The Mafia boss marries the ugliest girl in town Their wedding began with whispers about Clara’s appearance and ended with assassins breaking through the windows—but nothing prepared Roman for the truth hidden beneath her torn wedding dress: she was supposed to be dead.

The rain raged outside as the tension inside the master suite reached a boiling point.

Hector backed away until his spine hit the edge of the mahogany desk. Sweat beaded along his silver hairline, dripping down his wrinkled cheek. He looked from the laser sight hovering between his eyes to Roman, who stood three feet away, looking like an executioner waiting for a signal.

"Roman... listen to me!" Hector panicked, raising his hands in surrender. "I did it for the family! Your father was weak! He wanted to make peace with the DeLucas! He wanted to share the port revenues! If I hadn't opened the gates for Marcus Moretti, the DeLucas would have swallowed our territory whole!"

"My father trusted you," Roman said, his voice dropping into a register so dark it sent a chill through the room. "He made you Consigliere. He gave you a seat at his table."

"And he was going to give half his empire away to a girl!" Hector shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Aurelia. "To her! Don DeLuca promised her as your bride, but the contract gave the DeLucas fifty-one percent voting control of the shipping syndicate! I saved the Valenti bloodline!"

"You sold us to Marcus Moretti," Aurelia corrected bitterly, her grip on the revolver unyielding. "And in return, Marcus gave you a ten percent cut of the illegal arms shipments moving through the northern docks. We found your offshore accounts three weeks ago, Hector. Matteo spent six months tracking your money trail before he died."

Hector gasped, realizing he had walked into a trap that had been set months before Roman ever stood at the altar.

"Where is the master ledger?" Roman demanded, stepping into Hector's personal space, grabbing his silk tie, and yanking him forward until their noses almost touched. "The DeLuca family ledger detailing the Archon syndicate's hidden offshore accounts. The ledger Marcus couldn't find twelve years ago."

"I... I don't have it!" Hector wept, his pathetic facade completely broken. "Marcus searched the burnt ruins of the DeLuca manor for three years! He never found it! He thinks DeLuca took it to his grave!"

Aurelia lowered her gun slightly, looking at Roman. "It’s not in the ruins. My father didn't hide it in the manor."

Roman looked back at her. "Where did he hide it?"

"The family vault beneath the chapel," Aurelia whispered. "The key inside this locket doesn't unlock a box, Roman. It unlocks the biometric safe beneath the altar of the old DeLuca church."

Hector’s eyes widened in sudden, desperate realization. "The chapel on the hill... the abandoned parish..."

Before Hector could say another word, Roman’s hand snapped out like a striking viper. His fist hit Hector’s jaw with brutal, bone-crushing force.

Hector collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Roman didn't look down at his uncle. He pulled a pair of heavy steel zip-ties from his desk drawer, threw them to the floor beside Hector, and pressed his intercom button.

"Dante," Roman ordered.

"Boss?"

"Come up to the master suite. Bring two men. Secure Hector in the subterranean vault. If he breathes too loud, break his fingers. We leave for the DeLuca chapel in twenty minutes."

"Understood, Boss!"

Roman turned to Aurelia. She was standing near the fire, her chest heaving, her hands still holding the silver revolver. He walked over, gently taking the heavy weapon from her hands, placing it on the mantelpiece before taking both of her wrists in his hands.

"Are you ready for this?" Roman asked softly, his dark eyes searching hers. "Going back there... to the place where it all ended?"

Aurelia looked into his eyes, her hazel gaze reflecting the flickering amber flames of the hearth.

"It didn't end there, Roman," she said, her voice rising with unbreakable resolve. "That’s where the DeLuca family died. Tonight, that’s where the Valenti-DeLuca empire rises."

Twenty minutes later, a convoy of three blacked-out, heavily armored SUVs rolled silently out of the Valenti estate, tearing through the rain-soaked highways toward the desolate hills on the northern edge of the county.

An hour later, the vehicles pulled up to the rusted iron gates of an abandoned 19th-century stone chapel sitting high on a cliff overlooking the dark, churning ocean.

The chapel was a crumbling shell—its roof collapsed, its stained-glass windows long gone, ivy and wild brambles climbing up the dark granite walls. It sat less than half a mile from the scorched, blackened ruins of the former DeLuca manor house, which loomed like a jagged black skeleton against the stormy night sky.

"Perimeter clear, Boss," Dante reported over the comms as six tactical guards stepped out into the mud, their rifle lights cutting through the thick fog. "Thermal sensors show no activity within five hundred yards."

Roman stepped out of the SUV, opening his heavy wool coat to wrap it around Aurelia’s shoulders as she stepped into the cold rain beside him.

She was wearing black tactical cargo pants, leather boots, and a dark fitted jacket Roman had provided. She looked sharp, lethal, and focused.

They walked through the rusted archway into the roofless sanctuary of the chapel. Rain poured down onto the overgrown stone floorboards, splashing against the ruined altar.

Aurelia walked up to the marble altar base. She knelt in the wet moss, reaching her hand into a narrow gap beneath the second step.

"My father brought me here when I was ten," she whispered, her voice echoed softly by the stone walls. "He said, 'Aurelia, if the world ever catches fire, the truth stays in the sanctuary.'"

She pressed her thumb against a smooth stone slab hidden beneath the altar step.

CLICK.