Claimed

9. The Devil’s Feast

Chapter nine

The Devil’s Feast

The grand ballroom had transformed yet again.

Now it was a place of celebration rather than bloodshed.

Hotel staff brought in more opulent floral arrangements. Roses in hues of deep crimson and pure white, interspersed with orchids and lilies, formed elaborate centerpieces that exuded intoxicating scents. The flowers were arranged with such artistry that they seemed almost too beautiful to be real.

I have to admit. . .this is magical.

Soft music drifted through the air, an orchestral symphony that floated effortlessly between the opulence of the surroundings and the hushed whispers of the guests. The melodies were carefully chosen, probably for their lilting notes that easily mingled with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

Gianni and I were seated at the head of a colossal table covered in pristine white silk.

Every detail had been attended to with obsessive care, from the polished silverware, fine China and crystal goblets to the elegantly folded cloth napkins with Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Fortunato embroidered in gold.

One by one, the guests began to settle in, murmuring their approval and clinking fine glassware.

Sitting next to Gianni was like being in the very center of a powerful vortex—the eye of a storm. It was all this intense, swirling, storming darkness that threatened to swallow me whole.

One had to remember that the eye itself was always calm and deceptively serene, but if one moved too far to the left or right. . .there would be only destruction.

And Gianni was a force of nature. I could clearly see his influence and control reaching into every corner of the ballroom. Men and women alike constantly glanced his way, and their eyes betrayed undying admiration and their desperate pleas for his approval.

So much so that sometimes guests would pause mid-sentence, when Gianni’s gaze swept over them.

Others shifted in their seats and adjusted their posture.

Many women fluttered their eyes towards Gianni, not caring that the man was at his own wedding.

That made me wonder if he would truly take our vows seriously. Or if he would be stuffing his cock in every wet hole that strolled by.

To my surprise, a hint of jealousy hit me.

I’d just met this freaking man tonight and somehow, I was already getting possessive.

Well. . .he is my husband. If we’re forced to be together then. . .he better be faithful.

I gazed around some more and realized that the men were equally attentive to Gianni. Their gazes never strayed too far from him almost as if he was their new groom.

God, they really love Gianni.

I thought back to the term that people used to use for Maximo.

Capo dei Capi

If I remembered correctly that term translated to Boss of Bosses —the highest-ranking figure in the mafia hierarchy. This was odd because when I’d left, Maximo had been in that position and now. . .it clearly seemed that Gianni held the authority over all other Capos.

How the hell did that happen? What was the story behind it?

A top position like that had too much power to just be easily given. The Capo dei Capi held the final say in all matters, from business dealings to territorial disputes and even life-or-death decisions within the organization.

Full dominion over all the families.

Ultimate control.

I gazed around.

Yes. It’s him now.

There was even the way the room itself seemed to respond to him. The soft murmur of conversation, the gentle clinking of cutlery. It all took on a respectful hush whenever Gianni spoke as if not one person wanted to miss his words.

Yes. This is the eye of the storm. I just have to figure out the best way to survive in this marriage.

I gazed down at my bandaged palm where the priest had cut me.

The sharp pang of the wound had dulled to a soft throb,

Bound by blood.

I thought back to the moment when the doctor had tried to cover Gianni’s cut with a bandage, only for Gianni to refuse. He had insisted, with an intensity that made my heart race. “No. I want to see the mark of my bond with my wife all night. In fact, I hope this cut never heals.”

The simple poetry of his statement had resonated in a way I hadn’t expected.

I’m going to make the best of this.

I’d been around the Italian Mob enough to know that to survive with a man like him, it required more than just adapting to his chaos—one needed to understand the nature of the storm itself.

Recognize the patterns of power and influence that defined him.

Learn to read the signs of his favor and discontent, while finding ways to navigate the turbulent waters of his control.

We’ll see if I can truly do this.

Minutes into the reception, guests began coming over carrying gifts wrapped in the finest materials—from sleek velvet to glossy silk.

I assessed each guest and was shocked how I’d easily slipped right back into this life, easily figuring out whether the guest was a made man, high-ranking associate, soldier, or a distant ally.

Many of the Caporegimes rushed forward first with gifts. This position typically meant the Capo was a made man.

They stood a little closer to Gianni, and when he spoke, they listened like every word was law. They responded too, bringing up family business stuff—street management, complaints about another crew.

This wasn’t the behavior of a soldier.

Their suits were tailored to perfection, but less flashy than Gianni’s tuxedo—smart, clean, and practical, as if they were ready for a meeting or a murder at any moment.

And Gianni listened to them when they talked, which definitely pointed to their higher status.

Soldatos came up to us too.

For me, soldiers had always been the easiest to spot. They never sat in the front row of any event. They almost always hovered around the edges of the room like bodyguards, scanning every corner, every movement.

Tonight, they were dressed well enough for a wedding, but their clothes weren’t as polished as the Capos ranked above them. Here, there were more rough edges, visible scars, and tons of tattoos peeking out from under their cuffs.

They didn’t smile much, if at all.

They were the enforcers—the muscle.

The lower workers.

The ones who would do the dirty work without question.

The ones who were ready to spring into action if anything went wrong.

Ready to prove themselves.

Hungry for a promotion to the easy life of leadership.

And then there were the associates. These men weren’t made men. None would ever be part of the inner circle.

But, from my understanding long ago, associates still played a role. They were businessmen, politicians, and celebrities who did favors for Gianni in exchange for protection, power, and/or wealth.

To keep that relationship with him steady, they would be here to show Gianni proper respect. I saw a few of them standing near the buffet table, nervously sipping champagne, unsure of where they fit in.

And then there were the women.

The wives, mistresses, and daughters of these men—well-dressed, always poised, and hyper-aware of their perspective roles.

The higher-ranking women moved with an air of confidence, secure in their positions. I could see them subtly directing conversations, their jewelry understated but undeniably expensive.

Many handed me gifts of jewelry and invited me to spa days. To keep their ranking, they would need to get as close to me as possible.

The only problem was. . .I didn’t want to talk to anybody at this time. I was too much in a daze to even be in the mood to make new friends.

But I checked them all out anyway.

There were the others—the girlfriends and mistresses.

They were women on the edge of this world—clinging to the arms of men they hoped would elevate them. Their dresses tended to be a little too tight, their heels a little too high.

After around twenty or so guests giving us gifts, the first associate approached.

He was an older man with a silver streak running through his dark hair. His tailored suit whispered of old money and power.

Maybe, he’s a politician. Or. . .banker?

He extended a hand in my direction. “Signora Fortunato.”

I reached my hand out to touch his.

Gianni gently stopped it. “Now that you are my wife, no one gets to touch you anymore.”

I blinked and kept my voice low. “It is just a polite handshake.”

“I don’t share what’s mine in anyway .”

I swallowed.

The man yanked his hand back and bowed. “So sorry, Don Fortunato.”

Gianni still didn’t look pleased.

The man raised his head. “It is an honor to celebrate your new love. I will forever be your humble associate. I trust the evening is to your satisfaction?”

I gave a polite nod. “Thank you. I am enjoying myself.”

“Perfect.” He gave me an awkward smile. “I am pleased to hear that. Please accept this modest token of my esteem.”

Instead of handing it to me, he gave it to Gianni. “This is for your beautiful wife.”

Gianni took the box and then handed it to me.

“Thank you.” I carefully opened it.

Inside was a bracelet of gold links and small, sparkling diamonds. The elegance of the piece was undeniable, but it was the respect in the man’s eyes that truly conveyed the depth of the gesture.

“This is beyond perfect.” I smiled. “Thank you so much.”

After his departure, another guest approached—a younger man with a confident stride and a sharp suit.

Capo, but very young. I wonder how he became a made man so fast.

“Welcome to the family, Signora Fortunato,” he moved to the side and gestured to a pair of albino twins. “These are my gifts.”

Uh. What’s this?

Gianni leaned forward and raised his eyebrows.

The twins stood tall and imposing, their pale skin was a stark contrast to their midnight black suits. They were mirror images of each other, from their sharp jawlines to their piercing pale blue eyes. Every muscle in their lean and sculpted bodies pushed against the material of their suits, telling me that they had impressive physical strength.

Gianni turned to them and put his attention back on the man. “Explain this gift.”

“I would love to Don Fortunato.” The man gave a dramatic bow. “May I present to you your wife’s new security detail.”

O-kay.

Gianni scowled. “Years ago, I already vetted the men that will guard her. Not just anybody can be next to my queen. . .watching her. . .”

Years ago? So. . .how many years?

“Yes, Don Fortunato. I understand,” he gave us another bow. “However, these are the Vieri twins. They are legally blind. Their sight is limited to 60%.”

Gianni frowned. “If they cannot see well, then how will they truly guard my queen?”

“They may not see in the traditional sense, but their hearing and reflexes are unparalleled.”

I looked at the twins, and they remained quiet and still like statues, not even blinking.

The man stepped to the side. “Don Fortunato, if it is okay with you, I would love to demonstrate their capabilities.”

The crowd quieted down.

“Hmmm.” Gianni sized them up. “I was a twin myself, so for that. . .I will allow it.”

Was a twin?

Gianni spread his hands out. “Any man in this room who wishes to test the twins' abilities is welcome to do so.”

A few men laughed.

“Come forward if you dare.”

One rose near us—a soldier.

Silent, he took a few steps toward me.

The guests’ murmurs fell to a tense hush.

The twins remained statuesque.

My heart raced.

The challenger’s grin widened as he approached.

Everything seemed just fine, but I didn’t want to see any more blood so I hoped whatever test this was it would end peacefully and no one, not the man coming, or the twins felt too embarrassed.

When the man was nearly within an arm’s reach of me, things got insanely interesting.

In a flash, one of the twins reached into his suit, drew a sleek handgun, and aimed it directly at the man’s chest.

And it happened in three seconds if that, so fast I wasn’t sure if the twin had not been holding the gun the whole time.

A few women near us gasped.

The man—probably still not convinced—tried to take another step my way.

The sharp click of the safety being disengaged reverberated through the room.

The man froze.

The twin’s calm voice cut through the silence like a razor. “Do I kill him?”

Gianni turned to me. “What do you want, my lovely new wife? Should he kill him?”

What the fuck?

The twin’s finger hovered over the trigger.

“I don’t want anyone to die tonight.” I cleared my throat. “But that was extraordinary.”

The twin lowered his gun, and a satisfied smirk spread across his face.

The room exploded into applause and the challenger laughed it off and retreated to his original spot.

Then, the twins spoke in unison, “Thank you, Signora.”

The man who gifted the twins bowed once again before departing.

However, the twins got right behind me and stood guard.

Alrighty. . .I have twin security. This night just keeps on getting more and more interesting.

Gianni’s gaze met mine, and though his expression remained inscrutable, there was a flicker of something behind his eyes.

Satisfaction, perhaps.

He leaned my way. “Are you happy?”

“Well. . .yes. . .I am.”

“I know you didn’t expect this for tonight, but you are doing a good job with making the most of it.” Gianni took my bandaged hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the bandage. “Thank you for being my wife.”

I parted my lips in shock, unsure of what to say. This supposed devil was surprising me with his tenderness.

As the staff began to pour more champagne and set down plates in preparation of the meal, more guests came one after another.

With each guest, I observed how their respect for Gianni translated into their interactions with me. The way they presented themselves, the gifts they offered, all spoke volumes about how I would be treated in their world.

As a queen.

And it was clear that Gianni’s influence extended beyond the immediate circle of the Mob and the typical associates. Governors, senators, a prince from some country I never heard of—they all hurried over with gifts, hoping to please him and me.

Soon the servers began presenting an array of elegant dishes. The aroma of perfectly seared steaks and rich sauces filled the air, mingling with the scent of the freshly baked bread.

The food was exquisite, each dish more elaborate than the last.

I was barely able to take in the sight of it all when a server approached with a plate of lobster.

Oh no.

My heart sank.

I leaned in close to the server and whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m to shellfish. Can you please get me a new plate with something else? But please tell the chef that the lobster looks amazing.”

Gianni had been mid conversation with a tall man, who seemed to be one of his most trusted lieutenants, but he must not have been listening that well because Gianni turned our way and glared at the waiter. “You brought my wife food that she is allergic to? Tell the chef to come here.”

I widened my eyes. “Well. . .I think the chef is probably busy. I only need a new plate of food.”

Gianni leaned forward and seared his gaze into the waiter. “Tell the chef to come here. Now.”

Oh God. What is he going to do to the chef?