The Bodyguard Who Stole the Mafia Bride

Chapter 4 What is the use

Word Count: 735 | Released on: 14/04/2026

ella

enthouse clicked shut, the dam broke. The humiliation of Julian's betrayal, the

floor. Glass shattered, scattering like my pathetic illusions. Next went the crystal decanter he ha

asping for air, he moved. In two strides, he pinned me against the wall, his massive frame caging me in. He didn't

lcone," he commanded, his voice a dark, absolut

my voice cracking. "I

e murmured, his grip tightening on my waist. "

dn't even flinch. With humiliating ease, he caught my leg, his large hand gri

inst his solid back. "Put me down

from mine, his eyes burning with dark intent. "A monster you woke up, tesoro(treasure)," he whispe

ragged out of my sanctuary and shoved into the passenger

wer, I grabbed a sleek black box I had snatched from the entryway tabl

n't try it on. Instead, his large, calloused hands gripped the collar, a

tossing the shreds aside. "From my shirts down

the only weapon I had left. "What good a

the back of his hands bulged as he gripped the stee

nd garage of Moretti Tower. As he parked the beast of a car and opened his door to step

elding smile. I leaned across the console, my lips brushing his ea

ove my knee upward, hard

loose grip, shoved his heavy frame the rest of the way out the open door, and scramble

window just enough to meet h

l Isabella Blanchard," I declared, my heart pounding against my ribs. "

ng against the concrete as I tore out of his gar

Chapter End

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The Bodyguard Who Stole the Mafia Bride

Annabell Seto Mafia

“Three hours ago, I was the revered Bianchi princess, standing at the altar in a million-dollar gown to seal New York's most powerful Mafia alliance. Instead, my fiancé Julian Falcone didn't show up, publicly slaughtering our sacred pact for a rising actress and turning me into the laughingstock of the underworld. In a drunken haze of humiliation, I used my silent, lethal bodyguard, Damien Moretti, to numb my pain. But the next morning, he didn't just walk away. He showed me a video of my willing surrender and cornered me. "Marry me. Become Mrs. Moretti." My own father froze my accounts, demanding I get on my knees to beg the cheating Falcone heir for forgiveness, or face a fifty-million-dollar penalty. I was stripped of my assets, betrayed by the man I loved for a decade, and sold out by my own blood. I had no choice but to agree to Damien's marriage of convenience to survive. But what terrified me most was my new husband himself. A mere bodyguard shouldn't carry an invitation-only Centurion black card. A mere bodyguard shouldn't be able to terrify a Mafia heir with a single, murderous look. Who on earth was Damien Moretti? With no money and my back against the wall, I was forced to join a reality show alongside my cheating ex and his mistress. They thought they could continue to humiliate the discarded bride on live television. But they didn't know I was walking into this warzone with a monster at my back.”