The Ugly Substitute Bride of the Mafia King

Seraphina POV

The damp air of the Little Italy alley smelled of stale garbage, yeast from the nearby bakery, and the faint, metallic tang of gunpowder. I shoved my phone into my coat pocket, the echo of my mother's voice still ringing in my ears. You will marry Don Moretti, Sera. It is your duty to the Castillo family.

I turned to flee the suffocating shadows, only to crash into a solid wall of muscle.

A large, gloved hand clamped over my mouth, slamming me back against the cold, rough bricks. My eyes widened in terror. The man towering over me was drenched in blood, his face completely hidden behind a gleaming silver wolf mask.

"Don't move," he commanded.

His voice was a raw, gravelly rasp, laced with an authority so absolute it froze the blood in my veins. It was a Don's Command, the kind of order that bypassed logic and demanded blind obedience.

Heavy footsteps echoed at the mouth of the alley. His pursuers.

I had nowhere to run. If they found him, they'd kill the witness. Me.

Survival instinct overrode my panic. I grabbed the lapels of his ruined suit, yanking him down to my level. "Play along if you want to live," I breathed against his ear.

I dragged him behind a row of damp white bedsheets hanging from a clothesline, pressing my body flush against his. I wrapped my arms around his neck, tilting my head to fake a desperate, illicit kiss in the shadows.

Damien POV

For ten years, my world had been a dead, monotonous grayscale. A curse born of trauma and blood.

But the second this strange woman pulled me into the dark, the universe violently shattered into color.

I stared down at her, my breath catching in my burning lungs. Her eyes were a piercing, vibrant amber. Her lips, parted in feigned passion, were a bruised, intoxicating red. Even the ugly, jagged scar marring her left cheek-a clear prosthetic fake-stood out in stark, undeniable hues.

She was a riot of color in my dead world.

I wrapped my uninjured arm around her narrow waist, pulling her flush against my chest. She smelled of cold rain and clean soap, a scent that instantly silenced the roaring beast in my skull. The enemy Soldiers cursed in Italian on the other side of the sheets, assuming we were just two lovers rutting in the dirt, and quickly moved on.

When the footsteps faded, she shoved me away, her amber eyes flashing with guarded fear. "We're clear. Pay me what you promised so I can leave."

I didn't want her to leave. I needed to cage her. To keep this color forever.

Before I could demand her name, the screech of tires tore through the alley. Three armored black sedans blocked the exit. My men poured out, weapons drawn.

My Capo, Enzo, holstered his gun as he approached, his eyes flicking to the woman. His lip curled in undisguised disgust at her scarred face. "Boss,"