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...

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