Undercover Bride : The Don I Was Sent To Destroy

"You only have two choices. You're dishonorably discharged because your last mission failed and got your entire team killed, or you marry Italy's most dangerous mafia boss to carry out your next mission."

The FBI Director's voice still rings clear in my head, even as I stand in front of the oversized vanity mirror in the luxury apartment the Bureau prepared for this operation.

I let out a long breath, trying to banish the dark shadows that keep haunting me, but it's useless.

My teammates' final screams flood my memory again. I can still see the blood soaking the floor of that old warehouse. I can still hear the deafening gunfire, and what lingers most is the silhouette of a man standing calmly in the middle of a sea of bodies, as if the massacre were just routine work.

That day, I failed to save anyone.

Since that moment, I swore that whoever was behind all those deaths would pay with their life.

My hands clench at my sides.

This mission isn't just about going undercover. It's about revenge.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

The blonde hair that for years had been my trademark and my disguise weapon has now turned jet black. It's slicked back neatly and shaped into an elegant low bun, exactly like the style of Italian noblewomen.

The white wedding gown with expensive lace embellishments hugs my body perfectly. Everything is designed so I look like Evelyn Russo, heiress of a wealthy family raised in Switzerland who's just returned to Italy to marry one of the country's most powerful men.

Sophia Carter no longer exists.

Starting today, I am Evelyn Russo.

I'm Sophia Carter, an FBI undercover agent and infiltration specialist with a track record of successful operations on four continents.

For ten years, I've infiltrated South American drug cartels, Balkan arms smuggling syndicates, and Middle Eastern terrorist networks.

My name has always been the top choice for undercover operations. But for the past two years, everything changed.

Operation after operation failed.

Every time we were close to capturing our primary target, someone always leaked the information first.

The entire human trafficking network we were hunting vanished without a trace before the FBI could move.

The victims kept piling up, dozens and then hundreds.

All investigations eventually pointed to one name.

Lorenzo Moretti.

The Italian mafia Don whose power is said to surpass even the government itself.

The sole heir of the Moretti family, a mafia dynasty that has controlled underground trade routes across Europe for three generations.

No one has ever touched him. No one has ever proven his involvement. And now, I'm going to marry him.

"Five more minutes."

The FBI Director's voice comes softly through the communication device disguised in the white lily bouquet I'm holding.

He's overseeing this operation personally.

That's extremely rare.

If the Director gets involved firsthand, it means the stakes are much higher than what's stated in the classified files.

Beneath my gown's lace, right near my collarbone, is a button-sized microphone capable of picking up sound from several meters away.

I'm not carrying a gun.

There's no room for firearms at the church altar.

My only protection is a small folding knife hidden in my thigh garter.

"Sophia."

Miller's voice comes through the private channel.

"Are you sure?"

I close my eyes for a moment.

Miller is the only surviving member of my old team.

Two years ago, when our entire team was slaughtered, only Miller and I made it out alive.

Since then, he's been my partner and the one person who truly understands how I work.

He knows I hate long-term undercover operations.

My specialty is quick infiltration. Get in, gather evidence, get out within seventy-two hours. But this mission is different.

To gain access to the Moretti family's accounts, confidential documents, and ledgers, I might have to live as Lorenzo's wife for weeks or maybe months.

Every day, I have to pretend to be Evelyn Russo. Every day, I have to smile at the man believed to be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of women. And every day, I have to fight the urge to put a bullet right through his head.

"Those women..."

The Director's voice comes again.

"We found two more victims yesterday at the Port of Genoa. They were hidden inside a container full of frozen fish."

Thirty-seven victims have been identified so far.

Dozens more don't even have names.

Their ages range from sixteen to twenty-five. Some were sold to various countries across Europe and the Middle East. Some managed to escape with trauma that will never heal.

The rest were never found again.

"Evelyn, Mr. Moretti is already waiting at the altar."

The church official's voice breaks through my thoughts.

I take a deep breath.

A gentle smile immediately graces my face. A bride is supposed to look both nervous and happy.

"I'm ready."

I begin walking down the church aisle. The bouquet in my hands is nearly crushed from my grip being too tight.

The closer I get to the altar, the faster my heart beats. And then I finally see him.

Lorenzo Moretti.

He's far more intimidating than any photo I've ever seen.

He's tall and broad-shouldered. The black suit he's wearing looks custom-made to fit his athletic frame. His black hair is slicked back neatly, revealing a sharp jawline.

But what unsettles me most are his eyes.

That cold, dark gray gaze makes the back of my neck prickle even though we're still dozens of meters apart.

In ten years as an FBI agent, I've faced hitmen, drug cartel bosses, and armed terrorists.

None of them made my instincts scream like this.

"I don't like this," I whisper to Miller. "Something's wrong."

"Stay calm," Miller replies quickly.

"Everything's still going according to plan."

I hope he's right.

When we're only a few steps apart, Lorenzo locks eyes with me.

"Evelyn Russo."

I respond with the elegant smile I've practiced for months.

"Mr. Moretti. We finally meet."

He extends his hand.

I take it without hesitation.

His fingers grip my hand firmly, as if making sure I can't escape.

We stand side by side in front of the altar. The priest begins reciting scriptures in Italian.

I follow every part according to the script I've memorized.

I can't afford even the smallest mistake.

"I, Evelyn Russo, take you, Lorenzo Moretti, as my lawfully wedded husband..."

The words feel like poison I'm forcing myself to swallow.

Church music plays softly. The guests smile approvingly, and no one suspects that this wedding is actually the biggest covert operation in FBI history.

The priest finally closes his scripture.

"The groom may kiss the bride."

Lorenzo steps closer.

I force myself to stay calm.

His lips almost touch my cheek. But suddenly he stops, and we're now only about an inch apart.

I can feel his warm breath against my skin.

My heart beats faster.

I keep my smile intact.

Don't move.

Don't panic.

Don't let your cover get blown.

Then, in a voice only I can hear, Lorenzo whispers softly near my ear.

"You're not the woman who's supposed to be standing at this altar."

My entire body tenses.

What does he mean?