Bound To My Mafia Husband

Chapter Four – Collateral

The first night in the mansion was impossibly quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. I lay in the enormous bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to process the reality of my life. Mrs. Giordano. The words echoed in my mind, hollow and heavy.

Every sound from the hallway made me startle — footsteps, distant laughter, the faint clink of glasses. I wasn’t used to silence like this. In Brooklyn, the city never slept. Here, the darkness carried its own weight, a presence I couldn’t shake.

And then I remembered Matteo.

He was alive. Because of me. Because of the choice I had made. And yet, knowing he was safe didn’t ease the fear curling in my stomach. If Luca’s world was this terrifying, if his empire operated like a living, breathing monster, then what did “safe” really mean?

The next morning, I woke to the sound of Luca’s voice in the hallway. It was quiet, calm, but it carried that unmistakable authority that made my pulse jump.

“Elena.”

I opened the door just enough to peek out. He stood there, arms crossed, watching me. Not angry, not smiling — just observing.

“Breakfast,” he said, voice flat. “And then, we’ll talk about your position here.”

I nodded, following him down the grand staircase. The mansion was a maze, a labyrinth designed for control, every corner monitored, every shadow calculated. I didn’t even try to remember the layout; it was easier to keep close to him and let my instincts guide me.

The dining room was filled with the other members of the family — cousins, advisors, and enforcers. They regarded me with the same combination of curiosity and calculation I had seen the day before.

Luca gestured toward the chair beside him. “Sit.”

I obeyed. My fingers hovered over the edge of the table, barely daring to touch it.

He poured himself a cup of espresso, his movements deliberate and precise. “You are collateral,” he said suddenly, looking straight at me.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You,” he said, voice low, “are collateral. Your brother is alive because of you. Your family is bound to me because of you. And I will not tolerate weakness.”

The words cut sharper than any knife. I had always known that my choices affected my family, but I had never felt the weight of it so acutely. Every glance from the men in the room reminded me that my life, and Matteo’s, rested entirely on my ability to survive here.

Dom smirked across the table. “You hear that, little lady? You’re valuable. But fragile. Let’s see how long you last.”

I didn’t flinch, though my stomach twisted. “I’m not fragile,” I said firmly.

Luca’s eyes flicked to mine. “She’s right. I expect strength. But strength must be proven. That is your first lesson.”

The rest of breakfast passed in silence, filled with subtle tests and measuring glances. I learned quickly that the Giordano family operated on perception as much as power. One misstep, one hesitation, and I would be marked.

Later, Luca led me into his office. The room smelled faintly of leather and cedar, and the windows offered a view of the city sprawled beneath us, glittering and indifferent.

“This,” he said, pointing toward a wall of documents, photos, and maps, “is your education. You will learn it, understand it, and remember it. Every move counts. Every choice has consequence.”

I felt my throat tighten. “I… I can learn,” I said.

“You will,” he said, stepping closer. The distance between us shrank, and I realized I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Because, Elena, failure is not an option. You are my collateral. And I protect what belongs to me.”

Something flickered in his eyes, a trace of something unspoken, before it vanished behind the usual mask of control. I didn’t dare ask what it was.

The day continued with tours of the estate, introductions to the business operations, and briefings on the family’s enemies. I met more enforcers, each with their own distinct presence — silent, cold, lethal. One of them, a man named Rocco, gave me a nod that was both a warning and acknowledgment.

I didn’t speak much, just observed, listened, and tried to understand the unspoken rules. Every word from Luca carried weight. Every glance from the family members was a test.

By evening, my head was spinning, and my body ached from standing, walking, and trying to appear composed.

When we returned to the penthouse, Luca didn’t speak immediately. He poured himself a drink and sat by the window, watching the city lights like a predator observing his territory.

“You are here,” he said finally, voice quiet but firm. “Not as a guest, not as a friend, not even as a wife in the way you imagine. You are a piece in a larger game. And I will not let anything happen to you that isn’t necessary.”

I felt a shiver run through me. His words weren’t threatening in the usual sense — they were colder, sharper. Like ice that could cut.

“I understand,” I said, voice trembling slightly.

He turned toward me then, and for the first time, his expression softened — just a little. Not enough to smile, but enough to see a flicker of the man behind the mask. “Good,” he said. “Because you’ll need that understanding. And soon, it will be tested.”

I nodded, unsure if I was ready for what that meant.

That night, alone in my room, I finally allowed myself to breathe. I sank onto the bed, trying to process everything I had seen. The mansion, the empire, the family — it was more than I could have imagined.

And then there was Luca.

The man who held my brother’s life, my own life, in his hands. The man whose presence made me nervous, terrified, and… inexplicably alive.

I hated him for what he had made me do. I hated him for the way my pulse raced when he was near. And yet, in a way I couldn’t admit, I felt a flicker of something else. Something dangerous. Something I wasn’t supposed to feel.

But survival demanded more than hatred.

And I was learning, quickly, that in Luca Giordano’s world, survival was never simple.