Chapter Three : Married to the Mad Don

Nolie’s POV At Veltrono Estate

"You’re marrying Reggio. End of discussion."

Arjona’s voice cracked like a whip across the long dining table, slicing through silverware clinks and fake-ass sympathy.

My fork paused mid-air.

The only thing stopping me from stabbing it through her throat was the fact that I hadn’t finished my wine yet.

I set the fork down. Calm. Precise. My hands didn’t shake—but my blood did.

"You think you can forcefully make me marry again like I’m a goddamn goat?"

Arjona tilted her glass. Smirked. "Don’t flatter yourself. Goats are obedient."

I almost lunged.

"You will marry him," Arjona snapped. "You owe us.

“After everything we did for you?” she said with that venom-laced smile. “You think you can just walk away?”

I glanced down the table. Everyone sat stiff. Silent. Like they were at a funeral.

Wait. They were.

My husband’s. The psycho who tried to kill me two nights ago. The one I watched drop to the floor with a bullet in his skull.

Thanks to the man with golden eyes.

Only person who’s ever done me a damn favor in this house

“Where’s Reggio?” I asked, blinking past the buzz in my head.

That sucker hadn’t slithered to dinner yet. Maybe he’d choked on his own tongue.

“Oh, poor Regg,” his mother fretted. “He hasn’t returned since the wake…”

As if summoned by rot, the doors opened.

Reggio stumbled in.

Blood on his shirt. Swollen lip. One eye was already bruising. Limping.

I pressed my hand to my mouth, only to hide the smile curling there.

He looked like someone had rearranged his face with a brick.

He dropped into his chair like a deflated balloon.

“What happened?” his mother gasped.

“Jumped,” he grunted. “Fucking rival crew.”

Bullshit.

My gaze flicked to the ring of bruises around my wrist. The memory of his hand sliding across my hip at the wake.

And then

Zorak.

The look in his eyes. The way he’d gone still Quiet.

Yeah.

I knew exactly who did it.

I hoped he’d broken a rib.

“You think this stops the wedding?” Arjona hissed at me. “You think because some stupid fuck rearranged my brother’s face that you get to walk away?”

“Fuck this family,” I said aloud.

"You forget we saved you. After that, mess with the cello string. After you murdered a billionaire’s son"

My chair scraped back as I stood. Harsh. Loud. Final.

"Take the house. The cars. The name. You can keep everything and the blood money. But I’m not marrying Reggio."

Reggio hadn’t even sat down when she came for me.

Phartia Averso His Mother

Draped in black like a widow herself, despite her son not even cold in the ground.

She stood up from the table, eyes locked on me like I was something she wanted buried next.

“You dragged him outside that night,” she said coldly. “You killed my son.”

I didn’t flinch. “He tried to kill me first.”

“That doesn’t change what you owe.”

I stiffened. “I don’t owe you shit.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You owe this family an heir.”

I stared.

“If Sylvesso didn’t get it,” she said, voice sharp, “Reggio will.”

My stomach dropped.

“Over my dead fucking body.”

She smiled.

“We already buried one of you this week. Don’t tempt me.”

“Get ready,” Arjona said suddenly, breaking the tension. She leaned in close, fork in hand, face tight. “You’re marrying Reggio in few days. Whether you like it or not.”

The fork in my hand itched to find her neck.

I stood.

Slow. Steady. Boiling.

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

I didn’t wait for her response. I walked out of the room, head high, heart pounding.ll

They wanted to chain me up again?

Fuck that.

I made it up to my room, slammed the door, and slid down to the carpet.

Tears stung, but I swallowed them. I’ve cried enough in this house.

……………………………,,,,,,,,

Back in my room, I ripped the hairpins from my head and let them scatter across the floor like regrets. The mirror didn’t lie—my eyes were wild. Lip still red from biting it back. My black dress clung like a second skin. I looked like a widow with unfinished business.

Because I was.

Twelve months in hell with Sylvesso. A marriage sealed in violence and paranoia. The bipolar rages. The forced dinners. The forced nights. The bruises I had to paint over like art.

All because of one fucking night.

One performance.

One string of a cello.

I’d been hired to play for four young billionaire heirs. Private event. No press. No protection.

One of them tried to rape me.

He tried to record it. His laugh still echoed when I closed my eyes. So I used what I had. A cello string. Steel. Sharp.

He didn’t laugh after that.

I saw Zorak that night. I didn't know who it was at that time,

Just a flicker in the shadows  of the mezzanine.. Golden eyes. A man in black watching from a balcony, like he’d been hunting something and found me instead. I thought I imagined him. Thought he vanished.

But he didn’t.

He was back. And now  he was circling.

I remembered calling my father in tears. The blood. The panic. He called in the favor. The Veltrano cartel cleaned it up.

Their price? Me.

Married to the Mad Don.Thier Bipolar son

Sylvesso couldn’t keep a woman. Couldn’t keep a mood. But they wanted an heir, and I was the sacrificial lamb with good breeding and quiet roots.

Now I was free.

And they still wanted to chain me down.

I crawled to the closet, pulled out the emergency bottle of vodka Sylvesso used to hide from his mother. I  drank straight from it, bitter and burning.

If they wanted a marriage, fine.

They wouldn’t want me after I was used.

That was the plan. I’d slip out tonight. Find a escort house. No names. No faces. I'd pick a stranger, ride him until I bled, and ruin the sanctity of whatever bullshit tradition they were trying to bind me with.

But first, I needed to get drunk enough to do it.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, pacing the room, bottle in hand, toes aching in my heels.

I drank again.

One shot. Then another.

It burned like acid going down,  through my throat and hitting my stomach like a fist.

But the shaking didn’t stop.

My hands trembled around the bottle. My vision swam, but my heart kept pounding like I was still in that dining room, still cornered,

I wasn't numb enough yet. Not even close.

I stripped off my dress, tossed on the shortest thing I could find, A black lace and slipped out the back door.

But even as I reached for the door, my breath caught.

His voice came back “You’d beg me to ruin you.”

My thighs clenched. My cheeks burned.

God. Why the hell was it his voice in my head now? Not Reggio’s. Not Sylvesso’s.  the man with the golden eyes, who touched me like I was something sacred and dirty all at once.

I pressed my legs together like that would help.

It didn’t.

But that’s why I had to do this. I needed someone—anyone—else to make me forget.

Tonight, I’d end this marriage before it began.

If I had to walk  into a brothel and beg the first man who didn’t reek of sweat and cheap cologne to bend me over and finish fast, so be it.

The baby wouldn’t be Reggio’s.

They couldn’t force a marriage with a bastard growing inside me.

I slipped into the black car waiting at the edge of the property. One of the drivers still owed me a favor.

“Where to, signorina?” he asked.

“Downtown,” I said, throat raw.“ Take me to the kind of place where no one asks questions. Just dark corners and women get fucked.”

He looked at me in the mirror. His eyes hesitated.

But he drove.

And as we passed the estate gates, I felt something in my chest shift.

Freedom?

Or a different kind of trap?