Married into the Mafia, I Became His Prisoner

On my wedding day, I ran.

Because my mother had a car accident.

Still wearing my wedding dress, I rushed out of the church, every guest staring at me.

Finn Vitale stood at the altar, his smile frozen.

I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

By the time I got to the hospital, my mother was fine.

Lucia Vitale sat on the sofa, elegant and composed, a cigarette between her fingers.

She glanced at me and placed a check on the table.

“Five million,” she said.

“Leave Finn. Otherwise, next time, your mother’s accident won’t be fake.”

My fingers turned cold as I stared at the check.

“Why?” I asked.

She exhaled smoke slowly.

“Because you’re not worthy.”

“Did you really think a girl who works in a café could marry into the Vitale family?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Do you know what people are saying out there? That you slept your way into my son’s bed for money.”

I wanted to argue.

But she wasn’t entirely wrong, at least not in their eyes.

Between Finn and me, there was a gap as wide as the world itself.

The door slammed open, breaking the silence.

Finn stood in the doorway, phone in hand.

He looked at the check.

At my mother.

Then at me.

And in that moment, the light in his eyes went out.

“Five million?” he said softly.

“That’s all it takes to sell my bride?”

He walked toward me and grabbed my chin, his fingers digging into my skin.

“It’s not like that—”

“Shut up.”

He pressed play.

My voice came through—broken, uneven.

“Five million… that’s enough for my mom’s treatment… I know I’m not good enough… I’ll leave him…”

The recording had been edited.

I couldn’t even speak under his grip.

His voice was colder than steel.

“Stella Scott,” he said,

“you don’t even deserve to explain.”

My mother tried to speak.

Lucia shot her a look.

She fell silent instantly.

She had worked in a Vitale-owned hospital for twenty years.

She knew exactly what this family was capable of.

Finn dragged me out.

The hallway was crowded—nurses, patients, bodyguards.

Everyone watched.

No one spoke.

No one dared.

A bride in a wedding dress, being dragged away like a criminal, stumbling down the hallway.

He shoved me into a Rolls-Royce.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

He sat beside me, not looking at me.

“Home.”

“That’s not my home.”

He finally turned.

His dark brown eyes were empty.

No anger.

No hatred.

Not even disgust.

Just unreadable hollowness.

“From the moment you took that check,” he said,

“you don’t get to go anywhere anymore.”

The car pulled away from the hospital.

Sunlight flooded the New York skyline.

And suddenly, I remembered the first night I met him.

He had come into the café where I worked.

Ordered an espresso.

I spilled some on his sleeve.

I thought he’d be furious.

He just looked at me and said—

“It’s okay.”

The next day, he came back.

And the day after that.

Until one day, he left a card on the counter.

Only one word written on it.

Mine.

I thought it was love.

I was wrong.

It was a sentence.

The car stopped in front of a mansion on Long Island.

The Vitale estate.

I knew this place.

Everyone did.

Finn dragged me inside, up the stairs, into a room, and shoved a door open.

“This is where you’ll be staying from now on.”

The room was large.

Empty.

Bars on the windows.

“My men are downstairs,” he said, standing in the doorway without stepping in.

“There are bugs in your room.”

“Without my permission, you don’t leave this house.”

“Finn—”

“Your phone. Your ID. Your cards. Hand them over.”

His voice was cold enough to make my blood run cold.

“I’m not your prisoner,” I said.

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he smiled.

That smile sent a chill down my spine.

“You’re my wife,” he said.

Then, slowly “What’s the difference?”

The door closed.

I stood alone in the empty room.

Still wearing my dirty wedding dress.

Listening to his footsteps fade away.