Engaged to my Bestfriend, The Mafia Boss

"Five million dollars, going once... going twice..."

The auctioneer's voice cracked like a whip through the room, and my heart beat slammed against my ribs hard. I stood motionless in the shadows at the back, my mask covering my flushed cheeks and the silk of my dark blue gown moving against my thighs. "Breathe, Sera. Just breathe."

"Sold! To paddle number twentyseven."

The hammer fell. Applause rippled through the elite crowd. Underworld princes, tech billionaires with dirty money, collectors who killed for beauty the way my brothers killed for blood. My painting, The Ghost of My Heart, had just shattered every record for an anonymous artist in this underground circuit. Five million dollars for a canvas I'd poured my soul into at 3 a.m. while the rest of the Moretti estate slept.

I was Starry tonight. Not Serafina Moretti, the pampered mafia princess whose brothers would burn cities if they knew where I was. Just Starry. The woman who painted the things I couldn't scream aloud.

A dangerous little smile curved my lips beneath the mask as the rush hit me. My gloved fingers still carried faint traces of paint, but no one here cared. They only cared about the beauty and brutality I created into art and made it worth millions.

I slipped toward the side exit, heels silent on the floor. The air smelled of expensive cologne, gun oil, and old money. The Chandeliers shined brightly. I kept my head high, shoulders back, the way my mother taught me before I learned how to hold a pistol. "Never let them see you flinch."

But someone was watching.

I felt it the second I stepped into the service corridor. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I didn't turn. Instead, I moved through the crowd of departing guests, letting the movement of people carry me toward the underground garage. My driver, loyal, discreet, and paid enough to forget my face would be waiting three levels down. Three minutes. That was all I needed.

The masked stranger moved fast.

I caught his reflection in a polished brass panel: tall, broad shouldered, black domino mask hiding everything but a razor sharp jaw and a mouth that looked like it had never smiled. He moved with the grace of a man who knew exactly how many steps it took to break a neck. Not a collector.

My heart kicked harder. Not here. Not now.

I quickened my pace, weaving between a Russian tycoon arguing in a hushed voice and a Sicilian capo whose laugh boomed too loud. The stranger matched me step for step. Closer now. Close enough that I smelled sandalwood and something darker that smelled of gunpowder and rain. The scent punched straight through me, stirring memories I'd buried under twelve years of paint and rage.

No. It can't be him. He wouldn't be here.

I ducked into a narrow service stairwell, heels clicking faster. One flight. Two. My pulse thundered in my ears. Behind me, the door hissed open again. Footsteps measured, unhurried, lethal.

I reach the garage level, the cold air hitting my face. Rows of bulletproof SUVs and armored Maybachs gleamed under harsh lighting. My driver's black Mercedes waited in slot 47, engine already purring. I didn't look back. I yanked the rear door open, slid inside, and snapped, "Drive. Now."

The tires squealed before I even shut the door. The car surged forward, and I twisted in the seat, yanking the mask off. My dark waves tumbled free, sticking to my damp neck. Through the tinted rear window I watched the stranger burst out of the stairwell, scanning the garage like a wolf who'd just lost his prey. He spun, eyes locking on our taillights for one frozen second.

Then we rounded the corner and he was gone.

I exhaled a shaky laugh filled with victory and terror. My hands trembled as I peeled off the gloves. Paint still stained to the tips of my fingers. It's evidence I couldn't quite erase. Starry's signature. The only part of me that still felt real.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview. "Trouble, signorina?"

"Nothing I can't handle," I lied, pressing my forehead to the cool glass.

But my mind was reeling.

That scent. That walk. That split second stare.

It couldn't be Alessandro.

The city lights blurred past, glittering brightly. My phone buzzed in the hidden pocket of my gown. Three missed calls from Lorenzo. One text from Dante: "Where the hell are you?"

I deleted them without reading. I'd slip back into the Moretti estate like I'd never left. I'd be the smiling princess who let her brothers cage her in silk and security while they plotted alliances and spilled blood. But for now, I'm still Starry, five million dollars richer and one mysterious shadow closer to whatever storm was coming.

The car drove onto the coastal road, the sea shining and restless. I recall what happened earlier and the faint scent of sandalwood and I shivered.

Whoever that bidder was, he'd tried to follow me.

He'd failed.

But something in the way he moved told me he wasn't the kind of man who failed twice.

I closed my eyes, letting the engine's hum warm me. My masterpiece was gone, sold to a stranger who might never understand the blood and longing I'd poured into every stroke. But I was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting the only way I knew how. With color and canvas and a defiance no one could chain.

The estate lights appeared on the cliff above, warm and deceptive. Home. Prison. Both.

I tucked the mask into my clutch preparing for the earful I'm about to get.

"You're late, Sera. Again."

Lorenzo's voice sliced through the dark foyer, low and edged with that calm fury only my eldest brother could weaponize. I froze mid step on the staircase, one heel dangling from my fingers, the other still strapped to my foot. The grandfather clock in the hall ticked loudly. Midnight had come and gone twenty minutes ago.

I turned slowly, plastering on the sweet smile that usually bought me five extra minutes of freedom. "Missed you too, big brother. Did you wait up just to count my footsteps?"

Lorenzo stepped out of the shadow where he'd been lurking with his arms crossed over his tailored shirt, dark eyes narrowed beneath the slash of his brows. At thirty three he looked every inch the head of the Moretti Famiglia: broad shouldered, lethal, the kind of man who could sign a death warrant over espresso and still make it sound reasonable. Tonight, though, the only thing he wanted to kill was whatever excuse I was about to feed him.

"Cut the cute act," he said, voice dropping. "You reek of paint and secrets. And those fingernails.." He caught my wrist before I could hide my hands behind my back, brushing the smear of red and blue that no amount of scrubbing in the auction house bathroom could remove. "Starry's working late again?"

I yanked my arm free, heart stuttering even though he already knew. The family secret was ironclad. Only the five of us behind these walls had any clue the anonymous painter raking in millions was their own princess. Still, hearing the name out loud inside these walls made my stomach flip.

"It's called having a life, Lorenzo. You should try it sometime instead of playing prison warden." I tossed my heels onto the bottom step and walked past him in bare feet, my gown moving against my thighs. The estate was quiet except for the distant hum of security cameras and the low murmur of guards outside. Home sweet cage.

He followed behind me, his steps silent. "A life? You slipped your detail at nine. Dante's been pacing the west wing like a caged tiger, Nico's already pulled the traffic cam feeds from the coast road, and Papa's waiting in the library. For all of us. Now."

I stopped in my footsteps, pulse spiking. Papa waiting meant one thing: family business. The kind that ended in blood or weddings or both. I spun to face him, chin lifted. "I was careful. Driver's one of ours. No tails. And before you start the lecture, yes, I know the rules. No risks. No fun. No breathing without a Moretti shadow breathing down my neck."

Lorenzo's jaw tightened, but something softer flickered in his eyes. The same look he'd given me since I was six and scraped my knee on the training mats. "You think I enjoy this? You're our sister, Sera. The only light in this goddamn darkness. One slip, one photo, one asshole who connects the dots between you and Starry..." He dragged a hand through his hair, the first crack in the calm. "The Bratva's been sniffing around the docks again. We can't afford you playing ghost artist tonight."

I softened, just a fraction. My brothers would burn the world for me. I knew that. They'd killed for less. But God, the weight of their love was suffocating.

"I'm not playing," I whispered, stepping closer so the faint scent of my paint mixed with his cologne. "That canvas tonight? It sold for five million. Five. Million. Dollars. For something I painted because I can't scream it in this house without you three turning it into a war." My voice cracked on the last word. "Let me have this one thing that's mine, Lorenzo. Please."

He stared at me a long beat, then exhaled surrendering a battle he'd already lost. "You're impossible." A ghost of a smile tugged his mouth. The rare one that reminded me he was still my big brother under the Don mask. "And you're still grounded from leaving the estate after dark without an escort. Effective immediately."

I laughed, sharp and bitter. "Grounded? I'm twenty four, not fourteen. Try telling Dante that when he drags me to the range tomorrow and makes me shoot until my shoulder screams."

"Dante's the reason you know how to shoot," he shot back, but his tone had lost its edge. He reached out and tucked a stray wave of hair behind my ear, thumb lingering a second too long on my cheek. "Just... be careful. You're not just Sera anymore. You're the future of this family. And if anyone finds out Starry's our princess..."

"They won't." I stepped back, flashing him my best defiant grin even as my pulse hammered. "I'm a ghost, remember? The best kind."

Before he could reply, heavy footsteps echoed from the east corridor. Dante appeared first. 6'2 of barely leashed rage, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, knuckles still bruised from whatever "meeting" he'd handled earlier. Nico trailed him, phone in hand, sharp eyes scanning me.

"Jeez, Sera," Dante growled. "You smell like a fucking art supply store exploded. Where the hell were you? I was two seconds from sending a team to drag your ass back."

"Missed you too, hothead," I said sweetly, dodging when he tried to pull me into a bear hug that would've crushed ribs. "And relax. I'm home. Alive. No bullet holes. Happy now?"

Nico snorted, leaning against the banister with that tone that made lesser men piss themselves. "Traffic cams say you took the long way home. Care to explain why your driver burned rubber on the coastal exit like the devil was on his tail?"

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "Paranoid much? Maybe I just like the scenic route. You know, waves, moonlight, not feeling like I'm in a maximum security art gallery 24/7."

Dante stepped closer, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. "Turpentine. And something else. You've been painting again after we told you to lay low until the bratva talks settle."

"Enough." Lorenzo cut him off with a single word, the big brother voice that still worked on all of us. "Library. Now. Papa's been waiting fifteen minutes, and you know how he gets when schedules slip."

My stomach knotted. The three of them closed ranks around me without thinking. Dante on my left, Nico on my right, Lorenzo at my back like always. Protective. Suffocating. Perfect.

We moved down the long hall in silence except for the click of my bare feet on marble. The library doors loomed ahead, heavy oak carved with the Moretti crest. A lion and olive branch, blood and peace in one twisted symbol. Warm light came from under the door. I could already smell Papa's pipe tobacco and Mama's perfume.

Lorenzo pushed the doors open without knocking.

Don Marco Moretti sat behind the massive  desk, silver hair gleaming under the chandelier, eyes still sharp as the day he'd handed the reins to Lorenzo. Mama stood at his shoulder, elegant in a silk robe with one hand resting on his. They looked every inch the old guard: warm, principled, lethal when crossed.

Papa's gaze landed on me first. "Serafina. Good of you to join us."

I swallowed the retort burning on my tongue and dipped my head. "Sorry, Papa. Lost track of time."

He waved it off, but the lines around his eyes deepened. "Sit. All of you. This concerns the family. The whole family."

We took our usual seats. Me between Dante and Nico on the leather couch, Lorenzo claiming the armchair closest to the desk like he was already testing the weight of the crown. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the bookshelves lined with first editions and ledgers.

Papa leaned forward, intertwining his fingers. The room went still.

"The De Luca Syndicate has made contact," he said, voice steady but heavy. "The Bratva's pushing harder than we anticipated. Shipments lost. Docks bleeding. An alliance is the only way to push them back into the Black Sea where they belong."

My brothers shifted. Dante's fists clenched on his knees. Nico's eyes narrowed to slits. Lorenzo didn't move, but I felt the tension roll off him in waves.

I forced a laugh, light and brittle. "Alliance? Like some medieval treaty? What, are we trading olive oil and guns now? Or is it daughters and sons?"

Papa's eyes met mine, calm and unyielding. "It's already decided, Sera. The contract is drawn. The De Luca heir has agreed."

The words hung there, unsettling.

My heart slammed hard, then froze.

No. Not him.

Not after twelve years of silence

I reached blindly for the tumbler on the side table. Papa's scotch, untouched and my fingers slipped. The glass hit the floor and shattered, crimson liquid pooling at my bare feet.

The room erupted in motion. Dante cursing, Nico rising, Lorenzo already moving toward me, but all I could hear was the echo of that name in my skull.

Alessandro De Luca.

The boy who'd promised to be my shield.

The man who'd vanished without a word and left me painting his shadow for a decade.

I stared at the shards glittering on the floor, my pulse roaring in my ears, and felt the cage door slam shut for good.

This wasn't an alliance.

It was a life sentence.

The scotch soaked into the rug. Shards of crystal glittered at my bare feet. My hand still hung in the air, fingers trembling where the glass had slipped.

"Serafina." Papa's voice was calm, but it carried that authoritative tone. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes steady on mine. "Sit down."

Dante was already moving, grabbing a towel from the side cabinet and dropping it over the mess. "What the hell, Sera? You okay?"

I didn't answer. My heart hammered so loud I was sure they could all hear it. I lowered myself onto the couch between my brothers, knees pressed together, the library suddenly feeling too tight. Lorenzo stayed standing, arms crossed, watching me like he already knew something was coming.

Papa didn't waste time. "The De Luca Syndicate has offered an alliance. It's the only way to push the Bratva back. Their reach is growing, and we're losing ground on the docks. We need them in as much as they also need us."

Nico leaned back, sharp eyes flicking between Papa and me. "And what exactly does this alliance look like? Money? Territory? Guns?"

"Marriage," Papa said simply. "A blood pact. Old style, but it works. It binds the families tighter than any contract on paper."

I laughed. It came out sharp and bitter, echoing off the bookshelves. "Marriage? Are we living in the Middle Ages now? You're going to trade me off like one of your shipments? Pick a dress, say some vows, and hope the Russians crawl back into their holes?"

Dante's hand landed on my shoulder, heavy and warm. "Watch it, Sera. This isn't a joke."

"It feels like one," I shot back, shrugging him off. I turned to Papa, chin up. "Who? Which De Luca? Vittorio's got a daughter and a young son. Is it Matteo? He's barely twenty. Or are we robbing the cradle for the sake of the docks?"

Papa's face didn't change. He simply said the name that cracked my world open.

"Alessandro."

The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the fire pop and hiss.

My breath caught. Twelve years. No letters. No calls. No explanation. Just the memory of a twelve year old boy promising to always be my shield, then vanishing like smoke the next morning.

I felt the blood drain from my face. My fingers dug into the leather cushion until my nails bit into my palms. "Alessandro," I repeated, voice barely above a whisper. "You're joking."

"I'm not," Papa said quietly. "He's the heir now. Future Don. The match makes sense. Strong bloodlines. Shared history. He agreed without hesitation."

"Agreed?" I stood up so fast the room spun. "He left without a word, Papa. Twelve years ago. No note. No goodbye. He just... disappeared. And now you want me to marry him? To tie myself to a man who treats people like ghosts?"

Lorenzo stepped closer, voice low and careful. "Sera, calm down. This isn't about the past. The Bratva is breathing down our necks. And some branch family faction is trying to split us from the inside. An alliance with the De Lucas stops that cold."

"They can all rot," I snapped. "I'm not some pawn you move across the board to protect your power."

Dante rose too, his hot temper flaring to match mine. "You think we like this? You're our sister. We'd rather burn everything than hand you over to someone who hurts you. But Alessandro... he's not the boy you remember. He's cold. Ruthless. The kind of man who handles traitors personally. His name ends negotiations before they start."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" I laughed again, but it sounded broken. "The boy who carved me a wooden sparrow and promised to protect me is now the monster who kills without blinking? And I'm supposed to smile and play happy fiancée?"

Nico spoke from the couch, sarcastic edge sharp as ever. "He's not a monster to us, Sera. He's a necessary evil. The De Lucas bring muscle and connections we need right now. You'll be safe. Protected."

"Safe?" I spun on him. "Safe like Mama? Sitting quietly while the men decide everything? I'm not her. I fight. I paint. I live. Or at least I used to."

Mama finally spoke, her voice soft but firm from beside Papa. "Serafina, my love. This marriage will give you power too. You'll be Donna one day. Not just a princess locked in a tower."

I shook my head, tears burning behind my eyes that I refused to let fall. "Power? This is a cage with a different lock. And the key is in Alessandro's hands. The same person who threw me away like I was nothing."

Papa stood slowly, coming around the desk. He placed his hands on my shoulders, warm and steady like when I was little. "The announcement will be made soon. The engagement party is already being planned. You'll move to the De Luca estate after the contract is signed. It's done, Sera. For the family."

The words landed like bullets. For the family. Always for the family.

I stepped back, breaking his hold. My chest felt tight, as if chains have been wrapped around my ribs. "So that's it? One name and my life ends? Disappearing for years and now I'm supposed to stand beside him like none of it happened?"

Lorenzo's voice cut in, gentler than before. "We'll be watching. All of us. If he steps out of line..."

"You'll what?" I interrupted. "Kill your new ally? Start a war because your sister's unhappy? Don't lie to me, Lorenzo. This is bigger than me. It always has been."

Dante pulled me into a rough hug. "You're not alone in this, little sister. We'll make sure he treats you right. Or he answers to us."

I leaned into him for a second, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and gun oil, then pulled away. "I need air."

I turned and walked out of the library before anyone could stop me. Their voices rose behind me. Dante arguing, Nico asking questions, Papa trying to keep order but I didn't look back.

My bare feet carried me down the hall, past guards who pretended not to notice the tears streaking my face. I pushed into my room and slammed the door, locking it with shaking hands.

A wooden sparrow sat on my nightstand where I'd left it weeks ago. I picked it up, thumb tracing the rough wings Alessandro had carved with his own knife when we were kids. He'd given it to me the day before he left, promising, "I'll always come back for you, Sera. You're my shield too."

Lies.

I walked to the fireplace, flames still crackling low. For a moment I held the sparrow over the fire, watching the wood begin to char at the edges.

Then I pulled it back.

Not yet.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Lorenzo's voice filtered through. "Sera? Open up. We're not done talking."

I ignored him, sinking onto the edge of my bed, I clutched the sparrow tight in my fist.

Tomorrow my life changes. Soon it'll be announced that I'm to be married to Alessandro De Luca. And my cage would get smaller.

But tonight, the ghost of the boy I once loved still haunted every corner of my heart.

And I hated how much it still hurt.