My Mafia Husband

CHAPTER 1

Before starting I want to say that this book is a work of fiction. The events, characters, and situations described are in no way models to be followed in real life. Certain aspects of this story, such as the relationships or behaviors described, are fictitious and should be interpreted as such.

Content Warning :
This book contains explicit descriptions of sexual scenes, manipulation and situations involving non-consent. These passages may be disturbing or uncomfortable for some readers. I recommend that everyone approach this reading with caution.

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I always knew there were parts of my family’s past my mother tried to keep hidden from me. But at eighteen, the truth has a way of clawing its way to the surface. My father had died years ago, but the debt he left behind didn’t. It was with the Moretti family a name you only whispered when you were sure no one else could hear. For years, they let it slide. But now that Matteo Moretti has taken his father’s place, the silence has ended. The debt came due, and we had nothing left to offer except me.

Matteo didn’t want money. He wanted me. Not as a wife, not as a prisoner he said he just wanted me near him. One year under his roof, and the debt would be cleared. He said it would be like protection, not punishment. I didn’t know what scared me more: the thought that I could become a bargaining chip between my family and the mafia, or the way Matteo looked at me like I was something that could quiet the storm he’d been carrying since he lost his father. He wasn’t asking for love. He was asking for a witness. Someone who wasn’t afraid of who he’d become.

My mother begged me to say no, but I saw it in her eyes she needed me to go. We were drowning. And as much as I feared Matteo, I feared a life of running and poverty even more. Something in me understood what he was asking for, maybe even before he did. He didn’t need someone to fix him; he needed someone who didn’t flinch. I didn’t promise to change him or save him. I just promised I wouldn’t look away.

So I went. Not because I was weak, or because I belonged to him, but because I chose to walk into that world with my eyes open. I don’t know what’s waiting for me in Matteo Moretti’s house, only that I won’t be the same girl when I leave it. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe he won’t be the same either.

That was before I walked through his front door. Before I saw the look in Matteo Moretti’s eyes the kind of look that burns right through you, not because it wants you, but because it doesn’t. Whatever I thought this would be, I was wrong. There was no quiet storm. No unspoken understanding. Just a man who clearly hated the deal he made, and hated me for being part of it.

I was eighteen when my mother told me I’d be going to live with Matteo Moretti. One year in his house, and the blood debt my father left behind would be erased. That was the deal. Just one year to pretend to be a married couple. Matteo agreed to it. We signed the marriage certificate. He made the offer, actually. But when I showed up at his door, the first thing I saw in his eyes wasn’t welcome it was contempt. Not for the deal itself, but for what it said about my family. “They handed you over like property,” he said. “And you let them.” I wanted to punch him for that but mostly, I wanted to scream that I didn’t get a say.

He made the deal to settle the score, but that didn’t mean he liked how it was done. He resented the whole situation me, the weight of obligation, and the idea that a daughter could be traded to pay a dead man’s price. And yet, here I was. I could feel his anger every time we were in the same room. He wasn’t mad because he didn’t want me there. He was mad because he did want to end the debtand this was the cost. I was the reminder of everything he hated: broken promises, weak men, and the way power twists things that were never supposed to be negotiable. Like me.