A Bride For The Mafia King

BIANCA POV

“Fucking hell.”

“Go find a boy and stop doing that.” I smack my lips and glide another coat of red gloss. The shade is perfect, sinful and loud. My reflection winks back, an enchantress in the making.

“No, Bianca,” she calls from the bathroom, her voice muffled. “I’m not hooking up with some random guy and ending up in one of those secret baby or contract marriage disasters.”

I chuckle. “Oh, you’ve heard of those too? Honestly, it sounds better than being glued to a damn toy.”

The toilet flushes. She steps out, her face damp, her black hair clinging to her cheeks. “Trust me, I’d rather have a secret baby with a mafia boss than deal with an arrogant billionaire.”

“You and this mafia fantasy again.” I blow a kiss to the mirror. “Girl, get yourself a celebrity crush instead.”

She rolls her eyes. “A celebrity crush? You’re setting my standards underground.”

I turn to her with a grin. “Relax, I’m kidding.”

Her pout melts into a smile. “Good. Now, are we actually going to this party or just flirt with our reflections all night?”

“Both,” I smirk, grabbing my clutch. “But let’s start with the party.”

The club was chaos, music pounding, lights flashing like we were stuck inside a disco ball from hell. The air reeked of perfumes, and bad decisions, we're the bad decisions.

“Bianca!” Christie yelled over the bass, swaying with a drink in each hand. “This is insane.”

She handed me a shot before I could say no. I shrugged and gulped it, the liquid burning my throat.

“See? That’s my girl!” she cheered, throwing her hands up like she’d just saved the world.

We danced until our feet hurt, our bodies brushing against each other, the laughter mixing with the DJ’s remix of something I couldn’t even name. Christie was in her element, her hair turned messy, her lipstick smudged, her voice hoarse from screaming lyrics of songs she didn't even know.

I grabbed another shot and gulped it, it was the fifth or maybe sixth, I lost count.

“Bianca, I’m gonna find that cute bartender,” she giggled, wobbling toward the counter. “You go dance with someone hot.”

I snorted. “Right, because I totally want to hook up with a stranger named Kyle who smells like beer.”

She just waved her hand and disappeared into the crowd.

I danced a little longer, but my head started spinning, the club lights blurring my vision, my steps became wobbly. By midnight, the thrill had faded. Christie was nowhere to be found, and my phone was dying.

Screw it. I was done.

Outside the club, the air was cold and harsh against my flushed skin. I wrapped my arms around myself, my heels clacking against the sidewalk as I started the long walk home. My apartment wasn’t far, maybe fifteen minutes away. Easy, if you weren’t tipsy and trying not to trip over invisible cracks.

The street was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and a stray cat darting across the road. I passed a narrow dark alley, the kind of place you only see in crime shows right before something awful happens.

I had barely taken a step when I heard a scream, a faint one but it was loud enough for me to hear.

My heart jumped. “What the hell?”

I stumbled back, my vision turned fuzzy, followed by a loud gunshot that echoed through the alley like thunder. I froze, my eyes wide.

A man dropped to the ground. Another stood over him, his arm raised, the gun still smoking from the previous shot.

“Holy shit.” My voice came in a whisper.

My instinct told me to run, but my body refused, was this the effect of the tequila. I stepped back and my heel caught a trash bin. It toppled, the metal clattering on the floor.

The shooter’s head snapped toward me, our eyes met. For one second, I swear my heart stopped.

Then I bolted, I ran like hell, my heels in hand, my breath ragged, the sound of my pulse louder than the gunshot itself. I didn’t stop until I was halfway home, my lungs burning, the walls closing in.

By the time I got inside my apartment, I slammed the door shut and pressed my back to it. My hands shook so bad I dropped my keys.

“Drunk,” I muttered. “You’re just drunk, you imagined it.”

But I hadn’t. I could still see the man’s lifeless body and the sound of the gunshots ringed in my ear.

Eventually, I stumbled into bed and passed out, praying it was just some twisted dream.

*******

The next morning I woke up with a heavy head, my mouth tasting bitter and everything ached.

“Christie,” I groaned, grabbing my pillow. “If you’re here, please bring me water and a new liver.”

There was no reply, I sat up and turned around, my head still aching. I saw a silhouette of three men staring at me, I blinked and rubbed my eyes, there were there.

The one in front looked tall with short brown hair, dark eyes, and a snake tattoo curling up his neck, his hands in his pocket. He looked like danger wrapped in expensive leather. Behind him were two brick-wall, they looked harsh with an athletic build, both were silent and armed.

My throat went dry. “Uh… am I still drunk, or did I just wake up in a mafia movie?”

The tattooed man smirked. “Good morning, Bianca.”

He knew my name, that wasn't good.

“Who the hell are you?” I snapped, clutching the sheet to my chest. “How did you get in here?”

He ignored the question, glancing around my room like he owned it. “Cute place, but small though.”

“Answer me!”

His gaze cut back to me, it sent chills down my spine. “I think you already know who I am.”

“No, actually, I don’t. And if you’re here to sell me a Bible, I’m not interested.”

He chuckled. “My name’s Vincenzo, Enzo Vitale, I'm being nice by introducing myself but I believe you saw something last night, didn’t you?”

My heart lurched. “Saw what?”

“The shooting.”

I blinked fast. “Shooting? Oh, wait, that? I thought it was a dream. You know, alcohol hallucination? Happens when you mix tequila and bad lighting.” I chuckle, staggering back.

“Don’t play dumb.” His voice dropped even though it sounds serious. “You saw something you shouldn't have.”

My pulse raced. “I didn’t, i just heard a sound and ran. I didn’t even see faces!”

He stepped closer, the smell of his cologne suffocating. “You saw enough.”

The room felt smaller with him in it. The other men didn’t move, neither did they blink.

I swallowed hard. “Look, if this is about last night, I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t even remember half of it.”

He studied me for a long second, then smiled, not kindly, but like a cat toying with a mouse.

“You’re lucky,” he said finally. “If you weren’t… useful, you’d already be dead.”

“Useful?” My voice cracked. “What does that even mean?”

He leaned down, his breath brushing my ear. “It means you’re going to help me. You’re mine now.”

I stared at him In disbelief. “Excuse me?"

He straightened, his eyes gleaming. “Marry me, Bianca. Or I’ll frame you for the murder you witnessed.”