She Was Forced to Marry an Infertile Mafia Boss — Months Later, Her Morning Sickness Shocked All
Chapter 2
The wedding took place three days later.
There were no flowers.
No orchestra.
No smiling relatives.
Only security guards, lawyers, family members, and a priest who looked as though he wanted to finish before sunset.
Elena wore an ivory dress chosen by Vincent’s assistant.
It was beautiful.
That somehow made everything worse.
She stood beside Vincent beneath a simple arrangement of white roses while cameras from several newspapers waited outside the gates.
Chicago’s elite had been invited.
They came because everyone wanted to see the woman who had married Vincent DeLuca.
Some expected a frightened bride.
Others expected a gold digger.
Nobody expected Elena to look directly at Vincent and say quietly,
“If you’re going to own my life, at least don’t pretend this is love.”
Vincent looked at her.
“I won’t.”
The priest continued.
When the rings were exchanged, Elena felt the cold weight of the diamond against her finger.
Then came the final words.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Silence.
Vincent didn’t move.
Neither did Elena.
After a moment, he turned slightly toward the priest.
“We’ll skip that.”
The priest looked relieved.
Outside, however, the photographers caught the moment.
By morning, the newspapers had already created their own story.
THE MAFIA KING FINALLY HAS A QUEEN.
Elena hated the headline.
That evening, she arrived at the DeLuca mansion.
A house that looked less like a home and more like a fortress.
Security cameras covered every entrance.
Men with earpieces stood near the gates.
The halls were lined with expensive paintings and dark wood.
A woman named Sofia, Vincent’s housekeeper, showed Elena upstairs.
“This is your room.”
Elena opened the door.
It was enormous.
A balcony overlooked the lake.
There was a fireplace, a walk-in closet, and a bathroom larger than the apartment Elena had grown up in.
Sofia smiled faintly.
“Mr. DeLuca ordered everything exactly as you requested.”
Elena frowned.
“I never told him what I wanted.”
Sofia hesitated.
“You mentioned during the wedding that you liked books.”
Elena looked toward the shelves.
They were filled with novels.
Her favorite authors.
Even several editions she had searched for unsuccessfully for years.
“He did this?”
Sofia nodded.
That night, Elena couldn’t sleep.
Around midnight, she heard footsteps in the hallway.
She opened her door slightly.
Vincent stood outside his study, speaking to one of his men.
“No weapons near her room.”
“But boss—”
“I said no weapons.”
The man lowered his head.
Vincent noticed Elena.
Their eyes met.
“You should be sleeping.”
“I could say the same.”
His expression softened slightly.
“I work better at night.”
Elena crossed her arms.
“Do you always give orders about everything?”
“Yes.”
“Even me?”
“No.”
That answer surprised her.
Vincent looked at her for a moment.
“Goodnight, Elena.”
He walked away.
She closed the door.
For the first time since signing the marriage contract, Elena wondered whether she had misunderstood the man she married.
Perhaps Vincent DeLuca wasn’t incapable of kindness.
Perhaps he had simply buried it beneath years of violence.
But there was another mystery.
Why had he chosen a marriage that could never produce the heir everyone expected?
And why did the question seem to bother him more than it bothered her?
