Beauty and the Beast: The Mafia King’s Arranged Bride

Even a caged bird remembers how to fly; it only needs to find the strength to break the bars.

Serena

“My dear, you make such a beautiful bride.” My mother dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief.

I forced a smile and glanced at my reflection. A white gown clung heavily to my body, a bouquet of flowers in my hands, a long veil shadowing my face. A glittering tiara, far too ornate for my taste, rested on my head. Mother said that it was our tradition and an heirloom passed down to every bride of the Romano family.

Not every bride. Only the Don’s bride. The mafia heir’s bride. I was to be wedded to the Don of New York. A personality who sent a shiver down everyone's spine. A man believed to be nothing less than a monster. A beast. Unforgivable and cruel.

My groom—my soon-to-be husband—was Nico Romano. How did he look? I wasn’t sure. I’d seen only a photograph of the said beast who certainly did not look like one. At our engagement, he hadn’t bothered to attend; there had been “urgent business,” which everyone deliberately did not name. But I knew better than to ask questions. Not because I was taught to be meek and submissive, but because I would not be able to take the gruesome details of his urgent business.

So, I smiled like the dutiful bride I’d been trained to be. Like the obedient wife my mother always told me to become. Questions weren’t mine to ask, and if I dared ask, I should be ready to hear the details that I might not be able to take. So I had slipped the diamond ring on my finger and played my part in uniting two dynasties by ending their bloody feud with my sacrifice.

“Your papa is here,” Mother whispered.

I turned. My father stood in the doorway. When Don Moretti entered a room, silence followed. My aunts, sister-in-law, and cousins left the room, leaving only my sister Lucia behind, who had her headphones on as she defiantly ignored us all.

He nodded once while checking me from head to toe. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if he would show even a trace of emotion today. Instead, he laid his heavy hand on my head in a rare gesture. He gave his nod that the sacrifice was ready to be presented to the other party.

“The Romanos are waiting,” he said flatly, glancing at his watch.

“Won’t you say anything to your daughter?” my mother asked softly.

He regarded me without blinking. “Be a good wife.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Yes, Papa.”

“You are a good daughter. I hope you will be a good wife as well.”

By “good,” he meant quiet. Dutiful. Obedient. Meek. Submissive.

My mother touched my cheek with a faint smile. “This isn’t the wedding we dreamed of, but Nico is not a bad option. He is the Don of the New York famiglia now.” She always used the word famiglia as a way to soften the truth that we were nothing but mafiosi. Bloody, merciless mafiosi.

“Be a good wife to him. Don’t give him reason to seek comfort in another woman. If he does, make sure the mistress and her bastards never cross your threshold. Give him as many children as he wishes, and learn to cook, dear. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” She chuckled. Then her tone hardened. “We let you chase your dream of becoming a doctor, Serena. But New York is not Los Angeles. You cannot be willful there. Forget the normal life you imagined. From now on, you are Nico Romano’s Donna. That is your only duty.”

My eyes stung, but I nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

When they turned to leave, I whispered, “A moment, please.”

Father’s jaw tightened, but he allowed it. As they stepped out, Lucia ripped off her headphones and looked at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Must you marry that monster?” she hissed. “He killed his own father for power. How can you stand there and give yourself to him? I’ve made arrangements. Run, Serena. Please, don’t let them destroy you.”

Lucia had always been the rebel and fire to my parents’ ice. She hated this life and knew I did too, though I lacked her courage to escape. While I dared not dream of freedom, she lived for it.

I touched her cheek. “Be safe here, Lucia. Don’t bring trouble on yourself.”

Her jaw clenched. “I’ll free you from this unwanted marriage.”

I forced a smile. “Who says it’s unwanted?”

Her voice cracked. “And Josh? What about him?”

“Josh who?” I murmured, burying the ache deep inside me. “Be my maid of honour, Lucia. That’s all I ask.”

Moments later, my parents walked me down the aisle of the centuries-old family church. Its ancient walls carried our history and perhaps our sins, too. My cousins trailed behind in pastel gowns, Lucia beside them as she hid her sadness behind her defiance.

Then I saw him.

Nico Romano. The beast.

Dark hair slicked back, jaw carved from stone, eyes the coldest steel-blue I had ever seen. His lips were full, perfect, and pressed into a thin line as though he were attending a funeral rather than his own wedding.

My breath caught. Beautiful, yes. But so cold. Unreachable. Dangerous.

This was the man I would marry.

As my father placed my trembling hand into his, a gunshot cracked through the air.

The bullet missed me by inches as it grazed past my ear before it hit the arm of a groomsman.

I froze.

In one swift motion, Nico pulled a pistol from his suit. Ten shots rang out in succession. By the time silence fell, ten men lay bleeding on the church floor.

I dared not look at the flowers stained crimson behind me.

Sliding the gun back into his jacket, Nico clasped my hand again as though nothing had happened. The terrified priest cleared his throat, and with a quivering voice, he began the ceremony.

And just like that, amid blood and vows, I became Nico Romano’s bride.

As the priest pronounced us man and wife, Nico leaned closer, his breath brushing my ear. I froze in his close proximity. He smelled of gunpowder, cigarettes, and heartbreak.

“Welcome to the famiglia, Dove,” he murmured. “You belong to me now.”

With widened eyes, I whispered as I looked at his face, “What does it mean?”

He chuckled darkly as his eyes met my father’s in the background. “You will know. Oh, you will know soon.”

A shiver ran down my spine. The church suddenly felt colder, darker and suddenly so small. It was cold but it was burning, and I felt a presence behind me as if boring his eyes into my back, watching me intensely. As I turned to look, there was nothing. No shadow. No sound. Yet I could feel him.

How could he be here?

My heart raced. My eyes searched the crowd, desperately.

Nico’s hand tightened around mine.

“Dove, who are you looking for?” he asked in a dangerous whisper, “Your husband is standing right in front of you.”

He leaned closer, his gaze burning through me. “You must not forget who you belong to.”

The candles flickered violently, and somewhere in the silence, I could swear I heard a whisper. My name.

And that’s when I knew, the golden cage had closed once again and not just that, his Dove's wings had forever been clipped.