Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride novel Chapter 4

Gia’s POV

My eyes blinked open, slow and heavy, stinging from the bright light as it settled in.

A cough slipped past my lips, rough and dry, like my throat had been scraped with sand.

My hand flew to my neck as a dull ache throbbed beneath the skin, my fingers brushing the sore spot.

And then it hit me.

The auction.

The man who reeked of death.

His hand over my mouth.

Me, passing out.

My eyes snapped open wide now.

And I saw him.

He sat across from me, one leg bent casually like this was a conversation, not a nightmare.

Just like before, his grey eyes locked on mine, piercing into every layer of my skin.

His expression showed no guilt, not even a hint that anything he did haunted him.

My chest tightened.

"You..." my voice cracked as I pushed myself upright, panic gripping my insides... "you tried to kill me."

He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

"Why did you bring me here?" I shouted, my voice rising.

My hand shot forward, finger pointed like it could burn a hole through his chest.

"Is this how you plan to wipe out the Giovanni name?"

My eyes darted around the room.

The living room was massive, high ceilings, gold décor...

But none of it mattered.

None of it felt real.

I scanned the space again, desperate for any window.

But the windows were buried behind heavy, creamy curtains, casting the entire room in a dim, oppressive gloom.

It felt like we were alone.

Just him and me.

And God, I feared for my life, that he’d kill me the same way he killed my father.

The light above burned too bright now, and there were no neon auction lights for him to hide behind.

I could finally see him clearly.

He wasn’t wearing the jacket from before.

Just a dark, fitted shirt clinging to his chest and arms, and black pants stretched over powerful thighs.

His hair was slicked back, a little messy. He looked too calm, like the chaos he’d caused didn’t matter.

He was tall. Clean-shaven. Cold.

Older, but in that maddening, dangerous way.

The kind that made your heart skip, both in fear and in admiration.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

Then came the words, low and smug.

"Pretty doll, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead."

That voice was deep and threatening.

Oh my God.

This man was a psycho.

How could he talk about killing someone like it was entertainment, something he did when he was bored?

There was no escape for me, so I had to try another strategy. Maybe I could appeal to his conscience, though I doubted he had one.

I sat up straighter.

"What more do you want from me?"

My voice trembled, but I didn’t stop.

"You killed my father. Isn’t that enough?"

The corner of his mouth lifted.

That same smug expression he wore at the auction.

He wasn’t even trying to deny it.

"You’re not going to lie?" I whispered. "You’re not even going to pretend you didn’t do it? I saw you. I saw the blood. I watched him fall. I watched you shoot him."

His face didn’t change.

Not even a trace of regret.

Just that look, like he was proud of it.

"Because he deserved it," he replied flatly. "Your father was the real monster. Death would’ve been too easy."

"Don’t you dare talk about him like that."

I lashed out, a raw instinct rising to defend the man I’d called father my whole life.

Even if some part of me was still scared...

His eyes darkened.

Then his hand wrapped around my neck.

Not tight, but firm. Enough to still my breath and remind me exactly who held the power.

He yanked me forward until our faces nearly touched, his breath hot against my lips, burning through the small space between us.

It didn’t just warm my skin.

It awakened every nerve ending in my body.

"No one disrespects me," he gritted through clenched teeth. "Not the men who beg for mercy right before I put a bullet in their brains. Not the ones I bury alive. And definitely not you, pretty thing."

Fear shot through me, hearing the gruesome acts he had committed, but I couldn’t let it show.

"I don’t care," I shot back, voice shaking. "You killed my father. You took the only person I had left. How do you think that makes me feel?"

My throat tightened, and tears welled in my eyes despite how I fought to hold them back.

"Why?" I choked. "Why my dad? Why me?"

He stared at me.

Then he laughed wickedly.

"For revenge."

I blinked.

"What?"

"Your father took something from me," his voice was low and strained, as though a painful memory had just flashed in his head. "Something I can never get back."

"And this is how you repay him?" I asked, heart pounding. "By ruining the life of an innocent girl who knows nothing about any of this?"

"Oh no." He loosened his grip just slightly.

"This isn’t about ruining you."

His gaze locked onto mine, intense, piercing.

"This is about owning you."

It felt like the floor slipped out from under me.

I didn’t want to beg, but the thought of what the man who killed my father was capable of doing to me terrified every inch of my body.

"Please... let me go."

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction right before he released me.

I stumbled back, hands flying to my throat, massaging the tender spot where his fingers had pressed.

"Pretty doll," his voice was taunting, "I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."

Then he smiled in a twisted way.

"I’ll take my revenge by punishing every inch of that body for one reason only... my pleasure."