IDNAPPED ON WEDDING DAY AND BONDED TO THE MAFIA KING

The reflection staring back at me was a masterpiece of deception.

I was draped in five yards of the finest Italian silk, a Vera Wang creation that cost more than a suburban home. My hair was swept up into an intricate crown of curls, pinned by a diamond tiara that felt like a circle of ice against my scalp. I looked like a queen, but as I adjusted the lace sleeves of my wedding dress, I knew the truth.

I was a sacrificial lamb.

"Seraphina, you are the most beautiful bride New York has seen in a decade," my father, Antonio Rossi, said as he entered the suite. His voice was thick with emotion, but I could see the twitch in his jaw. Rossi International was crumbling. A series of bad investments and a sudden market crash had left us on the brink of total ruin.

Daniel Whitmore IV was the "miracle" that had saved us. A golden-boy investment banker with a smile that was too perfect and eyes that never quite reached his soul. My father saw a merger; I saw a prison sentence.

"I'm doing this for the family, Papa," I whispered. My voice felt brittle, like it might shatter if I spoke too loudly.

"You're doing this for our legacy, Seraphina. Daniel is a good man. He'll provide the security you deserve."

Security. The word tasted like ash in my mouth. What about love? What about the dreams I'd harbored of a partner who saw me as more than a pretty accessory? Daniel's kisses were always calculated, his touches polite but distant. We'd never gone beyond heavy petting, he said he wanted to "wait for the wedding night" to make it special. Now, as I stared at my reflection, I wondered if that was just another lie to keep me compliant.

The clock struck noon. It was time. My father offered his arm, and we stepped into the antechamber. The organ's deep notes vibrated through the walls, signaling the start of the procession. As the massive oak doors swung open, the sea of guests turned to face me, three hundred of New York's elite, their faces a blur of diamonds and designer suits.

I walked down the aisle, my hand white-knuckled on my father's arm. The scent of white lilies and incense filled the air, cloying and overwhelming. My heart pounded like a war drum. The faces blurred into a sea of judgment and curiosity. But then, my gaze was pulled, almost magnetically, to the back of the cathedral.

He sat in the shadows of the last pew.

A darkness that the candlelight couldn't penetrate. Broad shoulders, a suit the color of a stormy sea, and eyes, amber eyes that burned with a predatory hunger. I stumbled, my heart skipping a beat. I didn't know him, yet I felt as if he had been watching me my entire life. His stare was intense, possessive, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the