The Mafia King's Runaway Ghost Bride

ella

against the wet cobblestones. My head throbbed, my memories a hazy, terrifying blur that

what wandered into

ed low. The glint of a switchblade caught the dim light of the streetlam

8 Cadillac V-8 Town Sedans swept around the corner like a funeral march. The lead car bore a crest I did

y pressed themselves against the damp brick wall, eyes wide, terrified

, slipping silently into the pitch-black

ien

ry of white marble and suffocating silence.

tone door stood ajar. Th

ing in my blood. I stepped inside. My most trusted Enforcer s

wallowing hard. "The casket

t of dried roses and dust mocked me. Someone had

holding my sanity

echo in the tomb. "Find her. Find my Isabella's body. And bri

begun. I would burn Chicago

ella

y stand by the time the familiar wrought-iron gat

ntercom button, my finge

raspy, familiar voice cra

head against the freezing iron. "

or. He stared at the screen as if looking at an apparition. "Miss... Miss Isabella?"

of frame. A second later, the estate's emergency alarms bega

co

years. Five years of rage, and the blood on my knuckles

stumbled in over the blaring alarms. "Capo! At th

is collar, lifting him off his feet. "If thi

ar

oice cut through the

to the floor and turned slowly,

ruthless Caporegime the city feared, shattered into a million pieces. A raw, guttural sob tore from my throat. I crossed th

enz

mahogany desk, the legal documents for our legitima

cold disapproval. "Marco, for God's sake, c

died in

ed, and I s

ously built around my heart for five long years cracked and collapsed in a single heartbeat. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think