Revenge Wedding With the Mafia Queen Chapter 08

Revenge Wedding With the Mafia Queen Chapter 08

Sean’s POV 

“They died badly.” 

Lucia entered the bedroom as I watched the sea through the window. 

“Vivian got the knife first,” she said from behind me. But Brandon tore out her throat. They died locked together–neither made it out alive.” 

I didn’t turn. Just kept gazing at that stretch of blue. 

“The bodies?” 

“Fed to the harbor dogs.” 

Lucia came to stand beside me, her hand resting gently on my shoulder. “Any regrets? About not watching it yourself?” 

“No regrets.” I turned to face her. “They chose how they died. Fitting.” 

Her hand slid from my shoulder to my cheek, thumb brushing over fading bruises. “Still hurt?” 

“Not anymore.” I took her hand. “The doctor says I’m healing well.” 

My gaze drifted unconsciously to her stomach–no longer flat, a soft curve visible even through her shirt. 

“The baby?” I asked softly. “How are you?” 

“I’m fine.” She guided my hand to rest on her belly. He’s fine too. Growing every day.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh. “How can you be so sure it’s a boy? I want a daughter. One who looks like you. And Max has been acting too much like a little tyrant–he feeds a sister to protect.” 

“Then I hope it’s a girl.” She smiled, leaning in to brush a light kiss against my cheek. “Let’s go home. Back to Naples. Let the baby be born there.” 

“Okay.” I pulled her into an embrace. “Let’s go home.” 

Six months later. 

A seaside villa in Naples. 

Lucia reclined on a lounge chair on the terrace, a thin blanket over her legs, her rounded stomach clearly outlined beneath her loose dress. 

Sea breeze drifted up from the water. She cradled her belly with one hand, the other resting on the arm of the chair, her gaze lost somewhere on the blue 

horizon of the Mediterranean. 

I stepped out from the house carrying a glass of warm milk and the doctor–prescribed vitamins. 

“Daddy!” 

Max came running up from the beach, his hands full of seashells. “Look! I found so many pretty ones!” 

He carefully showed them to me. “These are all for my sister. When she’s born, I’ll tell her stories about them.” 

She’ll love them,” I praised. 

“Time to drink.” I handed the glass to Lucia, my voice softening. “The doctor said your iron’s low.” 

“Not this again.” She frowned but drank it anyway. 

Setting the glass down, she rested her hand on her stomach. As if responding, a gentle kick pushed from within. 

Her eyes lit up. “She’s kicking again.” 

I smiled, placing my hand over hers. “She’s protesting because you complained about the milk.” 

Max leaned in too, his small hand joining ours. “Sis, it s your brother. Daddy says you have to drink milk to grow big. Make Mama drink more.” 

Another kick answered him.. 

Lucia laughed, wrapping her arm around my neck and kissing me softly. 

The sun set behind us, casting Vesuvius in a golden glow. 

In that moment, the whole world felt still. 

Nighttime. 

Max was asleep. Lucia and I sat on the terrace, listening to the waves. 

“Lucia,” I began suddenly. 

“Hm?” 

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.” I turned to look at her. “Back then… why did you agree to marry me?” 

Lucia seemed caught off guard. “I had nothing,” I continued. “Just a pathetic guy who‘ 

been left at the altar. Running out of the Waldorf Astoria in a tux while all of New York laughed.” 

“Why marry me? It did nothing for you.” 

She was silent for a few seconds, then smiled faintly, taking my hand. “You really want to know?” 

“Yes.” 

She gazed out at the sea, her eyes distant. “Because… you were the one I’d been waiting for.” 

Lucia’s POV 

He doesn’t know.. 

He doesn’t remember. 

But I do. I remember every detail of that rainy night, 

Eighteen years ago. I was fifteen. 

I wasn’t the Don then. Just a girl hunted by her uncle, covered in blood, fleeing to New York. 

A family feud. My father murdered. I barely escaped Naples, hiding in the back kitchen of a small Brooklyn diner. 

It was raining that day. Hard. 

I leaned against the wall, hand pressed to the wound on my shoulder. Blood kept flowing, staining the floor. I thought I’d die there. 

Then the door opened. 

A little boy stood in the doorway, a first–aid kit in his hands. 

He was only ten, wearing a school uniform under a raincoat, hair wet from the storm. When he saw me, he didn’t scream. Didn’t panic. 

He just walked over, knelt beside me, and said softly, Are you hurt?” 

I stared, speechless. My hands were covered in blood— not just mine, but that of the men who’d been hunting me. I’d just killed three people. 

But this little boy didn’t see a monster. He only saw someone injured. 

“Don’t be scared.” He opened the kit, clumsily pulling out gauze. “My dad says if you’re hurt, you bandage it and it gets better.” 

His hands were small, warm. The bandage was messy, but it was the first kindness I’d ever known. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked, eyes full of concern. 

I shook my head. 

It did hurt. The cut was deep enough to see bone. But his eyes made it feel like maybe it didn’t. 

“I’m Sean,” he said seriously. “What’s your name?” 

“Lucia.” 

“Lucia, you’ll be okay.” He smiled, a gap where a tooth was missing. “My dad says if you keep going, things always get better.” 

In that moment, I knew. 

This boy was the only light in my darkness. 

But I didn’t deserve him. 

I was drenched in blood. My hands were stained. I was meant for shadows. 

So I watched from afar as he grew up. 

I returned to Naples, slaughtered the traitors, took my place as Don. 

But I kept eyes in New York. Every month, someone sent me photos of him. 

Him at school. Him graduating. Him smiling. 

I locked those photos in a safe. Took them out late at night, looking through them again and again. 

When he was thirteen, a bully cornered him after school. I had the guy’s legs broken and dumped him in the Hudson. 

When he was sixteen, his father’s company nearly went under. I anonymously wired five million to save them. 

When he was nineteen, he was almost hit by a car. One of my men pushed him out of the way and took the impact himself. 

I never let him know. 

Because I didn’t deserve to stand before him. My hands were too bloody, I was mafia, A killer. 

I could only protect him from the shadows. 

When he turned twenty–two, he fell in love. 

Her name was Vivian. 

I looked into her selfish, vain, greedy. Not good enough for him. 

But he looked so happy. 

I looked at their photos and told myself: As long as he‘ 

Even if that happiness wasn’t with me. 

On their wedding day, I sat in a car across from the church. 

A gun in my hand. 

If Vivian made him cry, I’d kill her. Then myself–so he’d never know it was me. 

But when I saw him standing in the rain in his tux, looking lost- 

I knew fate had given me a chance. 

That night, I waited for him outside the Cathedral of Saint Januarius. 

I had eighteen years‘ worth of words ready. I wanted to tell him how long I’d waited. How much I loved him. 

But when it came time to propose, none of those words came out, All I said webs: 

“Marry me.” 

He looked at me, dazed. “Why?” 

I met his eyes–the same eyes that had looked at me in the rain eighteen years earlier: 

“Because from the moment I first saw you, my life has been yours. You can use it for revenge. Use it to protect whoever you want. Use it for anything.” 

“But let me use it to love you. 

THE END