My Mafia Husband is my Captor

Chiara

I slapped the Devil of Torino across the face at my own wedding in front of two hundred witnesses with his men's guns already aimed at my chest.

My hand print was visible on his jaw yet he didn't pull out his gun. He didn't even blink.

Instead, his storm-gray eyes dropped to my lips, pupils blown wide with something I couldn't figure out.

"I like the fire, piccola," he whispered, stepping so close his chest brushed mine. "I'm going to enjoy watching it die when I break you."

That's when I realized I wasn't trembling from fear, I was trembling because some twisted part of me wanted him to try.

Five minutes earlier, I'd been standing at the altar convinced I was about to escape.

"Do you, Chiara Benedetti, take Matteo Rossini to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The priest's voice echoed through the chapel, but I barely heard him over my racing heart.

Freedom, that's what this wedding meant. No more living under my father's suffocating control or being his perfect, obedient daughter while he paraded me around like a trophy.

Matteo wasn't my soulmate, but he was safe, heck I bet he didn't even know my favorite color.

I opened my mouth to say "I do."

The explosion tore the heavy oak doors clean off their hinges as screams erupted followed by thick clouds of gray smoke that forced my wedding guests under the pews while my father's guards tried to reach for their weapons but they weren't fast enough.

A dozen men in black suits stormed the entrance with guns. Now guns weren't new to me, because my father had many enemies, but what surprised me was the fact that within seconds, every one of my father's men was forced to their knees, hands behind their heads.

Then he stepped through the smoke as the church fell silent.

He is massive, over six feet, dressed in a fitting black suit that increases the aura around him. As if that isn't enough, his sharp jaw, full lips and eyes that are as cold and unforgiving as a winter storm makes my chest tighten.

Nico Ferraro.

The Don of the Ferraro family and the most ruthless man in the city.

"What is the meaning of this?!" my father yells from the front row, his face completely pale.

Nico doesn't even spare him a glance. His dark eyes are locked entirely on me. A heavy, suffocating heat rolls off him as he stops right at the bottom of the altar steps.

Matteo steps in front of me, puffing out his chest. "Get back, Ferraro! You can't just..."

Nico's hand shoots out and grabs Matteo by the throat, cutting off his words, and casually tossed him aside like a ragdoll. He crashed into the stone baptismal and crumpled to the floor, groaning.

My pulse hammers against my ribs, but I lock my knees as I refuse to shake .

"You're wearing the wrong color, piccola," he says with a voice so deep, it vibrates straight down to my toes.

"This is my wedding," I spit out, gripping my white bouquet so tightly the thorns pierce through my silk gloves. "Get the hell out."

A dark, mocking smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Really?"

He steps up to the altar,and I have to tilt my head back just to look him in the eye.

"What do you want?" I demand.

He finally looks over at my father, who is currently trembling behind a pew. "Tell her, Benedetti. Tell your daughter why this little ceremony is a fraud."

My father swallows hard, looking at the floor so Nico turns his cold eyes back to me. "Three years ago, your father made a mistake that should have cost him his life. To keep his head on his shoulders, he signed a contract. A blood debt."

He reaches out as his large thumb brushes against my jawline. His touch is rough, burning hot against my cold skin and that makes my breath hitch.

"He sold you to me, Chiara," he whispers, the words piercing through me. "You don't belong to Matteo, or your father anymore, you belong to me."

"You must be sick in the head!" I yell.

Before I can think, my hand flies up.

Crack.

I slap him across the face with everything I have and the sharp sound echoes through the dead-silent church.

The armed men around us raise their guns, aiming right at my chest, and that makes my father let out a choked gasp because everyone in our world knows you do not strike a Don and you definitely do not strike Nico Ferraro. I might just have signed my own death warrant.

He doesn't give me a chance to step back as he wraps his massive arm around my waist, hoisting me over his shoulder m as though I weigh nothing.

"Put me down! You bastard!" I scream, thrashing wildly. I hammer my fists into his broad back, kicking my legs.

He ignores my blows entirely, turning on his heel and carrying me straight down the aisle, right past my silent, cowardly father and my unconscious fiancé.

"The debt is finally collected," he announces to the terrified crowd as he carries me out into the blinding sunlight and shoves me into the back of a black SUV. The doors lock with a heavy, final click.

The privacy divider behind the driver's seat slid up with a quiet hiss, sealing just the two of us in as the car pulled out of the church driveway.

"Where are you taking me?" my voice sounded steadier than I felt.

"Home."

"That's not my home."

"It is now." He leaned back against the leather seat, completely relaxed like he hadn't just blown up a wedding and kidnapped the bride. "You should get comfortable, piccola. It's a twenty-minute drive."

I turned to stare out the window, trying to calm my racing heart and think of a way out but my mind kept circling back to the horrifying question. If my father really had sold me three years ago... Why didn't he fight? Why didn't he say anything?

"You're wondering why he let me take you?" He asked if reading my thoughts but I didn't answer. I would rather die than give him that satisfaction.

"Your father is a coward, Chiara. He's been dodging this debt for three years, using every loophole and delay tactic he could find. Today was the deadline." He paused. "The contract stated that if he married you to someone else before I collected, the debt would be void."

My stomach dropped.

"That's why he pushed so hard for this wedding." the words came out raw. "He was trying to steal what's mine."

"I'm not a thing you can own!"

"No?" He shifted, and suddenly his fingers were wrapped around my wrist, though not tight, just firm enough that I couldn't pull away. "Then why is your father driving in the opposite direction right now instead of coming to your rescue?"