Arranged Mafia Marriage

Chapter 1Felicity

1

Felicity

T he last students file out of the dance studio, their laughter echoing in the hallway. I stretch my arms above my head, working out the kinks from a long day of teaching. The clock on the wall reads nine-thirty p.m. Another late night.

I gather my things, shoving my ballet slippers and water bottle into my bag. The studio feels empty now, devoid of the energy that filled it just moments ago. My footsteps echo as I walk to the door, flicking off lights as I go.

The night air is cool against my skin as I step outside. Streetlights cast an orange glow over the sidewalk. I unthinkingly inhale the scent of the city, exhaust fumes mingled with the warm aroma of pizza from the shop next door.

I quicken my steps, my sneakers hitting the concrete so loud that it feels like there are two of me out here. There was at one point, when someone tried to mug me last week, but I’ve been told they’ve been arrested and charged for a slew of other incidents.

This city is supposed to be safe, but it doesn’t feel like that these days. Something has changed. The usual hum of distant traffic is absent, replaced by an eerie silence that makes my skin prickle. Even the stray cats that usually prowl these streets are nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, the stillness shatters. A car engine growls to life behind me, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet night. I whip my head around and spot a black SUV idling at the curb. Its windows are tinted so dark they’re like mirrors, reflecting the streetlights.

My heart thuds against my ribs as I face forward again, trying to look casual. “It’s nothing,” I mutter to myself, but my legs move faster of their own accord. My dance bag thumps rhythmically against my hip as I walk, the familiar weight now feeling like a hindrance.

The SUV’s engine revs, and tires crunch on asphalt. A quick glance confirms my fear. It’s moving, crawling down the street like a predator stalking its prey.

“Hey,” I call out, hoping to attract attention from any nearby apartments. My voice sounds thin and scared in the empty street. “Is someone there?”

No response. Just the slow, steady approach of the SUV behind me. In light of my previous experience almost dying at the hands of a man with a gun, I abandon all pretense of calm and break into a run, my bag bouncing wildly. I pray it doesn’t fall to the ground, but I wouldn’t stop to pick it up. Material things can be replaced, but my mental and physical health cannot.

My heart leaps into my throat at the sound of squealing tires behind me. I can’t outrun a car.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps pounding the pavement behind me. I break into a sprint, adrenaline surging through my veins and allowing me to move faster. There’re more than one person chasing me now. What the hell is going on?

A gunshot cracks the air, and I scream, ducking instinctively. More gunfire erupts, but it’s not aimed at me. I risk a glance back and see men in dark suits engaged in a firefight with my pursuers. That can’t be the police. They don’t dress like that, and they’re never out here at the hour.

Before I can process what’s happening, strong arms grab me. I struggle, kicking and clawing at my attacker, but his grip is like iron.

“Stop fighting,” a gruff voice growls into my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “We’re here to protect you.”

My heart races faster than it ever has, and I don’t believe a word he says. With a burst of desperate energy, I throw my elbow back, feeling it connect with something solid. His ribs, maybe. The man lets out a pained grunt, but his grip on me doesn’t loosen. If anything, it only tightens.

“I said stop,” he says sternly through clenched teeth.

Suddenly, another set of hands grabs my legs. My feet leave the ground, and I’m suspended between two men, twisting and thrashing in their grasp.

“Let me go,” I shout, my voice cracking with fury and terror. “Help! Somebody help me!” My screams echo off the buildings, but no one comes to my aid. It feels like I live in a ghost town, long abandoned by everyone with even the slightest splinter of common sense.

The men carry me swiftly down the sidewalk, my wild kicks barely slowing them down. Up ahead, I spot a sleek black limousine idling at the curb, its tinted windows hiding whatever waits inside.

“No, no, no,” I mutter, redoubling my efforts to break free, but it’s useless.

The limo’s rear door swings open with a soft click. Before I can react, I’m unceremoniously shoved inside, the plush leather seat cold against my flushed skin. I scramble to sit up, but the door slams shut, and it’s locked from the outside when I try the handle.

The limo’s interior envelops me in darkness, the scent of leather and pine air freshener filling my nostrils. My heart beats like a trapped bird against my ribs as I scuttle backward, pressing myself against the far door. The cool glass window chills my skin through my thin blouse. That door handle is locked too, giving me no hope of escape.

Two men slide onto the seat across from me, their bulky frames blocking the dim light from outside. Their faces are expressionless masks, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses despite the late hour. One of them leans forward, his meaty hand reaching toward me.

I jerk away, my elbow banging painfully against the armrest. “Don’t touch me.” My voice is raw from screaming earlier.

The man pauses, his hand hovering in mid-air. “I’m Viktor, and this is my brother, Alexei. We’re not going to hurt you, Miss Morris,” he says, his deep voice surprisingly gentle. “We need to get you to safety.”

I glance between the two men, searching for any sign of deception. “Safety from what?” My words come out in a rush. “Who are you people? What do you want with me?”

Neither man answers. The one who spoke settles back in his seat, exchanging a quick glance with his partner. Before I can press further, the limo lurches into motion. Tires squeal against asphalt as we pull away from the curb, the sudden acceleration pushing me deeper into the plush seat.

I grab onto the door handle, my knuckles white with tension. The familiar streets of my neighborhood blur past the tinted windows, each turn taking me further from everything I know. My mind races, trying to make sense of this surreal situation. Who are these men? Where are they taking me? And how do they know my name?

I try the door handle again, but it’s still locked. Panic claws at my throat. “Where are you taking me?”

Again, no answer.

The city lights blur outside the window as we speed through the streets. I press my forehead against the cool glass, trying to calm my racing pulse. What’s happening? Who were those men trying to shoot me? Who are these men who claim to be protecting me?

The limo turns onto the highway, picking up speed. We’re leaving the city, and I have no idea where we’re going.

I close my eyes, fighting back tears. Just this morning, my biggest worry was choreographing a new routine for my advanced dance class. Now, I’m being kidnapped by strangers after nearly being shot.

The men in the car are silent as they scan our surroundings. I curl into myself, making my body as small as possible.

Where are we going? What do they want with me? My thoughts cloud any reasoning part of my brain, making it hard to come up with a plan once we arrive at our destination.

The limousine pulls up to a luxurious hotel, its golden lights illuminating the night sky. My captors, or protectors, as they claim to be, usher me inside, their hands firm but not rough on my arms. We bypass the lobby, heading straight for the elevators. They crowd around me and glare, trapping my voice in my throat so that I can’t call out for help.

The ride up is silent but tense. I watch the floor numbers climb higher and higher until we reach the penthouse suite. One of the men swipes a keycard, and the door swings open to reveal a sprawling expanse of luxury that takes away my breath.

Plush cream-colored sofas and armchairs dot the room, their pristine fabric gleaming under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. Polished marble floors reflect the warm light, creating an almost comforting atmosphere, but I know there’s no comfort to be found in the hands of these men.

I look around, taking in the incredible surroundings, but my attention quickly turns to a commanding figure by the far wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame his tall silhouette against the twinkling cityscape beyond, the lights of New York creating a halo effect around his broad shoulders.

As we step inside, the man turns, and I can’t stifle the small gasp that escapes my lips. He must be at least seven feet. The city lights cast shadows across his chiseled features, highlighting a strong jawline dusted with light stubble. Short blond hair, slightly tousled, crowns his head, and his eyes, a startling, piercing blue, dart toward me with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.

“Miss Morris,” he says, his deep voice making me shiver. “I’m glad to see you’ve arrived safely.”

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice as sweat prickles my hairline. “Who are you? What’s going on?”

He takes a step closer, and I notice the way his tailored suit hugs his muscular frame. A traitorous part of my brain admires how incredibly attractive he is, even in this surreal and potentially dangerous situation.

“Stop it, Felicity,” I mutter under my breath, giving my head a slight shake.

“I’m sorry?” the man asks, one eyebrow arching in curiosity.

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Nothing,” I say quickly, forcing myself to focus. “I just... I need answers. Please.”

The man nods, his firm expression softening slightly. “Of course. You must be confused and frightened. I assure you, we mean you no harm. My name is…”

Before he can finish, one of my escorts clears his throat. “Sir, perhaps we should secure the perimeter first? They could’ve followed us here.”

The blond man’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but he nods. “You’re right. Miss Morris, please, make yourself comfortable. I promise we’ll explain everything shortly.”

As he turns to confer with the other men, I sink into one of the nearby sofas, its softness a needed contrast to the hard knot of fear and confusion in my stomach. I watch the group, their hushed voices hard to hear, and try to make sense of how my ordinary life has suddenly become so extraordinary.

“Leave us,” says the man, his voice deep and accented. Russian, I think.

The men who brought me here nod and exit, closing the door behind them. I’m alone with this stranger, and my heart races.

“Who are you?” I demand, proud that my voice doesn’t shake. “Why am I here?”

He steps closer, and I resist the urge to back away. “My name is Kiril Pimaslov,” he says. “And you’re here because your life is in danger, Felicity Morris. Or should I say, Felicity DeLucci?”

I frown. “DeLucci? That’s not my name.”

“It is. It’s your father’s name. Your real father’s name.”

“What are you talking about? My father died before I was born. My mother told me…”

“Your mother lied,” Kiril interrupts. “To protect you. Your father is Santino DeLucci, the head of the Sicilian mafia in New York.”

I shake my head, laughing nervously. “This is insane. You’re lying. My mother would never lie to me like that.”

“Your mother did what she thought was best,” Kiril says, his voice softer now. “She wanted to keep you safe from this world, but circumstances have changed. Your father is dying, and your existence has been discovered.”

My mind reels. This can’t be true. It’s too fantastical, too much like something out of a movie. “If what you’re saying is true, and I’m not saying I believe you, why does that put me in danger?”

Kiril’s expression darkens. “Because your brother, Damiano, sees you as a threat to his inheritance. He’s the one who tried to have you killed tonight. My men saved you from his assassins, but only barely. A few more seconds without my power and you’d be in a pine box six feet underground. That, or they’d toss you in the river.”

I remember the gunfire, the men chasing me. It seems so surreal now, standing in this luxurious hotel room. The prospect of death isn’t what bothers me the most, though. It’s the fact that a brother that I never knew I had is behind it. “I have a brother?” I ask.

“Half-brother, and he’s not someone you want to meet. Damiano is ruthless and ambitious. He’ll stop at nothing to secure his position as your father’s heir.”

I sink deeper into my chair, my body suddenly weak. “This is... it’s too much. I can’t process all of this.”

Kiril moves to the bar, pouring two glasses of what looks like whiskey. He brings one to me, and I take it gratefully, sipping the burning liquid. It grounds me in a way nothing else can, the harshness of the alcohol taking away the biting edge of panic in my chest.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Kiril says, sitting across from me, “But there’s more you need to know.”

I look up at him, dreading what else he might say. “More?”

He nods. “Your father made an arrangement years ago, to protect you and solidify an alliance between our families. An arranged marriage.”

My stomach drops. “No,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry, but you and I are to be married. It’s the only way to keep you safe and maintain the balance of power.”

I stand abruptly, the whiskey sloshing in my glass. “This is insane. I don’t know you. I don’t know any of this. How can you expect me to just accept it?”

He rises too, towering over me. “I don’t expect you to accept it easily, but I do expect you to listen and understand the situation. Your life is at stake. Your family’s legacy is at stake.”

I shake my head, backing away. “No. I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”

He closes his eyes for just a second, as though gathering strength. When they open, he’s more commanding than ever, the blueness of his irises glowing with suppressed anger. “I know this is overwhelming, but please, sit down. Let me explain everything. You need to understand what’s happening and why this is necessary.”

I hesitate, torn between fleeing and hearing him out. Finally, I nod, sinking back into the chair. “Okay,” I say quietly. “I’m listening.”