Bound To My Mafia Husband

The first sign that something was wrong came with the phone call. It was a little after midnight, the campus library long closed, the streets outside washed in that eerie orange glow only city lights can cast. I was walking home, clutching my coat tighter against the chill, when my phone started buzzing in my bag. Matteo. He never called this late unless something was seriously wrong. “Hey, Matty,” I said, trying to keep my voice light even as worry curled in my stomach. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” His breathing was uneven. Too fast. “Lena… I messed up.” My heart sank. “What did you do?” “I—I needed money,” he stammered. “Just a little. I thought I could put it back before anyone noticed.” I stopped walking, standing beneath a flickering streetlight as dread began to form in my chest. “Matteo, what did you take?” There was silence. Then, in a whisper so small I almost missed it, he said, “From the Giordanos.” Everything inside me went cold. “The Giordanos?” I repeated. “As in—Luca Giordano’s family?” “Yeah,” he rasped. “I didn’t think they’d find out. I just— I had no choice, Lena. Please, don’t—” The line went dead. I stared at my phone, pulse hammering, the city noise fading into a distant hum. The Giordano name wasn’t just power — it was legend. They ran half the east coast’s underworld with iron precision. Even people who’d never seen them knew better than to say their name out loud. And my brother had stolen from them. ⸻ By the time I reached my apartment, my hands were trembling. I tried calling Matteo back, again and again, but his phone went straight to voicemail. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. My small apartment suddenly felt suffocating. Every lesson my father had ever tried to bury came back to me in fragments — whispers about the family, the old alliances, and debts that were paid in blood. This wasn’t a situation I could fix with reason or apologies. But I had to try. ⸻ The Giordanos’ headquarters was in the Upper East Side — a sleek skyscraper that disguised itself as a high-end import firm. Everyone knew better than to ask questions. I wasn’t sure how I even got there. I barely remembered the cab ride, only the numb certainty that if I didn’t face them tonight, Matteo wouldn’t live to see the morning. The lobby was marble and silence. A man in a dark suit stopped me at the elevator, his expression unreadable. “I need to speak to Luca Giordano,” I said, forcing my voice not to shake. He raised an eyebrow. “And who should I say is asking?” “Elena Rossi.” That name got a reaction — a flicker of recognition in his eyes before he nodded slowly and pressed a button on his earpiece. “Wait here.” I did. The air felt heavier by the second. After what felt like forever, the man turned back to me. “Mr. Giordano will see you.” ⸻ The elevator ride to the top floor was soundless, except for the pounding of my heart. When the doors opened, I stepped into a world that didn’t feel real — black glass, city lights stretching beneath us, and men who looked like they’d never smiled in their lives. And at the center of it all, leaning against a desk like he owned the skyline itself, was Luca Giordano. He looked younger than I expected — maybe early thirties — but the kind of man time didn’t touch. Everything about him was deliberate: the sharp suit, the dark hair slicked back, the glint of a watch that probably cost more than my tuition. His gaze lifted from a file to me, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. “Elena Rossi,” he said, his voice smooth, low, and dangerous. “You’re a long way from Brooklyn.” “I need to speak to you,” I said. My voice came out steadier than I felt. He tilted his head slightly, studying me. “About your brother.” So he knew. Of course he did. “He made a mistake,” I said quickly. “I’ll pay it back. Whatever he took, I’ll fix it.” A faint, humorless smile tugged at his mouth. “You’ll fix it?” “Yes. I’ll do whatever it takes.” He moved closer, the sound of his shoes against the floor deliberate and slow. “Do you know what happens to people who steal from my family, Miss Rossi?” My pulse jumped. “I know what your reputation says.” “Then you know your brother should already be dead.” The words hit like a blade. I clenched my hands to keep from shaking. “Please,” I whispered. “He’s young. Stupid. He didn’t know what he was doing.” “Two million dollars says otherwise.” I froze. “What?” “That’s what he took,” Luca said calmly. “And that’s not a mistake. That’s theft. From me.” The room tilted slightly. I thought I might throw up. But his eyes stayed on mine — dark, assessing, like he was dissecting me piece by piece. “You came here alone,” he said. “No bodyguards. No backup. Either you’re very brave, or very foolish.” “Maybe both,” I said softly. Something flickered across his face — amusement, maybe. Then he turned, picking up a glass of whiskey from the desk. “Tell me, Elena Rossi. How far are you willing to go to save your brother?” My throat tightened. “As far as I have to.” He studied me for a long moment, then set the glass down. “Then here’s my offer.” He stepped closer, close enough that I could see the faint scar running along his jaw. His next words came out soft — almost gentle — but they landed like a death sentence. “Marry me.” I blinked. “What?” “You want your brother to live,” he said. “You’ll marry me. In exchange, the debt disappears.” I stared at him, unable to process the insanity of it. “You’re joking.” He didn’t smile. “Do I look like a man who jokes?” “Why me?” I demanded. “You could have anyone.” “True,” he said quietly. “But none of them would mean anything. Your family owes me. And I prefer loyalty I can touch.” I wanted to scream, to tell him he was out of his mind. But deep down, I knew this wasn’t something I could refuse. In his world, no wasn’t an option. “What happens if I say no?” I asked. His gaze didn’t waver. “Then Matteo Rossi dies before sunrise.” The air left my lungs. My entire body went cold. There were moments in life when everything split — the version where you ran, and the version where you stood still and chose to burn. This was mine. I looked at him, at the man who held my brother’s life like it was nothing, and I said, “Fine. I’ll marry you.” Luca’s lips curved, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good girl.” He reached for my hand. His grip was firm, his skin warm. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, you’ll become Mrs. Giordano.” And just like that, my life as I knew it ended.