Vengeance of the mafia queen

CHAPTER 1 : The Blood-Stained Bride

~Aurora DeLuca

My eyes flickered open slowly, my vision was blur and for a while, I couldn't see anything clearly. My head banged seriously and it felt like I was high on some hard drug.

Then I realized, the champagne I was served by one of the maids in my house while I was going to my room. That champagne. I should have known when the champagne felt warm, going down my throat. I should have known when the maid insisted that I take the drink. I should have known when I didn't recognize the maid as one of our own.

Why was I drugged? Why was I kept in this dark room? Where is everyone?

Then the silence dawned on me. The house was too silent. The silence was strange for a house having a wedding celebration dinner. My wedding celebration dinner. Before I passed out, everyone was busy, trying to put things in place for the celebration dinner. I married the absolute love of my life and everything was good.

But for a powerful family, celebrating marriage to another powerful mafia family, the silence was too thick. Too heavy.

I struggled to stand up, mustering all the remaining strength the me. I felt weak and beat up, it was an unfamiliar feeling. I've been trained to be a strong woman, so feeling this weak was a first for me.

As I stood up, I fell to the ground again. Turns out, I have been in the dark room for hours and my legs were asleep. I reached for my legs and removed my high heeled shoes that I had been wearing since that morning before I walked down the aisle. I wiggled my toes slowly as if that would make me regain my strength and surprisingly, I was able to stand up after that.

I staggered out of the small dark guest room they’d locked me in, dizzy, disoriented and barefooted. Something felt strange. If they wanted to keep me hidden, why did they leave the door unlocked? What was whoever who drugged me playing at? For a moment, I wondered if this was some kind of trick they were playing on me, to scare me.

The chandelier lights flickered above like they were unsure if they wanted to stay on. My gown—a masterpiece of silk and lace—dragged behind me like a ghost of what tonight was supposed to be.

Looking back on how I got to where I was now, I was supposed to be a bride. I was supposed to be having dinner with my husband, my family and his family. The dinner was supposed to hold in my family house and we were only waiting for the family of my husband to arrive. I had not seen my husband in a while, so I went upstairs to look for him, then took a champagne from an unfamiliar maid, woke up with headaches in the dark guest room and here I am now, standing outside the room, wondering what was happening.

But my questions would be answered soon. I took a step further, away from the room and the sight was gory. There were bodies everywhere in the house. Dead bodies.

Then, it settled over me like smoke—clinging to my skin, crawling down my throat; the unmistakable stench of iron. Metallic. Sharp. Blood.

The further I walked, the clearer it became. My personal maid lay crumpled by the stairs, her eyes wide open in lifeless horror. Her throat was sliced clean. My heart slammed against my ribcage. My heart shattered into pieces.

No.

No, no, no.

I dropped to my knees, shaking her shoulders. “Lucia! Lucia! Please, no”

But she didn’t move. Her body was already cold.

The sharp taste of fear filled my mouth. I stood, swaying, trying to make sense all I was seeing. My vision doubled. My head pounded. It was unlike anything I've seen in this mafia world. I've seen crazy things but this? This is madness. Who could have massacred all our employees.

My family!

I stumbled through the hall, passing more bodies—guards, staff. People I had known since childhood. Slaughtered like they were nothing. The blood smeared the white tiles, painted over portraits of ancestors that watched in silence from the walls.

“Papa?” I croaked. “Mama?”

No answer.

A choked sob escaped my lips as I pushed open the heavy doors to the dining room. The smell hit me first. It wasn’t just blood—it was death.

And then I saw them.

My family. There were other people I didn't identify and I concluded that they were part of the attackers.

My mother slumped over her chair, eyes closed like she’d fallen asleep—but the bullet wound in her temple and blood said otherwise. My younger brother, Matteo, lay sprawled on the floor, a knife protruding from his chest. My aunt. My cousins. Everyone. Everyone was gone.

Except one.

“Papà!” I rushed to his side. He was on the ground, propped against the long dining table, a deep wound in his abdomen. Blood soaked his white shirt, and his breathing was shallow. Too shallow. He was holding a kitchen knife in his hands tightly and his hands were filled with blood, a good evidence that he fought against a number of the attackers and killed them.

He turned his head slowly toward me, eyes glassy but aware. “Aurora…”

I cradled his head in my lap, shaking. “I’m here, I’m here. Oh God, what happened—who did this?!”

“I'm glad you're safe. Listen to me,” he rasped, gripping my wrist with what little strength he had. “You must… survive.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I wept, rocking him. “We’ll get help—just stay with me, please—”

“No!” His voice was sharp, sudden. Just like it always has been. “There is no time. Don’t trust anyone, Aurora. Not even the ones you think you know.”

I froze. His eyes bore into mine. “They were betrayed. We were betrayed. From the inside.”

He reached into his blood-soaked jacket and pulled out a small, ancient-looking locket. Our family heirloom. The one passed down through generations of DeLucas.

“Take it,” he whispered. “You are the last now. Hide it. Protect it. Live.”

“No—please, stay with me—”

“I love you, figlia mia,” he said softly, his final breath a thread in the wind.

Then he was gone.

My scream shattered whatever silence remained.

I clutched his body, sobbing like my chest was being ripped apart. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to lose everything.

But the sound of boots stomping down the hall snapped my head up.

The attackers. They were coming back.

I laid my father’s body down gently, kissed his cold forehead, took the knife he had used from him and stood. I ripped the lower half of my wedding dress so I could move. My hands trembled, but I clenched my fists.

Let them come.

I would make them pay.

The first one that entered got a punch straight to the jaw. The second I flipped over my shoulder. But I was slow. The drug hadn’t worn off completely. My limbs dragged like lead, and the moment I tried to kick, one of them caught me midair and slammed me to the ground.

“Feisty little thing,” he muttered, licking his split lip. “Still breathing, huh?”

I spit in his face.

He laughed—and drove the knife into my side.

I gasped. The pain exploded through my body like fire. I felt warm blood spill over my gown, staining it deeper red. My vision blurred. My arms fell limp.

Everything began to spin, darkening at the edges.

But just as the world began to slip from me, I heard it. Distant. Frantic. Angry.

“Aurora!”

That voice. I knew that voice.