Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride (by Oma Green) novel Chapter 150

Gianna’s POV

The priest’s voice echoed through the church.

“Gianna Giovanni,” the priest continued, turning his gaze to me. “Do you swear your oath?”

I swallowed hard, then spoke, my voice confident despite the pounding of my heart.

“I am bound to you this day. Body, heart, and soul, till death. No other man will touch me. No other man will have me. I belong to you, in loyalty and in blood, forsaking all others. Till death parts us.”

The words should have frightened me. They were a vow and a chain, beautiful and terrifying all at once. But as I spoke them, Dante slipped a ring onto my finger, a stunning diamond band that sparkled like captured stars.

“Dante DeLuca,” the priest said. “Do you swear your oath?”

Dante’s eyes never left mine as he spoke, his voice low and firm.

“I am bound to you this day. Body, heart, and soul, till death. I will protect you with my life. I will defend you against all enemies. I will honor you above all others. I will treasure you, provide for you, and keep you safe within my power. You belong to me, and I will let no harm come to you. In loyalty and in blood, forsaking all others. Till death parts us.”

I slipped a platinum band onto his finger. It looked perfect against his tanned skin. Our hands remained clasped together as the priest continued.

Bruno stepped forward, carrying a small silver bowl. Inside was water, clear and still. The priest dipped his fingers in it and touched our joined hands.

“By water, you are cleansed of the past.”

Next, Mira brought forward a small candle, its flame dancing in the air. The priest held it between us.

“By fire, you are forged anew.”

Finally, Bruno produced a small ceremonial knife. My eyes widened. The priest took it and made a tiny cut on Dante’s palm.

Dante did not even flinch. Blood welled up, dripping into the water below.

Then the priest turned to me.

He did not ask. He did not pause. He just reached for my hand like my consent was already given, like I understood what this meant.

My hand trembled as he gripped my wrist.

“Wait.”

Dante’s stern voice forced him to pause, confusion flashing across his face.

“Don Dante, the ritual requires…”

“I said wait.” Dante’s face hardened, his eyes locked on the priest’s hand wrapped around my wrist.

The priest’s grip loosened slightly. “The blood bond must be…”

“Let. Her. Go.”

The words came out as a terrifying warning.

The priest released me immediately, stepping back.

He muttered something under his breath in Italian, a curse, maybe a prayer. I could not tell which.

Dante snatched the knife from the priest’s hand without remorse.

Then he turned to me. His dark eyes held mine, searching, intense.

“Trust me,” his voice dropped to that low drawl that made my stomach flip.

I swallowed hard and nodded.

He took my hand gently, cradling it in his much larger one. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, a touch so tender it made my chest ache.

“This will hurt,” he murmured. “But only for a second.”

I kept my eyes on his as he brought the blade to my palm. The nick was quick and precise. I gasped at the sting, but his grip comforted me.

Blood bloomed across my skin.

“There,” he whispered, his thumb carefully avoiding the cut as he held my hand. “You’re doing so well.”

His expression softened in a way I had never seen before, like this moment mattered more than he wanted to admit.

The priest cleared his throat, clearly still rattled. “By blood,” he said, his voice less certain now, “you are bound eternally.”

Dante pressed our palms together. Our blood mixed, warm and wet between our hands. His fingers laced through mine, holding tight.

The ritual was intense, primal, more real than anything I had ever experienced. There was no going back from this. This was not just words. This was a covenant sealed in blood.

But Dante stood tall, unfazed. He had done this before, lost a wife to this world. He knew what it meant.

The vows were meant to bind us not just in love but in survival. In the Mafia, marriage was protection, alliance, power. Breaking these vows meant more than heartbreak.

I did not get to finish.

Dante’s lips claimed mine, swallowing my words, stealing my breath. The kiss was demanding, possessive, filled with all the hunger he had been holding back during the ceremony.

His hand tightened on my back, pulling me so close there was not an inch of space between us. His mouth moved over mine with practiced skill, his tongue sweeping past my lips to taste me deeply.

I melted into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders, forgetting the crowd, forgetting everything except the heat of him, the taste of him, the way he kissed me like he wanted to consume me whole.

A soft sound escaped my throat, something between a gasp and a moan, and I felt him smile against my lips.

The guests erupted in whistles and cheers, but I barely heard them.

His fingers threaded through my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss further.

My knees went weak, and if not for his arm locked around my waist, I would have collapsed. He kissed me like we were alone, like he had all the time in the world to explore my mouth, to claim me in front of everyone.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against mine, his eyes dark with desire and something fiercer, something that made my heart race.

“Mine forever,” he whispered, just for me. His voice dropped lower, more threatening, more possessive. “Try to run, and I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth. Try to leave, and I’ll drag you back. You’re mine, Gianna DeLuca. Till death and beyond.”

I looked into his eyes, seeing the truth there. The promise. The threat. I was slightly afraid and excited at this new phase, at what being his wife truly meant.

“Yours,” I whispered back.

Dante lifted my hand high in the air and turned to face the crowd, his voice booming through the church.

“It’s official. Your new Mafia queen, Gianna DeLuca.”

“The queen!” Bruno shouted from behind us.

The crowd descended into chanting, their voices rising in unison. “Ah, the queen. The queen!”

Rose petals began to fly through the air, tossed by guests, swirling around us like red snow. Confetti followed, glittering in the candlelight. The music swelled, triumphant and overwhelming.

I stood there, hand in hand with Dante, as the Mafia community celebrated.

It was surreal.

I was Dante’s wife.

And the Mafia queen.