Married To The Comatose Mafia King

ella

se. It was the smell of a funeral, not a wedding. I stood at the altar, a sacrificial lamb in white silk, the lace of my v

s victory. The culmina

ow I remembe

er's screams trapped behind a locked door. I remembered the triumphant sneer on his face, reflecte

hen. And I h

Moretti, to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the pr

moment my past life had ended a

ingers steady, and tore

rs in dark, tailored suits shifted, their eyes, cold and watchful, fixing on me. Julian's hand tighten

little secret, hiding amongst the guests, one hand resting protectively on t

ng of my soul. I turned, my wedding gown sweeping across the cold marble, and pointed a single, unwave

athing. Then, chaos erupted. A low, dangerous rumble of voices filled the church. Julian's face,

o longer lo

ien Moretti. Julian's adoptive father. The rightful king of this dark empire, brought low by a traitor's poison. He was a spec

only move. M

e as if I were royalty, their faces a mixture of confusion and awe. I stopped b

hand over his, his s

arrying to every corner of the silent church, "I, Isabella Rossi, am not to marry a treacher

Don. I am to marr

d screeching tires. I was neither a bride nor a guest, but somethin

oom paneled in dark mahogany and lined with the portraits of long

ale with a desperate fury. He threw himself to his knees before his grandmother,

in the shadows. His perf

voice thick with fabricated grief and terror

er son's illness, looked down at him, her e

a pawn, a spy sent by the Gallo family to humiliate us, to create chaos! She made up that lie about Clara to disrupt

errified son. "We have to lock her up. We have to

f the room. The matriarch's eyes, which had once held a flicker of kindness, we

re, in the heart of the lion's den, the wa