Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride (by Oma Green) novel Chapter 57

Chapter 57: Breaking Up The Fight

Gianna’s POV

Niccolo’s face hardened. “It’s not like that! I was just looking for the restroom, I saw her and..”

“Liar.”

Dante shoved me behind him, his arm a shield as his other Hand fisted Niccolo’s shirt and slammed him into the sink so hard I feared for his back.

He towered over him, his sheer size swallowing Niccolò, who looked utterly overpowered, no match for him at all.

“Dante, stop!” I cried, clutching his arm. “He wasn’t harassing me, it was a mistake!”

He turned his head, his glare slicing into me. “A mistake?” His voice was low, deadly. “You’re telling me this bastard just accidentally found you here?”

I swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Yes. Please, just let him go.”

But he didn’t. His grip tightened. Niccolò’s eyes met mine, a quick glance and that set Dante off. His face went harder than stone.

“You look at her one more time,” he snarled, lifting Niccolo until his feet barely brushed the floor. “And I’ll break you in half.”

Niccolò struggled, shoving at his arm. “I swear, I didn’t mean any disrespect…”

The words cut off as Dante’s fist crashed into his face. The sound was sickening. Niccolò’s head snapped back, blood spilling from his nose as he grunted in pain.

“Shit!” he gasped, clutching his face. “You broke my nose, you..”

“Keep talking,” Dante growled, his jaw tight with rage. “Give me a reason to wipe that mouth clean off your face.”

“Dante!” I screamed, grabbing his arm, but he turned on me with a look so dark it froze me where I stood.

“Gianna, stay out of this, or I swear to God..” His warning cut off, I stepped back, fear coursing through me. I could feel my knees go weak.

Niccolò coughed, voice rough. “You’re insane…”

“Say that again.” Dante hissed it like a dare, then struck him harder. The blow landed harder thi

I couldn’t stand there while Dante pummeled him. Panic shoved me forward and I bolted from the restroom, tearing down the hall, looking for the one person I knew could stop this.

“Bruno!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, the name echoing through the lonely hallway, but no one responded.

I kept running until I nearly ran into Alfonso, one of the guards posted at the end of the hall. He straightened at the sound, alarmed. “Miss Gianna, what’s wrong?”

“He’s beating Niccolò,” I panted. “I need to speak to Bruno now.”

Alfonso hesitated. “Bruno isn’t here, but..”

“It has to be Bruno,” I cut him off. “Only he can stop this before it turns into a war.”

Alfonso didn’t argue. He grabbed his radio and motioned for me to follow.

“Stay close. I’ll find him.”

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He was already moving, long strides down the hall. I hurried after him, calling Bruno’s name, off the marble walls.

Seconds later Bruno came charging toward us, two men close behind. He skidded to a stop, eyes th What’s so urgent?” he demanded.

“Hurry, Don is beating Niccolò! I’m afraid he might kill him!” I gasped.

cing

nd ready.”

Bruno didn’t hesitate. He broke into a sprint, the men right behind him, boots pounding against the floor. I chased after them, my heart slamming in my chest.

When we burst into the restroom, the sight hit me like a punch.

Dante raining blows on Niccolò, every hit driven by pure rage. Niccolò was on his feet but swaying, blood ran down his face, his jaw crooked, one leg shaky as he tried to steady himself.

He spat through a grimace, “I didn’t touch her…” 1

Dante’s eyes were animal–bright. “I saw you,” he snarled, grabbing Niccolò by the shirt again. “You idiot.”

Bruno shoved in between them, pushing Dante back with both hands. “You can’t kill him,” he barked. Dante shoved Bruno off as refusing to be stopped. “F**king hell, I can,” he snarled, furious. “He touched my woman.” 1

Niccolò tried to stand steady, wiping blood from his lip. “I’m telling my dad about all of this,” he began.

Dante broke free and lunged for him. Bruno grabbed him, dragged him off, wrestling him back. “That’s Augusto’s son,” Bruno said, hard. “You kill him now, with every Mafia family present, you start a war. We don’t need that.”

For a long, hot second Dante kept fighting Bruno’s hold, rage boiling in him. Then, slow and furious, he looked at Niccolò. His hand curled into a warning finger and he pointed right at him. “Go near her again and you’re dead.”

Dante ripped himself out of Bruno’s grip one last time. His glare snapped to me. He closed the distance in two strides, grabbed my arm, and before I could protest, he hoisted me up, slinging me over his shoulder. My words hit his chest, muffled, useless.

He turned to Bruno. “Get him out of the estate.”

Bruno met his eyes and didn’t argue. “Yes, Don,” he said, his tone flat.

From over Dante’s shoulder, I saw them dragging Niccolò out, bloody, half–conscious. Guilt twiste side me, watching him stumble, knowing this was all because of me

But that guilt was drowned out by the heavy sound of Dante’s footsteps. He was marching up the stairs, his grip tight around my thighs, his silence more terrifying than his shouts.

I knew exactly where he was going. And as the hallway blurred past, one thought struck me hard, what punishment awaited me when we reached that room.

When we reached the room, he kicked the door open and marched straight to the bed. In one furious motion, he tossed me onto the sheets. My breath hitched, panic surging through me as I scrambled back against the pillows, completely terrified.

“Dante, please…”

“Don’t you dare say my name right now,” he growled, his voice so low it sent chills down my spine.

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