Seized by the Mafia King (London Mafia Bosses #9)

1. Willow

1

WILLOW

If I were rating this wedding, it would be two stars. It gets an extra star because the church is nice, and the guests are well-presented and on time. But ideally, it needs starting again, with my choice of groom. And dress.

And shoes I can walk in.

Honestly, I’d prefer to put my whole life back on the shelf and try another one, like it was a book. As it turns out, being born into the Maldon mafia is overrated. It says something when my best option is an arranged marriage to Witham, a mafia boss who practically has that creepy-scare music around him.

I control my breathing as the priest drones on about the sanctity of the union, but the panic keeps rising. This is my life , and I can’t restart it.

I glance to the side. My future husband is about sixty, with a gut and a grubby blond moustache and beady little eyes.

He looks back at me, missing my face altogether and focussing on my breasts. His gaze is a slick of black, gritty oil over my body.

This monster will own me.

Fear seeps in like damp into a paperback book. I’m too old for his tastes, I know that, and I’ve got a plan. But what if it doesn’t work?

It will. It has to.

Out of the corner of my eye I regard my family seated in the church behind me. My three brothers and my mother, and various uncles and aunts. They’re impassive. Uncaring. I’m just a stupid little girl to them, only useful to be traded off.

When I said to my brother Liam about wanting to work in a bookshop, he sneered that Maldons don’t fetch and carry , so I’ve never told anyone else about my dream. I build the bookshop in my mind, planning my sections and my stock. When everything is bad, it’s my happy place. A warm comfort blanket.

Usually.

Today, it won’t appear. I try to think of rows of my favourite author’s books, but all I can see is the priest, the gold cross and the altar and the marble on the floor, and the sinister, greasy presence of my fiancé.

I have the phone number of the contact memorised, and the internet rumours are that the London Mafia Syndicate are uncompromising towards the sordid trade Witham does. Once I’m married, I can give the tip-off, and escape in the chaos that ensues. Witham won’t be expecting it, not like my family, who remember how I called the police on them when I was twelve, and have viewed me as a traitor ever since.

Me and my big mouth, my mother said when she saw the bruises afterwards.

I didn’t know that my family owned all the police in the area, and my lesson healed into an instinct never to risk being caught in an escape again. But my family doesn’t own the London Mafia Syndicate. They will get bloody revenge for Witham’s tastes . The same stuff my family turns a blind eye to because they want Witham’s territory.

Even so, an animal fear rises in me. Everywhere I look there’s trouble or judgement, or no way out. The church door is too far away, I’d never make it before my brothers caught me and frogmarched me back.

I’m trapped.

For my plan to work, I need to be married to Witham, but even so, I can’t help but pray to any god that might be listening, or something, anything. I have this rock in my gut. I don’t want this marriage.

“Does anyone here present know of any good reason?—”

I see the door open before the crash of wood against stone hits my ears and draws shrieks from several of my aunts as a man strolls into the church followed by a dozen men with very large guns. All pointing at my family, my fiancé’s family, and me .

“I didn’t get my invitation,” the man drawls, and my heart unexpectedly patters. Not in a fearful way, nope. In a thrilled way. Because the intruder’s voice is like caramel and brandy cream, smooth and dark and utterly decadent, with a dangerous kick.

This man exudes casual power. He’s wearing a blue-black suit, with a tie the colour of a winter ocean. His crisp white shirt is impeccable, as though he really is a guest at a wedding.

“I told you there would be consequences, Witham.” The man paces up the aisle, his hands in his pockets.

He isn’t even armed. Or rather, he doesn’t have his gun drawn. That’s not needed, since he has effortlessly outmanoeuvred my family and the Withams.

As he gets closer, I take him in. He’s tall. Maybe six-foot-six? His hair is the deepest brown, almost black, and he has deliberately careless stubble that makes him even more masculine, as though his wide shoulders and pronounced Adam’s apple didn’t already.

He comes to a stop and stares at me, pale blue eyes wide like he’s seen a ghost. We regard each other for a long moment, and I know it’s crazy, but there’s recognition unlike anything I’ve ever felt. He sees me . Not a bride, not a Maldon princess. Not a sister or a daughter. Not even just a passably pretty girl who happens to be in his way. He reaches into my body and weighs my soul in his palm.

And it’s the same for me. Objectively, he’s a terrifying and gorgeous man who could kill me and everyone in this room with a flick of his elegant fingers. But I can see a spark of humour in his eyes, a mouth that could be quick to smile, and a gentleness to his power, hidden beneath that sharp suit and arrogant jawline.

Compared to my betrothed, he’s… Well. There’s no comparison.

“I’m sorry,” Witham begins.

The eyes of the man standing regarding me go icy.

“Bethnal.” My brother’s voice holds a note of fear. “Why are you here?”

Ohhhh sugar. As in Bethnal Green in London? It sounds like it’s a leafy paradise, but Bethnal Green is in the East End, and notorious for being the cut-throat part of London. I didn’t dare try to get the phone number of Bethnal .

Witham gulps. “I’m sure we can come to some?—”

“You haven’t been paying your debts, Witham. Do the Maldons know that?”

I glance at my eldest brother, and no, clearly he did not.

“Three months, you owe me,” the Bethnal kingpin continues, wandering around the front of the church as though he owns the place. “I’ve been very patient, and the interest is accruing rapidly.”

He picks up the sacramental wine from the altar and the priest makes a strangled sound of protest. Bethnal sniffs, wrinkles his lip and sets it back down. His meaning is clear. It’s not even good enough for him to bother desecrating.

“Then we found the children .” The distaste in Bethnal’s expression flares into disgust. “And I thought, why should a man be getting married today, when he was profiting from that , and failing to pay his debts?”

The air is sucked from the room as there’s an audible intake of breath.

My head spins.

His words are low and harsh. He’s furious.

And he’s removed my one hope of escape.

“You owe me money, Witham. And you’re going to pay. Now.”

“I will,” Witham stutters. “I just need a bit more time. Next week.”

There’s cold silence, and I freeze in it. Bethnal has already dealt with Witham’s child trafficking, so there’s nothing for me to report now. There will be no scramble to send out his men, or confusion at the announcement of the attack. It was all finished while we prepared for the wedding, and I’ve got nothing but an angry future husband.

Fate, this is a terrible mistake.

He’ll take it out on me.

Being trapped, married to a mafia boss, isn’t supposed to be my life. Fear creeps into my skin with a stench of rotting dreams.

“Tomorrow!” Witham trembles next to me and glances at my brother Robert, who he negotiated all this with since he’s the Maldon kingpin.

Robert nods. “I’ll get it to you tomorrow.”

The last of my hope dies. It’s not like I really thought my family cared about who they’re giving me to, but it still hurts that this is Robert’s response. He’d rather the deal went ahead, even if it’s now public knowledge he’s marrying me to a monster.

Instinctively, I take a small step away from Witham. It’s no more than a noiseless slide, but it draws Bethnal’s gaze again. He scans my face, then lounges against the altar and turns his attention to Robert.

“You’re going to let her marry this piece of shit?” he asks no one in particular.

“You’ll have your money before nine,” Robert replies.

His words fall on my shoulders, sinking down as though he’s piled lead into my veins. My brother has priorities, and it’s not me.

“No.” Bethnal narrows his eyes, then seamlessly pulls out a gun and shoots Witham in the head. He falls to the floor with a thud.

I jerk backwards, gaping in horror at the blood splattered on the smooth marble and sprayed over my white dress.

Someone in the congregation screams, and there’s mutterings.

He’s dead.

The man who was supposed to be my husband is now a corpse.

My heart hammers. Am I saved from this marriage after all? But my god, is that even the word? I’ll have to go back to my family. Since the arranged marriage hasn’t happened as Robert wanted, will he insist I have the usual Essex Cartel virgin auction? And Robert is going to be angry. I can already see it in the set of his jaw.

“I’ll have the Witham territory as partial payment of his debts. And to make up the rest, I’ll be taking this,” Bethnal says as he holsters his gun.

What? The gun?

Bethnal approaches me and bows, and for a second, I think that’s it. Then I’m over his shoulder and a shriek escapes me. I shove at his back and squirm as he carries me, and I bump with each quick step. I kick my feet, but I’m really high, and he holds me tight. So, so tight.

I look up at my brothers’ furious faces and Bethnal’s men neatly backing out of the church. No one is lifting a finger to rescue me.

Bethnal steals me away.

I’m not getting married. I’m saved from a marriage that might have been worse than death and this is an opportunity. A chance to escape to a new life.

Because it hits me. I’m being kidnapped.