Too Late, Vitiello: The Bride Strikes Back

marry Dante Vitiello, a feared mafia Don, seal

ss wearing an exact replica of my three-million-dollar bridal go

foyer, his dark eyes furious, and

o her," he demanded in front o

t me, calling me a vicious, jealous g

-society guests whispered in cond

al wasn't his mistress

his legal team to draft a predatory

planned trap designed to frame me and strip my family's

y, realizing he thought I was just a naive

ld break down in tears

ypted phone and summoned the

ed coldly, preparing to shed my heavy bri

pte

nna

man whose name was a contagion of fear in the American underworld. My gaze fell not to the altar, but to the foot of the stairs, where a tableau had b

lt like a block of lead. I had no

g staircase. Her white lace dress was a perfect r

. Blood trickled from a small scrape on her for

d mine. Her hand rose, and a finger, which s

ed out to the gathering cro

ied gasp when the mahogany doors of the grand ballr

the occasion of his twenty-fifth birthday, had ordered the slaug

ned his features. He mounted the stairs, his movements not those of a

und my wrist. His grip was a vice of violence, t

demanded, his voice a low rumble that see

ty guests began to whisper, a current o

pped forward from the front row of

at at me. "You bring shame to our Fam

ouder, her sho

playing the fragile martyr. "I never should hav

crushing my wrist. I did not break Omertà. I did not lose my

sioner Ricci and his neutral enforcers were already seated among the guests-a precaution my family always took at hosti

said, my voice level a

jaw cl

"the moment Natalia can precisely

g against mine. His towering frame was

ng games,"

y into his dark,

a blood feud begins between

freeze. He knew the laws of our

n back to the weepin

n," I orde

went dea

ered, her tears faltering

airs. "Did I use my left hand or my right? Did I strike your shoulder or the center of your back? What was the exac

it, emitting only a short, wet sound

ed out. "I do not remember the

ess laugh that cut throug

for a woman who was certain of

phone. The room shifted-Dante's men tensed, their hands moving toward their holsters. But Dante hims