Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride (by Oma Green) novel Chapter 166

Gianna's POV

The accuracy of his observation sent a chill through me.

He was right. I had always held back from Dante. How could I not? He was the Mafia king. Our relationship was built on blood and revenge.

I didn't know if I could trust him wholly. If all of this, the wedding, the vows, or if the promises he'd made were real.

So yes, I'd held back. I'd protected what little remained of my heart because giving it to him, to a man who had every reason to hate me for the sins of my father, felt like signing my own death warrant.

But after everything that happened tonight, it was clear my feelings for him were too much. Too strong. Too consuming to control.

I hadn't wanted to admit it to myself. I had fought against it with everything I had. But when he'd touched me, when he'd commanded my pleasure with such absolute authority, those carefully constructed walls had crumbled. I couldn't bear the thought of him being with another woman. And now, lying here in the aftermath of the most intense physical experience of my life, I couldn't deny the truth anymore.

I'm in love with him.

I sat up slowly, searching his face for some sign, some clue. There was affection there. I could see it in the way he looked at me, the gentleness in his touch. But was it love? Or just possession?

Was I truly his wife or his prisoner, a pawn in a game far bigger than myself?

I searched his face, looking for answers in those dark eyes. There was satisfaction there, possession, pride... but was there tenderness? Was there love?

I opened my mouth, the words hovering on my tongue. I love you. Three simple words that could change everything.

But then reality crashed back in, cold and brutal.

How could he ever love me? Not after what my father had done. Not when the memory of his first wife, his true love, still lingered in every corner of our lives. I'd heard the pain in his voice when he spoke of her.

How could I compete with a memory like that? How could he ever look at me without seeing the daughter of his wife's murderer?

And then something he'd said hit me. Something he'd murmured while pleasure had scrambled my thoughts.

He'd talked about putting a baby in me.

Oh hell.

I wasn't ready for that. For any of this. The wedding had been rushed enough, but a child? That would bind me to him forever, make this marriage inescapable in ways that terrified me.

Everything was moving too fast. Spiraling out of control.

My breath caught. My hands started shaking, and I gripped the sheets, needing something to cover myself with, needing some barrier between us.

It was all too much. I felt raw. Exposed. Like he'd stripped away every defense I had.

"Gianna... Gianna... Gianna..." Dante's voice cut through the noise in my head, filled with concern.

"Gianna. What's wrong?"

I couldn't look at him. I couldn't let him see the fear and confusion and desperate love warring in my eyes. I shook my head, trying to get myself under control, but my body wouldn't cooperate.

The trembling got worse. My whole frame was shaking now, and I hated it, hated this weakness, hated how completely he'd unraveled me.

"Bella, look at me." His hand touched my shoulder, and I flinched.

"I'm fine," I managed to say, though my voice was barely a whisper. "I just... I need a minute..."

But I wasn't fine. Nothing about this was fine. I was drowning in emotions I didn't know how to process, terrified of feelings I couldn't control, laid bare in ways I'd never been before.

And the man who'd reduced me to this trembling mess was watching me with those intense dark eyes, waiting for an explanation I couldn't give him.

Because how could I tell him I'd fallen in love with him when I didn't even know if he was capable of loving me back?

"It's been more than a minute," Dante said, his tone gentler. "Come back to me."

My insecurity clawed its way up my throat. "I don't know what to think, Dante." I sat up now, the sheet pooling around my waist. "My father killed your wife. A woman it's obvious you loved deeply. I've heard the way you talk about her."

"Gianna..."

"So tell me honestly." My voice cracked. "Can you truly give yourself wholly to me? To this marriage? Without that memory hanging over our heads?"

"Fuck, Gianna." He ran a hand through his hair, his muscles tense. "Why do you always have to go there?"

"Because we can't avoid it!" The words burst out of me. "The terms are five years, then I get my freedom and you get my father. I don't want us to harbor feelings that overcomplicate this arrangement."

His eyes went hard. "You don't want your feelings to overcomplicate things," he repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "How considerate of you to keep everything so simple."

"Dante..."

His hand sliced through the air, cutting me off. "You're right," he said, his voice flat and cold. "This is a contract marriage, where the terms are you hand me your father's head, and that's all that exists between us."

My heart plummeted. "That's not what I..."

"Oh, it's exactly what you mean." He turned away from me. "And I won't lose sight of the goal again."

Guilt crashed over me like a wave. What had I done? We'd had an amazing wedding night, intense, passionate, real, and I'd just sabotaged it with my fear and insecurity.

"I'm sorry for ruining the moment," I whispered.

Dante scoffed, the sound bitter. "Too late, don't you think?"

This is for the best, I told myself, even as my chest ached. I'm saving myself from a heartbreak that would probably destroy me. Because loving Dante De Luca and not being loved back? That would be the end of me.

My fingers dug into the sheet. My pleasure, my control, my walls. If I gave him the final piece willingly, my virginity, he would own me completely. Body and soul. And there would be no escape from the devastation when this arrangement ended.

"Please..." I swallowed hard. "Can we not make love tonight?"