The Mafia King's Runaway Bride

Sofia Romano stood before the gilded mirror in her bedroom, her reflection a ghost of the woman she used to be. The delicate lace of her wedding gown clung to her body, a masterpiece of design meant to symbolize purity and obedience. But she felt neither. Instead, her stomach twisted in rebellion. Today, she was to become the wife of Adrian DeLuca, the ruthless heir to the DeLuca crime family-a man she had never loved, never even chosen.

The golden cage she had been born into had never felt more suffocating.

From the grand windows of her family's estate, she could see the sprawling gardens where guests were already arriving. Powerful men in dark suits, their wives adorned in glittering diamonds, all gathering to witness the union of two mafia dynasties. To them, this wasn't a love story. It was a contract.

A merger.

Her father, Vittorio Romano, had made that painfully clear the night he announced her engagement.

"Sofia, this is not about love," he had said, his voice as cold as the steel of his revolver. "This is about securing our family's future. You will marry Adrian DeLuca, and in return, the DeLucas will ensure our survival."

Survival.

That was the word they used to justify her imprisonment.

She wanted to scream, to fight, to run. But where could she go? The Romano name was both her shield and her shackle. Without it, she was nothing. And with it, she was a pawn, sacrificed at the altar of power.

A knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Sorella," her brother Luca called from the other side. Sister. His voice was softer than usual, tinged with something she rarely heard from him-concern.

Sofia hesitated before unlocking the door. Luca stepped inside, dressed in a sleek black suit, his sharp green eyes mirroring her own. Unlike their father, Luca had always tried to shield her from the darkness of their world. But even he had his limits.

"It's time," he said.

"Luca, please," she whispered, gripping his arm. "Tell me there's another way."

Her brother's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. He hated this as much as she did. But he was just as powerless.

"You know there isn't," he murmured.

Sofia's chest tightened. The walls of her prison were closing in

The ceremony was a blur. Vows were exchanged. Rings slid onto fingers. And just like that, she was no longer Sofia Romano-she was Sofia DeLuca.

Her new husband stood beside her, a towering presence in a black tailored suit. Adrian DeLuca was the embodiment of power-sharp, unreadable, dangerous. His piercing gray eyes never left her, though they revealed nothing. No warmth. No tenderness.

Just possession.

At the reception, she was expected to smile, to dance, to play the part of the obedient bride. But her mind was elsewhere.

Escape.

The thought gripped her like a lifeline. If she didn't do something now, she would be trapped forever.

And then, an opportunity presented itself.

As the guests grew drunk on wine and power, Sofia excused herself, her heart pounding as she slipped through the halls of the DeLuca estate. If she could just reach the garden... find a car... disappear...

But the moment she stepped outside, a hand clamped around her wrist.

"Going somewhere, wife?"

She turned sharply, her breath catching as she met Adrian's piercing gaze. He had followed her. Of course he had.

"I needed air," she lied, her voice barely steady.

He didn't let go. Instead, he studied her, his expression unreadable. "Running won't change anything, Sofia."

Her pulse hammered. He knew. He had always known.

"And if I did?" she challenged, her chin lifting. "Would you hunt me down?"

Adrian's grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he released her.

"You're mine now," he said simply. "And no one takes what's mine."

Sofia's heart sank.

She was trapped.

And Adrian DeLuca was the warden of her gilded cage.