Captive Princess

Three years ago, I drugged the mafia heir, Vincent.

After that one wild night, he didn’t kill me. Instead, he fucked me until my legs went weak, gripping my waist and whispering the same word over and over: “Principessa.”

Just as I was about to propose, his first love, Isabella, returned.

To keep her happy, Vincent let a car hit me, had my mother’s heirlooms thrown to stray dogs, and sent me to prison…

But when I was finally broken, flying to Boston to marry someone else, Vincent tore New York City apart to find me.

To the world, I'm Sophia Romano—the family's wild, radiant princess. Vincent is the mafia heir—stoic, controlled, the very picture of restraint.

But every night, he grips my waist, fucking me until my legs go weak while whispering my name over and over: "Principessa."

He just doesn't know that in two weeks, I'm marrying someone else.

The sheets are still damp with our shared heat. I lie in bed, catching my breath as Vincent rises to dress.

From my side of the bed, I watch his long fingers deftly buttoning his shirt.

"Not staying tonight?" I ask.

"Family meeting," he says without turning. "Be good."

That again.

I sit up, letting the sheet pool around my waist. Vincent's hands pause for a moment before he moves to knot his tie.

"Vincent."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

He turns, leans down, and presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'm leaving."

The moment the door clicks shut, I snatch my phone and dial a familiar number.

"Father, I accept the marriage alliance. In two weeks, I'll marry the dying Sterling heir in Boston. But I have one condition."

On the other end of the line, Don Romano sounds ecstatic. "Good! Name it!"

"We'll talk in person."

I hang up, and my eyes fall on the phone Vincent left on the nightstand.

The screen lights up with a new message.

From: Isabella

Vincent, thanks for coming with me to the hospital today. The doctor said my recovery is going well, and it's all because of you. I'd love to see a movie with you tomorrow, just like old times.

It's followed by a kissing emoji.

I stare at the message, my fingertips trembling.

Vincent has never taken me to the hospital. Not even when I broke a rib during training.

I get dressed and discreetly follow his car.

He pulls up to a cozy Italian restaurant on Mott Street. From a distance, I watch him stride toward a girl in a white dress.

Isabella.

She's even thinner than she appears in photos. Vincent reaches out, tucking a windswept strand of hair behind her ear. He touches her as if she's made of porcelain, liable to shatter at any moment.

I've never seen him look so gentle, except when we're in bed.

Three years ago, my father sent me to Vincent. The sight of his handsome, cold face made my knees weak.

"Sophia needs a proper education in how our family operates,"