Marked by the Mafia Alpha: His Bride, His Secret

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

The smell, the smoke, the secrets clung to the air of Club Veritas. Every throb of the bass pounded against Serafina De Luca's ribcage like the beat of a heart she couldn't begin to silence. Her fingers trembled-fist closed around a crystal glass of something she'd never had, something that numbed her lips and burned her throat. Her sister would have screamed if she'd laid eyes on her here, in a velvet dress that clung to her like one sin waiting to be confessed.

But her sister wasn't there.

No one from her universe was.

And that was the point.

The night before she was betrothed to twice her age, a man who spoke to her father more often than he spoke to her-Serafina had escaped.

Just one night. One kiss of wildness. One breath of clean air that wasn't flavored with duty and rehearsed kisses and chilly, calculating futures.

She did not look for danger.

But danger still found her.

He was already looking at her when she walked into the club-Cassian Viero. Or, better still, Don Viero. Syndicate boss. Billionaire with blood on his hands. The kind who wore silence as armor and power as a sword.

She didn't know his name then.

Only that his gaze trailed after her from the VIP balcony as smoke drifts from a cigarette-slow, measured, seeping into her pores.

He didn't budge at first. Didn't smile. Didn't blink.

He just watched.

Serafina's heart was pounding.

It wasn't fear. Not really.

It was the feeling that something had changed in the atmosphere. As though a storm had come into the room-and the rest of them were too engrossed to see the lightning gathering in the corners.

She took a bit more, unaware that her fate was already sealed.

Accidents did not exist, according to Cassian. And Serafina? She had made a mistake coming onto his territory uninvited.

And that meant she was already his.

He took a step back when she turned around-when her back dipped into a curve of defiance, when the red silk of the dress rippled under the club lights like blood.

He spotted her at the bar. Spoke not a word. He simply handed her a glass of his own. His fingers touched hers, and the electricity shot down her spine, wrong and electric and addictive.

You don't belong here," he told him.

The voice was smoke and gravel, smooth and ruthless all at once.

Serafina should have turned around. Should have thrown the drink at his face. Should have listened to her father's warnings about the man with Viero blood-the one even the Caruso patriarchs, in private, feared.

But she didn't.

Because she was tired of doing what she should.

"Neither do you," she answered, her voice stronger than she felt.

Cassian tilted his head.

For a moment, there was nothing. The club around them faded into noise and light, a blur of laughter and sweat and flirting.

And then he smiled. A slight curl of his lips.

Not kind.

Not warm.

But interested.

Being a hunter curious about a rabbit who would not run.

She did not remember consenting.

Forgot to exit the club.

But she recalled the pressure of the palm of his hand at the small of her back. The icy bite of the night air. The sound of his black Aston Martin purring like metal. The smell of leather and cedar and something wild hanging around him like heat.

And the hotel suite-God, the hotel suite.

It was not a room. It was a marble cage and shadows, and windows that gazed out over the city as a god might gaze down upon his kingdom.

He did not ask for permission. He did not need to.

And yet somehow, everything he did necessitated it.

"Make me stop," he breathed against the curve of her neck, his mouth hot and wicked.

She refused.

She couldn't.

Not when his lips took hers in aching hunger, not when his hands charted her as if she were territory he had already won. Not when she felt him enter her soul with each demanding kiss.

It wasn't gentle.

It wasn't soft.

It was war. A clash of wills. A storm between their skin.

She should've hated it.

Instead, she shattered for him-one breath at a time.

And at dawn, she found herself alone.

Her skin still warm, lips puffed, heart not at ease. Her dress was abandoned in the suite but the bedclothes carried the scent of him.

And on her shoulder-below her collarbone-there was a mark.

A bite.

Not sufficient to draw blood.

But deep enough to linger.

She stared at it, trembling fingers tracing the soft, swollen flesh.

It was not lust.

It was not just one night.

It was a claim.

And she didn't even know his name.

Her phone lay on the ground, vibrating. Four missed calls. Three from her sister. One from her fiancé.

Fiancé.

The word was revolting to her.

Serafina staggered into the bathroom, racing heart, pounding head. She glanced at her face-smudged lipstick, bruised lips, crazed eyes.

And then she saw it again.

The mark.

Her hand went to it as if trying to wipe out the trace-but in vain. It pulsed in her skin like it was meant to be there.

Her phone rang again.

"Where the fuck are you?" Her sister's voice was frantic and furious. "The press are already outside. You have thirty minutes to get to the engagement brunch. If Papa finds out you're missing-

The line cut.

Serafina remained there, shrouded in the robe of a stranger, the flavor of last evening still on her lips.

The door behind her opened.

She turned, startled-expecting housekeeping.

But it didn't.

It was him.

Cassian Viero.

Still in the evening wear, but with the top buttons of his shirt open now. His eyes burned through her like fire through ice.

You went away, he whispered, in a tone of reproach.

"You weren't there."

You weren't allowed to go.".

Her throat became parched.

You don't even know me," she exclaimed.

Cassian went on, deliberately slow, as if he was accustomed to being followed.

"I know enough."

He bent forward and wiped away her mark. Her knees nearly buckled.

What have you done to me?" she demanded.

His gaze dropped to her lips.

"I took what's mine."

Her breath caught.

I'm committed, she said, but the words were uttered unconvincingly.

His lips quivered-not with amusement. With warning.

"Not anymore."

And then he passed by her-cool, calm, casual. He poured himself a drink as if he owned the establishment. As if he owned her.

And maybe he did.

Because something inside of her shifted when he'd bitten her. Something old. Something deep.

Something awakened.

She was burning.

And he was the match.

Don't come near me again," she told him, but her voice trembled.

Cassian said nothing.

He didn't need to.

Because both of them knew the truth.

She could run.

She could deny.

She can marry her favorite politician in pearls and white silk and act as if all of this never occurred.

But the mark would never fade.

And neither would he.

Since Cassian Viero had chosen her.

And when the Alpha has taken you. There is no turning back. She's marked. She's engaged. He's a mafia alpha with a secret-and now, the bond has started.