Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride novel Chapter 18

Gia’s POV

Just for a second, I saw a trace of desperation in Dante's face. It almost made him look human, but I knew better.

Whatever he wanted from me, I wasn’t giving it. This man had to be insane if he thought I’d willingly be used as bait to lure my father out. Even if my father was alive, I wasn’t betraying him. His survival meant I still had hope of escaping this place someday.

Still... I wasn’t stupid. I knew if I pushed too hard without giving him something, I’d be the one paying the price.

I leaned over the table, tracing a route with my finger like I was giving him something valuable. “There was a dock. Some port warehouses east of the city. He used it sometimes.”

Dante didn’t even look at the map. His eyes stayed locked on my face. “You’re lying.”

Of course he knew. He always knew. But he wasn’t getting the truth, not today, not ever. He wanted to break me? I’d make him work for it.

We stared each other down. Neither of us blinked. I could feel his patience slipping, and that only made me love messing with him more.

“Gianna,” he growled, “you will fucking speak now or...”

“Oh... but I’m speaking,” I cut in, my tone soft and mocking.

I rose from my chair, leaned in until my lips hovered an inch from his ear, and let my words drip like poison. “It’s not my fault you’ve refused to believe me.”

His entire body went rigid.

“Gianna...” he warned, his tone darker now. “That’s strike two. You keep trying to mess with me, but the consequences are dire.”

Dante leaned back in his chair like he was physically stopping himself from losing it, that calm-before-the-storm kind of energy that made it more terrifying.

“Let’s try this again.”

He pushed a bunch of pictures close enough that I couldn’t avoid looking, even if I wanted to.

“Take a good look, Gianna. Real good. These are your father’s known properties, the places we’ve already checked. Now\... tell me if there’s anywhere missing. Somewhere off the record. A family shed in the woods, I don’t care. Point it out.”

My eyes dropped to the mess of photos, scanning faces I recognized instantly. Some were my father’s bodyguards. Others were men he’d once introduced to me as business partners. I remembered them from our home when I was growing up, men who used to bring me gifts on my birthdays.

The rest were vacation homes, private properties. Most of it was familiar.

But then one picture caught my eye.

My fingers traced the image.

Barta. A small town located at the far end of the city.

My birthplace.

The place I’d been told my mother died giving birth to me. My father never took me there, no matter how much I begged. But my aunt had shown me pictures, told me stories about its winding streets, its gardens, and the cliffside view of the ocean. She painted it like a dream, and I’d carried that dream with me for years.

When I turned sixteen, I pleaded with my father to take me for my birthday. To my surprise, he said yes.

It was beautiful. Peaceful.

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