, he would find out exactly what I could do without him.