The Mafia’s Substitute Bride

Chapter One: The Wedding I Never Chose

Elena’s POV

The silk wedding dress felt suffocating, its intricate lace digging into my skin like shackles. The air was thick with the scent of roses, too sweet, too overwhelming. My heart pounded violently in my chest as I stared at my reflection in the grand mirror of the Romano estate. I looked like a bride—but I wasn’t supposed to be one.

It should have been her.

Isabella.

My older sister. The one who had been promised to Lorenzo DeLuca, the heir to one of the most feared mafia families in the country. The one who had been raised for this life, taught to be ruthless, charming, and deceptive. The one who had abandoned everything, running away just hours before the wedding.

And now, here I was. The substitute bride.

The heavy knock on the door made me flinch. A second later, my father stormed in, his face a mask of barely controlled rage.

“Get up,” he ordered, his voice sharp as a blade. “The car is waiting. You will not humiliate this family any further.”

I clutched the fabric of my dress, my nails digging into my palm. “Papa, please—there has to be another way. I can’t marry him. I—I don’t belong in their world!”

His hand struck my face so fast that I barely saw it coming. The sharp sting spread across my cheek, tears burning behind my eyes.

“You belong where I say you belong, Elena!” he spat. “Do you have any idea what will happen if the DeLucas realize Isabella is gone? If you don’t take her place, they will kill us all!”

Terror clawed at my throat. I knew my father wasn’t exaggerating. The DeLucas were ruthless, their name whispered in fear across the city. If they felt betrayed, they would burn everything to the ground—including us.

Still, the idea of marrying Lorenzo DeLuca sent ice through my veins.

I had seen him once before. A tall, imposing figure with dark eyes that held no mercy. The kind of man who could ruin you with a single glance.

He wouldn’t want me.

And if he found out about the deception?

I would suffer for it.

My father grabbed my wrist, dragging me to my feet. “You will smile. You will say your vows. And you will keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?”

I swallowed hard, my body trembling. “Yes, Papa.”

My compliance was the only thing keeping me alive.

As he led me outside, I saw my mother standing by the doorway, silent as always. She didn’t fight for me. She never did. My younger brother, Marco, avoided my gaze. He had always been Isabella’s favorite. No one in this family cared about me.

I was nothing but a spare. A pawn.

And now, I was being sacrificed.

The church was filled with people—powerful men in dark suits, women adorned in diamonds that shone under the golden chandeliers. The air was thick with cigar smoke and whispered conversations. I could feel their eyes on me, scrutinizing, judging.

But none of it mattered.

The only thing that mattered was the man waiting at the altar.

Lorenzo DeLuca.

My breath hitched as I met his gaze.

He was even more terrifying up close. Dressed in a tailored black suit, his sharp features were carved from stone, his expression unreadable. His eyes—cold, calculating—ran over me, and for a split second, I swore I saw something flicker in them. Displeasure. Suspicion.

I lowered my gaze, my hands trembling as I clutched the bouquet of white roses. My father led me forward, every step feeling like a walk toward my own execution.

When we finally stopped in front of Lorenzo, my father placed my hand in his.

His grip was firm, almost painful.

“You’re late,” Lorenzo murmured, his voice as smooth as silk but laced with steel.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “I—I’m sorry.”

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, studying me. “You’re different than I expected.”

I stiffened. Did he already suspect?

But before I could say anything, the priest began speaking. My mind was a blur, my heart racing as the ceremony continued.

And then, it came.

“Do you, Isabella Romano, take Lorenzo DeLuca as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Silence.

I could feel Lorenzo’s eyes burning into me, waiting. The entire room was waiting.

I opened my mouth, the words lodging in my throat. I’m not Isabella. I wanted to scream it, to run, to escape.

But my father’s warning echoed in my head.

“If you don’t do this, we all die.”

“I do,” I whispered.

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.

“And do you, Lorenzo DeLuca, take Isabella Romano—”

“I do,” he cut in coldly.

The rings were exchanged. A kiss wasn’t required, but he didn’t look like he would have touched me anyway.

And just like that, I was no longer Elena Romano.

I was Mrs. DeLuca.

The reception was held in the DeLuca mansion, an opulent palace that screamed wealth and power. I felt out of place among the silk-clad women and dangerous men who spoke in hushed tones about deals and betrayals.

But the worst part wasn’t the strangers.

It was Lorenzo.

He hadn’t spoken a word to me since the vows. And when he finally did, it wasn’t what I expected.

“Come with me,” he ordered, grabbing my wrist and pulling me through the grand hallways.

My heart pounded as we entered a room—his office. The door shut with a loud click, sealing us inside.

Lorenzo turned to me, his expression unreadable. Then, in a blink, his hand shot out, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

I froze, my breath hitching.

“I—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, his grip tightening just enough to send a warning. “You are not Isabella Romano.”

My blood ran cold.

He knew.

I should have expected this. A man like Lorenzo DeLuca didn’t rise to power by being fooled.

Tears pricked my eyes as I forced myself to hold his gaze. “She ran away,” I whispered. “She left, and my father made me take her place. I—I didn’t have a choice.”

Lorenzo’s jaw clenched, his expression unreadable.

And then, to my horror, he laughed.

A low, dark chuckle that sent chills down my spine.

“You mean to tell me,” he murmured, stepping closer, “that your father thought he could deceive me?”

I shook my head frantically. “Please, I swear—I had no part in this! I didn’t want to marry you!”

His fingers slid from my chin to my throat, his grip gentle but threatening. My breath caught, my entire body going still.

“You should have run,” he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. “Because now, you belong to me.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks. “Please…”

He stared at me for a long moment before releasing me abruptly, stepping back as if I disgusted him.

“You will stay in this marriage, Elena,” he said coldly. “But don’t think for a second that you are my wife. You are nothing but a replacement. An inconvenience.”

His words cut deeper than I expected.

“Now get out.”

I didn’t move. My legs were frozen, my heart shattered.

Lorenzo’s eyes darkened. “I said get out!”

I turned and fled, the sound of his cold laughter following me.

And as I collapsed onto the bed of the room I had been given, I realized something.

I hadn’t just married a stranger.

I had married a monster.