Page 4 of Masked Mafia's Runaway Bride

“Do you, Don Carlos, take Mirella Gallo as your lawfully wedded wife?”

I watched him, holding my breath as he looked down at me. Something in his expression shifted, and for a moment, he was no longer the polished, generous savior who had agreed to marry me. He looked amused. His lips curled, slowly forming a grinthat chilled me to my core. It wasn’t a smile of affection or even respect. It was the kind of smile you might give to a defeated enemy.

“Why should I take this… whore as my wife?”

His words hit me like ice water. A gasp rippled through the guests, a wave of shock I could feel pressing against me. The priest froze, his eyes darting between us in utter confusion, and my father looked as if he’d just been stabbed.

But me? My heart… stopped.

What had he just called me?

CHAPTER TWO

MIRELLA

Standing at the altar, I could almost feel the stranger’s hands on my back, the memory of last night a taunting warmth I’d held onto, if only for a moment. Even now, the faint smell of his cologne clung to me, reminding me of the gentleness in his touch, of the way he looked at me, spoke to me, made love to me, and made me feel…alive.

“You’re so heavenly.”

I’d laughed at him. “Heavenly? Are you serious? We’ve barely known each other for an hour or two.”

He’d looked at me with such intensity then, his brown eyes boring into mine, and said, “An hour or eternity, I know what I know. You are an angel sent from above,” he paused and added, “An angel who needs me to rescue her,”

“Rescue me?” I raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-intrigued. “I’m no damsel in distress.”

“I never said you were,” he replied, his gaze softening. “But even the strongest people sometimes need saving.” He paused, his fingers trailing down my arm. “Sometimes, they just need someone to tell them there’s another way.”

His voice had been like a lifeline, yet I’d laughed it off, pretending not to care. “Well, Mr. ‘Rescue Me,’ what should I call you?”

He’d leaned in close, his mouth inches from mine, his breath warm on my skin. “Call me yours.”

That line still sent a shiver through me, even standing here now, my eyes on the man who thought he owned me. A man old enough to be my father, who’d decided I was his.

“Why should I take this… whore as my wife?” Don Carlos spat.

The word hit me hard, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart beat faster, the heat of shame creeping up my face as I saw heads turning with shocked glances cast in my direction. I steadied myself, forcing down the anger bubbling up inside me. “Don’t you dare call me a whore.”

My father rose from his seat, his face pale and pleading, “Please, friend, don’t don’t do this,” but Don Carlos’s eyes were locked on me with that cold, smug expression I’d come to know too well.

“Then tell me, Mirella,” he smirked, his voice dripping with venom, “What else should we call a woman who sneaks off with a masked stranger at her own engagement party to go get fucked by him.”

The murmurs grew louder with the judgment in their whispers. And then, to my horror, I heard a click. I looked up at the screen where our wedding hymns were meant to be displayed. My stomach turned as the image flickered and changed, the serene background replaced by a grainy video taken from a dark corner, clearly shot with a phone. I blinked in disbelief, feeling the world around me tilt.

On the screen, it was me. Me andhim, the stranger. I could see us standing by the door of the room last night, him cupping my face, his mask askew, my hand resting on his chest as wehesitated, inches apart. He’d leaned in, and then we kissed. A kiss that had felt so forbidden and so right, I couldn’t help but melt into it.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady, but all I could manage was a whisper. “You… you had me followed?”

Don Carlos looked back at me, unphased and ruthless, as if he hadn’t just set fire to my dignity in front of everyone. “Of course. One of my men saw you leaving with him, thinking you’d vanished. So, I asked him to investigate and look what he found.” He gestured to the screen as if he were showing off some prized possession.

The congregation stared, eyes darting from me to Don Carlos and then to the video where the stranger and I had slipped into the room, the door clicking shut behind us. I wanted to scream, to run, to disappear.

Don Carlos leaned in, his voice low and dripping with malice. “Tell me, Mirella. Who was he? Who’s the man you snuck off with?” He tilted his head, a cruel smile creeping onto his face as he continued, “You have one minute to answer.”

I looked to my father, hoping for some kind of help, some sort of escape, but he just stood there, frozen in shock, as if someone had pulled the ground out from beneath his feet.Maybe he hadn’t known, my face flaming with my anger.

Don Carlos’s hand slipped into his coat pocket, and a glint of metal caught my eye. He pulled out a gun, casually pointing it toward my father as if this was nothing more than an after-dinner activity.

The church gasped, some people rising from their seats, others frozen in place. I felt my pulse hammering in my ears, louder than the murmurs echoing through the room.

---