Page 2 of The Mafia King's Stolen Fiancée

Chet’s eyes narrowed, and his hold on my arm tightened painfully. I was sure it would leave a bruise on my pale skin.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growled menacingly.

Straightening my spine, I held on to my courage and hissed, “I’ve had enough of your attitude for today. I’d prefer to ride back with my parents.”

His grip became crushing, causing me to press my lips together so I wouldn’t cry out. I’d learned that Chet liked it when he thought I was intimidated by him. “You need to keep that smart mouth shut, Vivienne, or I’ll shut it for you. The perfect politician’s wife is seen and not heard.”

Chet had been emotionally abusive during our engagement, but he’d never come right out and threatened me with physical violence before. I had no doubt he meant every word, though. It was then that I realized going along with what he and our parents wanted would not only lead to a miserable life but possibly a brutal one.

Even though I knew my parents would disown me if I called off the wedding, I didn’t know that I could go through with tying myself to Chet forever. I had no idea where my spunk had come from, but I tossed my shoulders back and stated, “If you want the perfect politician’s wife, you should find a different woman to marry.”

Before I knew what was happening, he lifted his hand and slapped me across the face. Then he grabbed my chin in a vise-like grip that had me worried he might break the bones.

“What did I say about that smart mouth?” he sneered.

I was shocked that he’d actually hit me. But as I stared up into his cold, furious eyes, I knew I needed to get away from him. Forever. Even if it meant being rejected by my parents. As muchas I hated the idea, I couldn’t put their approval above living in fear for my mental and physical well-being.

I stomped down on his foot, digging my heel into his toes. He roared in pain, his hold on me loosening just enough for me to yank away and take off running back toward the banquet hall. Hopefully, the damage I’d done would be enough to slow him down.

I circled around to the back of the building, headed for the roped-off valet parking lot. I needed to find my parents' car. Thankfully, my dad had a habit of keeping his keys in the console, which my mom complained about all the time. It meant I didn’t have to waste time retrieving them from the valet stand.

I glanced backward to see if Chet was following, so I didn’t see the men standing in my way until I ran into a brick wall of muscle wrapped in an expensive suit.

2

RAFFAELE

“I’ll get you the money, I swear,” the greasy little man cowering in front of me whined. “Just give me a couple more days!”

Domenico, my bodyguard and best friend since we were children, dug the tip of his lethally sharp blade a little deeper into Jimmy’s neck, drawing a drop of blood. “Didn’t we already give this weasel an extension?”

Dario, my brother and lieutenant, sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Two weeks, as I recall. Pretty fucking generous.”

Giving people an extension wasn’t unheard of—we were the Mafia, but we weren’t complete monsters. However, the fact that Jimmy still had all his body parts, not even a broken bone or bullet wound, was definitely an exception to the rule. Jimmy was a Dominici, a distant relation to my cousin Nic, who was the boss of the DeLucas. Or the DeLuca Crime Family, as the media called us.

Nic’s great-grandfather had married a Dominici in the 1940s, not only making them relations by marriage but also bringing them into the Family—as we referred to ourselves.

The only names that held more weight in our organization were DeLuca and DeAngelis. Lorenzo DeLuca and Edoardo DeAngelis had been the beginning of our empire when they went into business together in the 1890s, running an underground gambling operation, then moving on to other interests like high-end brothels and gun running. During prohibition, the Family opened several speakeasies in New York, along with the illegal distribution of our own brand of whiskey—which we still produced and sold today. We had many other businesses, but the Dominici family were the ones who integrated the operation that was my specialty.

As a distant relation—not directly to me, though, because I was a product of our great-great-grandfather's second wife—I’d given him a little more leniency than usual. However, being blood by DNA or by oath didn’t mean a free pass if you fucked with the Family.

I’d been silent for most of this exchange, allowing my soldiers to take the lead. My presence alone was a sign that Jimmy should be very, very worried—something that he obviously understood since his eyes kept straying to me with a look of pure terror.

An appropriate reaction considering that when someone warranted a visit from the underboss, or “King of the South” as I was often dubbed, it was very likely that they wouldn’t be breathing for much longer.

It also spoke volumes that I was meeting with him behind a banquet hall where I was attending an event rather than a more private location. But we were on a clock, so meeting in such a public place was necessary.

“Jimmy.” I said his name like a statement, my tone even and without inflection.

At the sound of my voice, what little color was left in his face drained completely.

“While I have every intention of collecting on your debt, that is not the reason you’re here.”

“What else…?” He tried to look confused but withered under my stare and trailed off, his expression betraying his guilt. Then he stammered, “I-I-they-it wasn’t my fault!”

I raised a single eyebrow. “At this point, I don’t give a fuck how it happened, Jimmy. Your participation cut your ties to the Family.”

“I had no choice!”

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