El's P.O.V

Yes, I took her.

And I had never felt more fulfilled since I first sat on the throne of blood, since I took over the table as the Mafia Lord. For years, I had dreamed of this moment. I had planned every detail, every breath, every punishment for that miserable fool who dared to slit my mother’s throat like she was nothing.

And now, his punishment stood right before me, trembling, furious, helpless.

“Handle my bride with care!” I barked from behind, my voice sharp enough to slice through the night air.

“I’ll never do what you want! You better let me go!” she screamed, her voice shaking but loud, filled with pure defiance.

I didn’t even flinch. Her words didn’t pierce me at all. That anger, that stubborn fire in her eyes, it reminded me of something I’d long forgotten, something alive and untamed.

Her soft, pale arms struggled against my men’s grip, but their hold was firm. She kicked, twisted, and shouted, her dress brushing against the gravel as she fought. Strands of her hair had escaped from her bun, falling freely across her flushed face. Sweat clung to her neck, glistening under the pale light of the mansion’s lamps.

“Let me go!” she yelled again, her voice cracking. “I’m not your bride! You monster!”

The word echoed in my head and oddly enough, I smiled. A slow, cold smile that curved my lips without effort.

“Put her in the other car,” I ordered, my voice was calm and steady, a sharp contrast to the storm brewing around her.

“Coward!” she spat, her eyes meeting mine with such burning hate that for a second, I almost laughed.

She had the spirit, more than I expected.

Her fury didn’t scare me; it thrilled me. The way her chest rose and fell in anger, the way she glared as though she could destroy me with her stare, it was beautiful in a dark, twisted way. Most people begged when they saw my face. Buy she? She fought me instead.

My men dragged her toward the SUV, her heels scraping against the ground as she struggled to break free. She cursed, called me names, every word sharper than the last.

“Heartless beast!” she hissed. “You think this makes you powerful? You’re pathetic!”

I chuckled low under my breath. If only she knew. Power wasn’t about mercy. It was about control, and I had all of it now.

“Put her in,” I repeated softly.

One of the men opened the back door, and she twisted hard, trying to elbow him. She missed, but her effort amused me. She didn’t cry. She didn’t plead. She fought until they finally shoved her inside.

Her fists pounded once against the door before it slammed shut.

For a brief moment, our eyes met through the tinted glass. Hers were wild, full of hate. And mine? Calm, dark and more satisfied.

My lips curved again into that same cruel smile.

She didn’t know it yet, but this was only the beginning.

The beginning of her punishment. The beginning of my revenge.

And though she was shouting inside the car, calling me every name her anger could form, all I could think was how alive her rebellion made me feel.

This was not just a punishment. It was a death sentence in ink.

That fool had read the paper before he signed it. The lines were clear, if he ever crossed the mafia’s price, he would end up six feet under. Even if he had not signed, it did not matter. I would have done this anyway. I did not need his permission.

My hand went into my pocket. I pulled out my phone and pressed a number without thinking. The night air was cold. The car lights threw long shadows on the gravel. My breath was steady.

“Hi, brother!” a voice answered, it was warm and loud.

“The blood fuel is sealed, Don,” I said. My lips curved into a small smile. The word felt good in my mouth, offcourse I had waited so long to say them.

“You are the head of the table after all,” Don Cana said, his voice sounded smooth and very pleased. “Mother can finally rest. I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding. I can’t wait to meet our new bride.” His laughter came out with light and i could tell how eager he was.

The call ended. The laugh stayed in the air like a promise.

I stood by the SUV, my fingers still on the door handle. I opened the car and slid inside. The smell of leather filled the small space. My phone was warm in my palm. I pulled up a picture on the screen, the design of the wedding dress I had chosen for her. The lace pattern was delicate. The cut was strict and elegant. I was so certain it would fit her like a second skin.

“My bride must look perfect for tomorrow,” I said to no one but the dark. The words tasted like steel.

I couldn't help but wonder how she would feel when she learned that I had already fixed everything. That I had chosen her fate for her next day, a perfect dress for her and a ring. Would she scream? Cry? Hate me more? My hand tightened on the phone until the plastic creaked. I smiled without thinking , a small, calm curl at one side of my mouth. I tapped the screen to pull up the dress picture again and watched the lace move under my thumb like a promise.

I slid the phone into my pocket and had my fingers straightening my jacket, slow and careful, as if setting a scene. I pressed my palm to the car door. A soft chuckle left me, quiet, almost a sound only I heard. Then I folded my fingers together and, without hurry, ran my thumb over the band on my ring finger. The motion was small, private and and satisfying.

I breathed in and let the air out slow. The thought did not scare me. It pleased me.

A small noise escaped me, half a grin, half a warning. My brow furrowed, then smoothed. I felt the control settle back into my bones, the same control I kept at the head of the table.

Tonight was only the first step. Tomorrow would be the world I wanted. And she would walk into it not knowing how carefully I had already arranged every piece.