Forbidden desire with my mafia’s stepbrother

The Castello D’Oro stood like a crown upon the cliffs, its golden walls catching the last rays of the setting sun. The sprawling estate wasn’t simply a venue—it was a symbol of power, wealth, and dominance. Tonight, it hosted a celebration meant to unite two worlds: the marriage of Don Vincenzo Moretti, the infamous mafia king, and Elena, a woman who many whispered about but few truly knew.

The grand ballroom was a masterpiece of decadence. Chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling like frozen constellations, their crystal prisms scattering light across the polished marble floors. Gold and crimson drapes framed towering windows that overlooked the restless sea. Beneath the glow of the chandeliers, men in tailored suits and women in glittering gowns mingled, their laughter and chatter disguising the tension that always lingered in gatherings of the powerful and dangerous.

This was no ordinary wedding. It was a declaration. Vincenzo Moretti, a man whose name struck fear across continents, was celebrating his dominance with a lavish display. Every guest in the room knew they were here not just to witness a union but to pay homage to the man who ruled the shadows.

Alessia stood apart from the crowd, tightly gripping the stem of a champagne flute. The twenty-four-year-old adjusted the neckline of her simple satin dress, feeling uncomfortably out of place among the opulence. The air smelled of roses, expensive perfume, and power—a heady mixture that made her stomach churn.

Her mother, Elena, had insisted that Alessia attend. “This is our new life,” Elena had said with a smile, her eyes shimmering with hope and determination. But Alessia wasn’t so sure.

Her eyes scanned the room, lingering on the man at the center of everyone's attention. Don Vincenzo Moretti stood tall and imposing, his graying hair slicked back, his sharp features exuding authority. He wore a black suit that seemed to absorb the light, his crimson tie the only splash of color. Even on his wedding day, he looked like a man ready for battle.

Beside him stood Elena, radiant in her ivory lace gown. She looked beautiful, almost ethereal, but Alessia couldn’t shake the unease that gnawed at her. Her mother’s marriage to Vincenzo had been a whirlwind—quick, unexpected, and surrounded by whispers. Alessia had protested at first, even fought with her mother, but Elena had insisted that Vincenzo was a good man who would protect them.

Still, Alessia couldn’t ignore the flicker of fear in her mother’s eyes, the way her smile sometimes faltered when she thought no one was looking. Was this really love? Or was it survival?

Alessia’s thoughts were interrupted when her gaze landed on another figure across the room—**Luca Moretti**, Vincenzo’s only son. He stood near the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the proceedings with an expression that was both detached and calculating.

Luca was nothing like Vincenzo in appearance. Where his father was all sharp edges and commanding presence, Luca was smooth and refined, his tailored suit fitting him like a second skin. He had jet-black hair, slicked back neatly, and dark eyes that seemed to see through people. But Alessia could feel the same intensity radiating from him, a quiet storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

Their eyes met briefly, and Alessia’s stomach tightened. Luca didn’t bother to hide his disdain. She could see it in the slight curl of his lip, the way his gaze swept over her as though she were an annoyance. He hadn’t said much to her in the few times they’d crossed paths, but his opinion of her was clear.

Gold digger. Opportunist. Parasite.

The words weren’t spoken, but they hung heavy in the air between them. Alessia broke the eye contact first, turning her attention back to her champagne flute. She didn’t care what Luca thought of her. His opinion didn’t matter. This wasn’t her world, and she had no intention of staying in it longer than she had to.

The music shifted, signaling the start of the ceremony. Guests began taking their seats, their conversations fading to murmurs. Vincenzo extended his arm to Elena, his expression softening just enough to show a glimmer of affection. Alessia watched as her mother placed her hand on his arm, her fingers trembling slightly.

“You’ll be fine,” Alessia whispered, squeezing her mother’s free hand. “You’ve got this.”

Elena smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, cara mia. Stay close, okay?”

Alessia nodded, though she wasn’t sure how much help she could be. She felt like a spectator in her own life, swept along by forces she couldn’t control.

As the bridal march began to play, Alessia stepped back to let her mother and Vincenzo take center stage. They walked toward the altar near the grand staircase, their movements slow and deliberate. The guests rose to their feet, applause echoing through the ballroom.

But Alessia couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. There was a tension in the air, subtle but growing. She glanced around, her heart quickening. The guards stationed at the entrances seemed more alert than usual, their hands hovering near their weapons.

Then she saw him.

A man in a black suit, standing near the back of the room, his face partially obscured by the brim of his hat. Something about him set off alarms in Alessia’s mind. He wasn’t clapping. He wasn’t even watching the ceremony. He was watching the guards.

Before Alessia could process what was happening, the first gunshot rang out.

The sound was deafening, shattering the fragile illusion of peace. Screams erupted as the guests scrambled to take cover, toppling chairs and tables in their panic. Alessia froze, her mind struggling to catch up with the chaos unfolding around her.

More shots followed in rapid succession, the sharp cracks of gunfire echoing through the ballroom. Men in black suits stormed into the room, their faces hidden by masks, their weapons raised. They moved with military precision, their target clear.

“Get down!” someone shouted, but Alessia couldn’t move. She could only watch in horror as Vincenzo staggered, clutching his chest as blood blossomed across his suit.

“No!” Elena’s scream cut through the chaos as she tried to reach him, but one of the attackers grabbed her, dragging her back.

Alessia’s paralysis broke. She lunged forward, her instincts screaming to protect her mother, but a hand yanked her back.

“Stay down!” a deep, commanding voice growled in her ear.

It was Luca. He appeared out of nowhere, his expression as cold and unyielding as steel. His grip on her arm was like iron as he pulled her behind an overturned table.

“They’re here to finish him,” Luca muttered, peering over the edge of the table. “And they won’t stop with him.”

“My mother—” Alessia began, her voice shaking.

“She’s alive. For now,” Luca snapped, his tone sharp. “But if you don’t shut up and stay down, you won’t be.”

Tears blurred Alessia’s vision as she crouched behind the table, her heart pounding in her chest. The sounds of gunfire and screams filled the air, but it all seemed distant, like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, the gunfire stopped. The attackers retreated as quickly as they had arrived, leaving behind a scene of destruction. Broken glass and overturned tables littered the floor. The once-beautiful ballroom now looked like a battlefield.

Alessia slowly stood, her legs trembling. Her eyes searched the room until they landed on the motionless form of Vincenzo Moretti. He lay in a pool of blood, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling.

Elena was on her knees beside him, sobbing uncontrollably, her gown stained with crimson. Alessia’s breath caught in her throat as she took a step toward her mother, but Luca’s hand shot out, stopping her.

“Wait,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “They might come back.”

Alessia turned to him, her eyes blazing with anger and grief. “We can’t just leave her like this!”

Luca’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes flashing. “Do you think I don’t want to help her? Do you think I don’t care? But if you go out there now, you’ll get yourself killed. And then what?”

Alessia bit her lip, tears streaming down her face. She hated him in that moment—hated his cold logic, his unshakable calm. But she knew he was right.

Luca stood slowly, his movements careful and deliberate. He surveyed the room, his expression unreadable. “They’ll come for us next,” he said quietly. “We need to move. Now.”

Alessia hesitated, her heart torn between staying with her mother and following Luca. But the look in his eyes left no room for argument. He wasn’t asking. He was commanding.

Taking a deep breath, Alessia nodded. “Lead the way.”

As Luca guided her toward an exit, Alessia cast one last glance at her mother, silently promising herself that she would come back. But deep down, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.