A Bride For The Mafia King

BIANCA POV

“Fucking hell.”

“Go find a boy and stop doing that.” I smack my lips and glide another coat of red gloss. The shade is perfect, sinful and loud. My reflection winks back, an enchantress in the making.

“No, Bianca,” she calls from the bathroom, her voice muffled. “I’m not hooking up with some random guy and ending up in one of those secret baby or contract marriage disasters.”

I chuckle. “Oh, you’ve heard of those too? Honestly, it sounds better than being glued to a damn toy.”

The toilet flushes. She steps out, her face damp, her black hair clinging to her cheeks. “Trust me, I’d rather have a secret baby with a mafia boss than deal with an arrogant billionaire.”

“You and this mafia fantasy again.” I blow a kiss to the mirror. “Girl, get yourself a celebrity crush instead.”

She rolls her eyes. “A celebrity crush? You’re setting my standards underground.”

I turn to her with a grin. “Relax, I’m kidding.”

Her pout melts into a smile. “Good. Now, are we actually going to this party or just flirt with our reflections all night?”

“Both,” I smirk, grabbing my clutch. “But let’s start with the party.”

The club was chaos, music pounding, lights flashing like we were stuck inside a disco ball from hell. The air reeked of perfumes, and bad decisions, we're the bad decisions.

“Bianca!” Christie yelled over the bass, swaying with a drink in each hand. “This is insane.”

She handed me a shot before I could say no. I shrugged and gulped it, the liquid burning my throat.

“See? That’s my girl!” she cheered, throwing her hands up like she’d just saved the world.

We danced until our feet hurt, our bodies brushing against each other, the laughter mixing with the DJ’s remix of something I couldn’t even name. Christie was in her element, her hair turned messy, her lipstick smudged, her voice hoarse from screaming lyrics of songs she didn't even know.

I grabbed another shot and gulped it, it was the fifth or maybe sixth, I lost count.

“Bianca, I’m gonna find that cute bartender,” she giggled, wobbling toward the counter. “You go dance with someone hot.”

I snorted. “Right, because I totally want to hook up with a stranger named Kyle who smells like beer.”

She just waved her hand and disappeared into the crowd.

I danced a little longer, but my head started spinning, the club lights blurring my vision, my steps became wobbly. By midnight, the thrill had faded. Christie was nowhere to be found, and my phone was dying.

Screw it. I was done.

Outside the club, the air was cold and harsh against my flushed skin. I wrapped my arms around myself, my heels clacking against the sidewalk as I started the long walk home. My apartment wasn’t far, maybe fifteen minutes away. Easy, if you weren’t tipsy and trying not to trip over invisible cracks.

The street was quiet except for the distant hum