The Mafia Boss Chose the Bride No Man Wanted—Then One Secret Changed Their Marriage Forever Spotlight8
Chapter 1
The first gunshot shattered the champagne glass in the hand of Clara Whitmore. Crystal scattered across the wedding table. The orchestra stopped. A woman screamed near the center of the ballroom. Clara remained standing beneath the enormous chandelier as another bullet struck the reinforced windows behind her, a web of cracks spreading across the glass.
The guests who had spent the entire evening whispering about her appearance now threw themselves beneath tables and behind stone pillars, shouting Roman Duca’s name, begging his guards to protect them. Roman stood beside the black marble fireplace. He did not move when the first shot was fired, nor when the second bullet struck the window. His dark eyes searched the ballroom once, then found Clara. “Get down.” His voice was calm.
Clara lowered herself behind the bridal table just as another bullet struck the wall above her. Black-suited guards drew their weapons. Two men locked the ballroom doors; three others rushed toward the western corridor. The musicians crawled behind the stage. Clara looked through the smoke for Eleanor, her mother, who had been standing near the terrace doors moments earlier. Now she could not see her. She rose.
Roman crossed the ballroom before she could take another step and caught her wrist. “Where are you going?” “I need to find my mother.” “She was taken to the safe room.” “How do you know?” “Because I gave the order.”
Another explosion shook the mansion. The chandelier swung above them. Clara looked toward the western corridor, where dark smoke poured beneath the doors. Roman pulled her closer. “You are leaving this room.” “Not without my mother.” “Your mother is protected.” “I need to see her.” “You need to stay alive.” His fingers tightened around her wrist. Clara looked directly into his eyes. The guests had spent the day calling her weak. Roman had spent the day treating her like a signature on a contract. Now both of them expected her to obey without question.
She pulled her wrist free. “I stopped following orders when your guests began betting on how quickly you would abandon me.” Something changed in his expression. It disappeared almost immediately.
The lights went out. Darkness swallowed the ballroom. Gunfire erupted near the doors. Roman wrapped one arm around her waist and forced her to the floor, his body covering hers, firing twice into the darkness. The light from his weapon revealed broken chairs, terrified guests, armed men entering through the western doors. “Stay behind me.” “I cannot see anything.” “You do not need to see.” “I need to know where we are going.”
He pushed her toward the fireplace and pressed a hidden section of the wall. A narrow doorway opened. A guard appeared beside them. “Take the bride to the private wing.” Clara stepped back. “I am not going anywhere until I see my mother.” Roman looked at the guard. “Leave us.” The man hesitated, then disappeared into the smoke.
Roman’s voice became quieter. “Your mother was moved beneath the kitchen before the attack began. There are eight men with her. She is safer than anyone in this ballroom.” Clara searched his face. “Why did you move her before the attack?” “I did not.” “Then how did you know there would be danger?” Roman did not answer. A bullet struck the fireplace. Stone exploded beside them, and he pulled her through the hidden doorway, closing it behind them. The sounds of gunfire became distant.
Emergency lights illuminated a narrow passage inside the walls. Roman took her hand; Clara tried to pull away, but he did not release her. The passage opened into a stone staircase. They climbed toward the second floor while smoke followed them through the walls. Clara struggled to breathe. Her wedding veil caught on a metal hook; Roman tore it free. “That was expensive.” “You are welcome.” “That was not gratitude.” “I know.”
They reached a reinforced door at the end of the staircase. Roman entered a private bedroom and locked the door behind them. The room overlooked a stormy ocean. Candles burned across the walls and beside a large bed covered with white flowers. Clara stared at the romantic decorations. They seemed almost cruel after the cold ceremony and the attack downstairs.
Roman checked the balcony and the locks. Clara looked at the blood on his white shirt. “Are you injured?” “It is not my blood.” “That is not comforting.” “It was not intended to be.” She looked down at a cut on her palm, glass having sliced it during the chaos. Roman knelt in front of her, poured water across the wound, and removed a fragment of crystal, his hands careful, his face hard and distant.
“Who attacked the mansion?” “I do not know.” “You expect me to believe that?” “No. At least you are honest about something.” He tied the cloth. “You should not have left the table.” “My mother was missing.” “She was protected.” “I did not know that. You could have trusted me.” Clara laughed once. “Trust you? You arrived at my shop with a marriage contract and threatened to take everything my mother owns.” “I offered an alternative.” “You offered a prettier form of destruction.”
A sharp sound came from the balcony. Roman drew his weapon as the curtains moved and a man crashed through the glass doors. Roman fired; the attacker rolled behind a chair. A second man appeared outside. The first attacker lunged toward Clara and grabbed the skirt of her wedding gown, tearing the fabric across her shoulder and back as she fell against the wardrobe. Roman struck him with his weapon’s handle and pulled Clara away.
The second man fired from the balcony. Roman shielded her; the bullet struck the wall; a candle fell into the curtains, fire climbing the fabric. Roman fired again, and the second attacker collapsed. The first man tried to rise; Roman kicked the weapon away.
Clara pressed against the wardrobe, her torn dress slipping from one shoulder, cold air touching the scar she had hidden beneath fabric for most of her life. Roman turned. The anger disappeared from his face. He stared at the scar — a dark symbol shaped like two wings surrounding half of a crown. “What are you looking at?” “Where did you get that mark?”
“I have always had it.” “That is impossible.” Roman placed his weapon on a table and pulled a blackened metal pendant from a chain around his neck — the other half of the same symbol. He held it near her shoulder. The two pieces completed each other; the wings formed a circle; the broken crown became whole.
Guards entered and seized the surviving attacker. None spoke when they saw the pendant. Roman looked at Clara as if she had become another person. “That symbol belonged to the Valente family,” he said. “They controlled this harbor twenty years ago.” “What happened to them?” “They died. Every one of them died in a fire.” Clara felt the room move beneath her feet. Roman closed his fingers around the pendant. “Everyone except you.”
## Chapter 2
Hours earlier, the wealthy families of Bell Haven had gathered inside the coastal cathedral to watch the most feared man in town marry the woman they had mocked for years. Clara heard their whispers before the doors opened. “Roman could have chosen anyone.” “She probably made the dress herself.” Clara stood behind the doors beside Eleanor Whitmore, who adjusted the veil with trembling hands. “You do not have to do this.” “Yes, I do.” “We can leave Bell Haven.” “With what money?” Clara covered her mother’s hands. “Now it is my turn.”
Roman’s name moved through Bell Haven like fog from the ocean. He controlled the shipping companies, the private security firms, several politicians along the coast. Men who betrayed him disappeared. Three months earlier, Henry Whitmore, Clara’s father, had died after a long illness, and Clara had discovered twelve million dollars in debt borrowed through companies connected to Roman, the family house and bridal shop listed as security.
Roman had entered her shop two weeks later, rain covering his black coat, while Clara knelt adjusting a wedding gown’s hem for the mayor’s daughter. “Clara Whitmore. You inherited the obligations of your father.” He placed a marriage contract on the cutting table. “Why would you marry me?” “Your family owns land that I require.” “You can take the land.” “This marriage prevents several legal disputes.” “That is a terrible proposal.” “It is not a proposal. It is an option.” “What is the other option?” “Your mother loses the house. Your shop closes.” Clara signed.
Now the cathedral doors opened, and hundreds of faces turned toward her. Roman waited at the altar in a black suit, his expression revealing nothing. Clara had designed her gown to fit her body rather than hide it — silver thread on long sleeves, a skirt following her curves. She knew what the guests saw: a woman they had called ugly since childhood, whose talent they praised only because they could not praise her appearance.
Roman watched her for one moment. His cold expression changed — not disgust, not amusement, but surprise. The ceremony was brief. When the priest told Roman to kiss the bride, whispers moved through the cathedral. “You can turn away,” he said. “I am not afraid of a kiss.” His mouth touched hers, brief, and he stepped back almost immediately. Clara still felt it after the priest continued speaking.
The reception was held inside Duca House, white roses climbing marble pillars beneath gold chandeliers, the ocean stretching beyond tall windows. The guests treated Clara like a joke — two women discussed whether Roman would keep a mistress; Adrien Vale collected bets on how many months she’d last in the mansion.
Clara sat beside Roman, who spoke quietly with his adviser Luca Moretti and watched the doors instead of the guests. “You could pretend to enjoy this.” “I am enjoying it.” “You look like you are attending a funeral.” “Weddings and funerals have many similarities.” “That is the most romantic thing you have said today.” The corner of his mouth moved. Not a smile. She noticed anyway.
Across the ballroom, Adrien approached Eleanor with a glass of champagne, his voice loud enough for several tables. “Mrs. Whitmore, you must be relieved. It cannot be easy supporting a daughter with so few opportunities.” Several guests laughed. Clara began to stand; Roman placed his hand over hers. “Stay.” “He is speaking to my mother.” “I can hear him.”
May you like
Roman rose. The orchestra stopped without being told. He crossed the ballroom and removed the envelope of betting money from Adrien’s hand. “How much?” “It was only a joke.” “How much did you collect?” “Six thousand dollars.” Roman removed his watch, worth more than Adrien’s house, and placed it inside the envelope. “Now the bet is worth my attention.”
Guards seized Adrien and dragged him from the ballroom. Roman returned to the table. “Anyone who humiliates Clara will answer to me. Anyone who humiliates her mother will discover how little patience I have.” “I could have defended her,” Clara said. “I know.” “Then why did you do it?” “Because he believed there would be no consequence.” Twenty minutes later, the first gunshot shattered the champagne glass.
