The Dead Bride's Vicious Mafia Comeback

phin

ake Michigan w

ts of Isabella Moretti's signature red Alfa Romeo bleeding into the dark as she fled the private pier. I had arr

he Moretti family. They called it a tragic accident. They burned her body before I could even demand a

tal glasses pulled m

gars, and the arrogant stench of power. It was March, the height of the Prohibition era, and

rs, adjusting the veil of my white mourning

ice echoing over the microphone. "If the bride and

of a waiter across the room-Enzo 'The Ghost', my

ic

lunged into ab

cked echoed through the cavernous room. Before the panic could fully take hold, a single, bli

m

n white silk, looking exactly like

sound sharp as a gunshot. All the blood drained from his face. Beside him, Isabella l

n of the family, sat frozen. His face

of the room, cold and steady. "Bound by omertà, sealed in blood. Unt

spered to Arabella on their wedding nigh

out, stumbling backward

m, Marco," I said, my voice echoing eerily. "Did y

ts scrambled toward the exits. But before Marco could utter ano

en S

cousin, and the most le

to brace myself before he crossed the distance. His large, calloused hand clamped ar

spine. I gasped, cla

, his face inches from mine. His dark

maybe ask about the shipment at the South Side dock

pe tightened. Enzo had done his job well; tho

whispered, his thumb press

ve of my gown tore. The fabric slipped down my shoulder,

aze droppe

was a red, leaf-shaped birthmark. And r

ent. His breathing hitched. The hand around my throat loosened just enough to let me drag in a ragge

hy, or from where, but the realiz

lla shrieked from the sta

de. His eyes, burning with a dark,

he murmured, his voice

ulent ballroom, the screaming guests, and Damien's intense stare all dis