The Mafia Boss Married Me to Destroy My Family, but What He Found Beneath My Wedding Dress Changed Who He Wanted Revenge On

Part 2: He opened a compartment, removed a crystal decanter, and poured himself whiskey.

“Perfectly.”

He looked at me over the rim of the glass.

We both knew I was lying.

The Ramos estate stood on a cliff outside Newport, overlooking the violent Atlantic. It was a fortress of black stone, glass, and steel, beautiful in the way a weapon could be beautiful.

The reception occupied a ballroom overlooking the ocean. Crystal chandeliers scattered light over champagne towers, diamond necklaces, and tables covered in white roses.

For three hours, I served as Diego’s most valuable decoration.

“My wife, Noelle,” he said again and again.

His hand remained at my back.

Every introduction brought fresh pressure against the hidden ridges of my skin.

I met senators who sweated through their collars, businessmen who avoided windows, and police officials who laughed too loudly at Diego’s jokes. I shook hands with men who had spent years trying to destroy my family and women who studied my dress as though wondering what kind of body required so much fabric.

Salvatore DeLuca, Diego’s underboss, kissed my knuckles.

Sal was built like a wall. His nose had been broken more than once, and suspicion lived permanently in his gray eyes.

“She’s beautiful, boss,” he said. “Very traditional.”

“Noelle was carefully protected,” Diego replied. “Her father kept her in a gilded cage.”

His voice carried the polished cruelty of a knife wrapped in velvet.

I lifted my champagne.

“To cages,” I said.

Sal laughed, but Diego did not.

Across the ballroom, Thomas had stationed himself beside the bar. He was drinking too quickly and laughing at jokes that were not funny.

Diego followed my gaze.

“He’s pathetic,” he murmured near my ear. “Arthur built an empire. Thomas traded it for another year of breathing.”

“Thomas is not my father.”

“No,” Diego agreed. “But he loves you. He cried when he signed the marriage contract.”

I turned until my face was inches from his.

“Then he is an excellent actor.”

For the first time that day, Diego appeared genuinely interested.

“He gave you to a man he believes is a monster.”

“Thomas would sell his own shadow if it could be converted into cash.”

Diego watched me carefully.

“You’re very composed.”

“It’s a wedding reception. Should I be screaming?”

His mouth curved without warmth.

“The night is still young.”

A waiter passed. I exchanged my empty glass for a full one, hoping the champagne would dull the pain beneath the corset.

It did not.

By the time the band began a slow jazz arrangement, the collar had rubbed my neck raw. My back burned beneath the lining, and nausea rolled through my stomach.

“Dance with me,” Diego said.

It was not a request.

He led me to the center of the ballroom and pulled me against him. His arm tightened around my waist. His thumb moved slowly over the back of my hand.

“You’re stiff.”

“I dislike dancing.”

“I think you dislike me.”

“I think we both know my preferences were not included in the contract.”

His jaw tightened.

“You wanted a hostage,” I continued. “You have one. There is no reason to pretend this is romantic.”

Anger flashed through his eyes, genuine and sharp.

“I want to break your father’s legacy. When I look at you, I see everything he valued. Perfection. Status. Wealth. I am going to take it apart piece by piece.”

I almost laughed.

Arthur had valued perfection, but perfection had never meant kindness. It meant silence. It meant obedience. It meant hiding the evidence when his temper escaped his control.

“Good luck,” I whispered.

The music ended.

Diego stepped back, studying me as if I had become a puzzle he disliked being unable to solve.