5. The Mafia's Wife
After the shocking act of violence, the club, which had previously been filled with excitement, fell silent for a moment. However, as quickly as it had stopped, the noise returned as if nothing had happened. It seemed that the violence that had just occurred was a part of their routine. Amelia remained silent, her heart pounding, her gaze still fixed on Luca, who sat without remorse.
Alfonso stood beside her, seemingly unfazed by the incident. He quickly returned to his previous position and gave a brief look of attention to Amelia.
"Everything is done, Miss. " Don’t worry," he said in a calmer tone, as though the world around him had never changed.
Amelia nodded, though her fear hadn’t yet subsided. The atmosphere in the club began to liven up again, but inside her heart, Amelia felt more trapped than ever.
Luca, who had been sitting quietly with an indifferent expression, rose from his seat. His sharp eyes flicked toward Amelia for a moment, and without saying a word, he walked toward her. All eyes in the club, which had been busy with conversation and music, seemed to stop at once. The warm and lively atmosphere suddenly turned silent.
Luca looked around, his eyes assessing everyone in the room. "All attention, then," his deep, authoritative voice filled the space. "I want you to know, this is my wife, Amelia!"
A few patrons sitting near their tables quickly turned their heads, some even approaching with curiosity. No one expected Luca, the man with undeniable power in this dark world, to have a wife. Whispers spread among them, but Luca remained calm, as if unaffected by the sudden shift in attention toward him and Amelia.
"She is someone who means everything to me," Luca continued, his voice flat but heavy with emphasis. A wife I chose carefully, and I want all of you to know; one can threaten her place. She is mine."
Amelia, sitting next to him, felt her body tense up. Luca’s words echoed in her ears, as if marking her place in a world much larger and more dangerous than she had ever imagined. All eyes were now on her, watching her every move.
She wanted to move, to scream or run away, but her body felt stiff. There was nowhere to go, and she knew—every movement she made now would be noticed by everyone in the room.
Luca turned to look at her, his eyes full of a firmness that was almost frightening. "Don’t be scared, darling," he said with a smile that was barely visible, but his sharp eyes hinted at something deeper. "All of this is part of the game. And you’re already in it."
Without further warning, Luca gently turned Amelia’s body, pulling her chin, so their faces were close. Everyone around them fell silent, witnessing this unexpected scene. Luca, with full dominance, kissed Amelia on the lips forcefully, pouring all of his control over her in front of them all.
The kiss was not a soft, loving kiss, but one full of pressure, showing that he had complete power over her. Amelia couldn’t move, her body frozen, not knowing what to do except allow the man to demonstrate his authority in such an obvious way.
When the kiss ended, Luca pulled his face away slightly, but his eyes remained locked on Amelia with intense focus. "Don’t forget, you’re here for me," he whispered in her ear, his low voice a subtle threat that could not be ignored.
Amelia could only lower her head, not daring to ask or resist. All the mixed emotions inside her heart—fear, confusion, and unspoken hatred—tangled together.
fter she was introduced, Amelia was escorted back home by Luca’s men. Inside the car, the woman began to shed tears—she felt worthless. Legally, perhaps that man named Luca was her husband, but kissing in public like that made her feel like nothing more than a cheap woman rather than a wife.
“Ma’am, would you like a tissue?” Alfonso asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you crying because you’re scared of what you saw earlier?” Alfonso continued.
Amelia didn’t answer, she simply nodded. Her feelings were mixed—not only did she feel humiliated, but violence was also something she could never accept.
“That man was a traitor. Yes, we’re involved in illegal business, but that cunning man used our name to threaten and kill people. That’s why Luca was furious!”
“Kill people?”
“More precisely, innocent people! Even though we operate in the underworld, we still have our pride, Ma’am! We never harm those who have nothing to do with our affairs. But that man twisted our trust,” Alfonso explained.
Amelia remained silent, sighing quietly, unsure of how she should respond to something like this.
“But Ma’am, as long as you’re with Mr. Luca, don’t worry! We’ll all protect you!” Alfonso said with conviction.
Amelia didn’t respond—no answer, no smile. She couldn’t even process Alfonso’s words about protection. The most dangerous man of all was Luca Devereaux—the very man who was her husband.
Soon, she arrived at Luca’s grand house—a luxurious home that felt more like a prison to her. Amelia walked up to her room; the place was quiet, only a few maids passing by occasionally. Despite the silence, she knew clearly that large dogs and burly guards stood watch outside, keeping anyone from entering—and keeping her from escaping.
Amelia changed her clothes, choosing a simple yet beautiful white dress that hung neatly in the closet. The fabric was soft, falling naturally along her frame without being ostentatious. She removed her jewelry and wiped away the rest of her makeup, revealing fresh, bare skin that only emphasized her natural beauty. Her features were soft, her eyes serene though tired. She lay down on the bed, letting herself sink into the silence, hoping to forget everything that had happened today.
But without her realizing, the door to her room creaked open slowly. Footsteps—soft and careful—barely made a sound. A tall figure in a dark suit entered, quietly closing the door behind him.
Luca stood a few steps away from the bed, gazing at Amelia as she slept in her white dress. Her unpainted face looked peaceful, far different from her usual guarded demeanor. For a brief moment, the hardness in Luca’s eyes softened. A flicker of guilt passed over his face, only to be buried again beneath his usual sharp stare.
He stepped forward slowly and sat at the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on Amelia’s face. His left hand lifted, almost brushing a strand of hair that had fallen on her cheek—but he pulled back.
“The more you fear me… the harder it’ll be for you to ever run away,” he murmured.