Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride (by Oma Green) novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Go To Bed

Dante’s POV

Gia was already waiting in the car. As I moved to enter, Luta caught my hand again, his eyes searching mine.

“Please,” his tone was fatherly. “I know they’ve hurt you and they’ve stolen too much from you. But don’t lose your soul.”

My face hardened as I pulled my hand away, avoiding his

“Goodbye, Luta.”

I slid into the car and Bruno slammed the door shut.

gaze.

At the back, I sat staring into the night. Luta’s words echoed in my mind as we drove, but I forced them away. My soul was buried the night they murdered my wife and left my child without a mother. That was the night it died.

We arrived at my estate. The men had cleared the grounds, and for the first time in years, it felt like I was walking into my house not as a fugitive, but as the Mafia King.

But even with victory burning in my chest, my mind wouldn’t rest.

Inside my room, I slipped off my wristwatch, unfastened the cufflinks, and stepped into the closet. My shirt hung half open as I stood in front of the mirror, my thoughts spun around Augusto, continuously, plotting my next strategic move to erase him. Then I heard her voice echo from behind me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her reflection caught in the glass, beautiful, eyes lit with anger. I didn’t let myself focus on that. My mind was too crowded with everything else. My hands stilled on the buttons as I turned, letting my stare speak first.

“Tell you what?”

“That you were taking me to some secret Mafia crowning,” she shot back, her voice tight. “Dragging me there as more than a trophy. Parading me beside you in front of those men just so you could claim your throne.”

A low laugh slipped past me, but there was no humor in it. I stared at her, irritation tightening every muscle in my body. The nerve of her, choosing tonight of all nights to question me.

“You keep forgetting your place, Gianna. And every time, I’m forced to remind you.”

I turned fully this time, meeting her gaze head–on, letting her see just how little patience I had left.

“You are my mistress. Nothing more. I do not answer to you, and I do not explain myself to you.”

Her lips parted, but I didn’t let her speak. I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, my voice hardening, rising just enough to stamp out her defiance.

“You will know what I want you to know. No more. No less.”

Her chin lifted. “So you didn’t think I needed to know you were dragging me into a room full of dangerous men?

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Chapter 38 Go To Bed

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A gathering to crown you the mafia king? You didn’t think I deserved to know what I was walking into?”

Her voice trembled with anger. “I stood there and listened to those men mock my father. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

My gaze burned into hers. “If they mocked him, it was because of who he was. I told you before, your father was cruel, vengeful, wicked, and callous. You want the truth? That’s the man that ruled them. That’s the man I told you about.”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t back down. “And how am I supposed to believe that any of those men that sat at that table are any different from him? From what I saw tonight, you’re all the same, greedy men, fighting for the throne.”

She wasn’t wrong. Gis was right, every man at that table, excluding the Luto clan, was cut from the same cloth as Lorenzo, bloodthirsty monsters, driven by nothing but hunger for power.

But I couldn’t tell her that. Not now. The truth would only justify her accusations. Since in her eyes, maybe I belonged with them too.

The best I could do was dismiss her, to hold the line and make her believe I was unshaken.

I turned away from her and waved a hand.

“Gianna, I don’t have time for this. Not tonight. Go to bed.”

Her voice was furious and echoed behind me.

“No. I’m not going to bed. We’re having this conversation, and we’re having it now.”

I started walking, hoping ignoring her would be enough to send her storming off. But her footsteps matched the drag of my own. She didn’t back down, she followed me, refusing to let the silence bury her questions.

“So my father stole your beloved throne? Is that it? Is that the prized possession you keep talking about?”

I stilled in my tracks, unable to miss the sarcasm lacing her voice.

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