Mafia Don’s Stolen Bride (Mafia Don’s Lies #4)

Prologue

Julietta

Istared at the eighteen hand-painted roses on my birthday cake, each one a perfect crimson swirl against white buttercream.

The breakfast table groaned under silver platters of eggs Benedict, fresh fruit, and pastries that nobody would eat.

Mother had ordered my favorites, but the hollow feeling in my stomach had nothing to do with hunger.

"Make a wish, darling." Mother's voice carried across our sun-drenched breakfast room, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

I drew a breath and blew out the candles in one exhale. What do you wish for when you have everything? The flames died, leaving thin wisps of smoke curling toward the crystal chandelier.

"Perfect as always, Julietta." Father checked his watch. "I'm afraid I have a meeting downtown. The Anderson merger won't negotiate itself." He kissed the top of my head, his cologne sharp and familiar. "Happy birthday, princess."

Princess. The endearment felt hollow, like everything else about this morning.

I glanced at Father's retreating back—his blonde hair, blue eyes, the Bennett family's Nordic features. Mother was the same: porcelain skin, delicate bone structure, a face that belonged in a Ralph Lauren catalogue.

And then there was me. Auburn hair that refused to lighten no matter how much time I spent in the sun. Dark eyes that looked almost black in certain light. The curve of my nose, the fullness of my lips—nothing matched.

I'd asked once, when I was ten. "Why don't I look like you?"

Mother's smile had frozen. "All children wonder such things, Julietta. You have your grandmother's coloring."

But I'd seen the family photos. No grandmother had eyes like mine.

Mother's fingers tapped against her teacup. "I've arranged a small gathering this evening. Just thirty or so of your closest friends."

Friends I barely knew. Daughters and sons of Father's business associates, private school classmates who invited me to parties out of obligation rather than affection.

"Thank you, Mother. That sounds lovely."

The words came automatically, the same polite response I'd been trained to give since childhood. Be gracious. Be poised. Be perfect.

The doorbell chimed, echoing through the marble foyer.

"Who could that be?" Mother frowned, setting down her napkin. "We aren't expecting deliveries until this afternoon."

Henderson, our butler, appeared at the doorway, silver tray extended. "A delivery for Miss Julietta, ma'am."

A cream-colored envelope rested on the tray, thick parchment sealed with gold wax. No return address, just my name in sophisticated script.

"Who sent it?" Mother's voice sharpened; she disliked feeling out of the loop, and it was uncommon for a birthday salutation to arrive late.

Henderson's face remained impassive. "The courier didn't say, ma'am."

I reached for the envelope. The wax seal bore an unfamiliar crest—an ornate 'R' pierced by a dagger, surrounded by thorned roses.

"Open it, then." Mother's brittle smile returned, but her knuckles whitened around her teacup.

I slid my finger beneath the seal, breaking it with a satisfying crack. Inside was a single card, heavy stock with gold-embossed lettering.

Your presence is requested today at 2 p.m.

Eleventh floor, The Regency.

It's time we meet, Julietta Altieri.

My breath caught. Altieri? That wasn’t my name…

"What is it?" Mother's voice seemed to come from far away.

I looked up, my fingers trembling around the card. "Someone wants to meet me."

Mother plucked the card from my fingers, her face draining of color as she read. "You're not going."

"Who's Altieri?" The question hung between us, sharp and dangerous.

Mother's teacup clattered against its saucer. "No one. It's nothing—a mistake."

But the tremor in her voice told me everything. This wasn't a mistake. This was something she'd been dreading. Another secret amongst the many our family had.

"Why does the letter call me Julietta Altieri?” The way she wouldn’t meet my eyes made my stomach twist with certainty that something was wrong. But there was also a twinge of knowing, because I’d never felt like I belonged here. “Who am I, Mother?"

She stood abruptly, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her silk blouse. "You're Julietta Bennett. Our daughter. That's all you need to know."

"But—"

"I said that's all." Her voice cracked like a whip. "Henderson, dispose of this. And inform security not to accept any more unmarked deliveries."

I watched her stride from the room, back rigid, heels clicking against marble. In eighteen years, I'd never seen her lose composure. Not once.

The card called to me from where it lay discarded on the table. Julietta Altieri. A name I'd never heard, yet it somehow felt like a key unlocking something long buried.

I knew what I had to do.

"Where to, Miss Bennett?" Martin, our driver, held the car door open, his face professionally blank.

I slid into the back seat of the town car, my heart hammering against my ribs. Unsurprisingly, Mother had disappeared to tend to her own plans shortly after breakfast, leaving me alone once more. How long would it take her to notice… ? "The Regency, please."

His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "Does your mother know about this detour?"

I clutched my purse tighter. "It's my birthday, Martin. I'm eighteen now."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, miss. The Regency it is."

The city blurred past the window—gleaming skyscrapers, crowded sidewalks, lives intersecting and diverging. Who was waiting for me? What did they want? Why now, after eighteen years of silence?

Altieri. The name echoed in my mind. Had my entire life been built on lies? The private schools, piano lessons, charity galas—all carefully constructed around a foundation that might not exist. It sounded like something out of a cheesy mystery novel, but I’d never felt quite… at home here.

"We're here, miss." Martin's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

The Regency loomed above us, a pillar of black glass scraping the sky. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored doors—pale face, auburn hair tucked behind my ears, modest blue dress chosen by Mother for my birthday breakfast.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" Martin asked, concern etching lines around his eyes. He’d been with our family for fifteen years, and never once had I taken a lone car ride to a strange location. Until now.

I shook my head. "I'll be fine. Wait for me?"

"Of course, miss."

The elevator ascended smoothly, numbers climbing. My stomach dropped with each floor. Nine. Ten. Eleven. The doors slid open to reveal a stark reception area—black marble, white leather, no decoration except a single silver logo on the wall. Another 'R', like the wax seal.

A woman with a severe blonde bob looked up from behind a glass desk. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Julietta. I received an invitation."

Something like pity flickered across her face. "Of course. He's expecting you."

She led me down a hallway to a set of double doors, knocking once before pushing them open. "Sir, Miss Altieri is here."

Altieri. Not Bennett. The name still felt foreign on my tongue.

The office beyond was spacious, minimalist. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city. A man stood with his back to me, hands clasped behind him as he gazed out at the skyline.

"Leave us, Vivian."

His voice was deep, accented slightly—Italian, perhaps. The door closed with a soft click behind me.

He turned, and I saw my own eyes staring back at me.

"Julietta." He didn't smile. "You look like your mother."

I stood frozen, unable to speak. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with silver threading through dark hair. Expensive suit, gold watch, an air of absolute authority.

"You don't know who I am." It wasn't a question.

I found my voice. "Are you my father?"

"Don Lorenzo Altieri." He gestured to a chair across from his desk. "Sit."

I remained standing. "Why now? After eighteen years?"

"Because now you're of age. Now you can serve your purpose." He moved to a bar cart, pouring amber liquid into a crystal glass. "Drink?"

"No."

"Smart girl. Never drink what's offered in unfamiliar territory." He sipped his own drink, studying me over the rim. "Your mother—your birth mother—was beautiful too. It's why I chose her."

"Chose her?"

"For breeding. I needed a daughter. Sons are valuable, but daughters..." He smiled thinly. "Daughters cement alliances."

Cold dread pooled in my stomach. "What are you talking about?"

"The Bennetts were paid well to raise you. To educate you. To keep you safe until you were needed." He set down his glass. "You belong to the Altieri family. Always have."

"I don't belong to anyone."

His laugh was sharp, humorless. "Such American thinking. Everything and everyone belongs to someone, piccola. You were born to serve this family's interests."

"What family? What interests?"

"The Altieri family controls distribution routes across three continents. Drugs, weapons, people—if it's profitable and prohibited, we move it." He spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. "But even empires need allies. The Suarez cartel controls production. We need each other."

My legs trembled. I sank into the chair, mind spinning. "You're in the mafia."

"I am the mafia, in this part of the world." He leaned forward. "And you, Julietta Altieri, will marry Miguel Suarez's son on your twenty-fifth birthday. The contract was signed the day you were born."

The room tilted. This couldn't be real. "My parents—"

"The Bennetts are employees, nothing more. Your mother—Rose—couldn't have children. We offered her one, for a price. The arrangement suited everyone."

Tears burned behind my eyes. My entire life—a transaction. "She loves me."

Even as I said it, the words felt hollow. Like every other polite lie I'd told myself about the Bennetts. Mother's brittle smiles. Father's absent affection. The way they'd never quite looked at me like I belonged.

"Perhaps. But her love was never the point." He checked his watch. "You'll move into the family compound next month, after your graduation. You'll learn our business, our ways. When you turn twenty-five, you'll fulfill your purpose."

"And if I refuse?"

His smile never reached his eyes. "The Bennetts' protection expires today. Without the Altieri name, they have nothing. Without them, you have nothing. It's simple economics."

A threat, wrapped in logic. If I didn’t agree, something bad would happen to Mother and Father. I dug my nails into my palms, forcing back tears.

"You were born to serve this family. You'll do your duty." He pressed a button on his desk. "Vivian will show you out. We'll be in touch regarding the arrangements."

Dismissed. Like a servant. Like property.

I stood on shaking legs, dignity the only thing I had left. "My name is Julietta Bennett."

"Not anymore." He turned back to the window. "The girl you were died today. Welcome to your real life, Julietta Altieri."

The elevator descended in silence. Each floor felt like a year falling away—eighteen years of believing I was Julietta Bennett, sheltered daughter of a hedge fund manager. Loved. Safe. Real.

All of it, a lie.

Martin stood beside the car, concern etching deeper lines into his face when he saw me. "Miss Julietta? Are you alright?"

I forced my features into composure, the mask I'd worn my entire life. "I'm fine."

"You don't look—"

"Please." My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, tried again. "Please don't tell them I left the house. Not yet."

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Of course, miss."

The drive home blurred past. I watched the city slide by—people living normal lives, unaware that someone's entire world could shatter in a single afternoon. The truth sat like a stone in my stomach, heavy and cold.

You were born to serve this family. You'll do your duty.

By the time we pulled into the circular drive, I'd steeled myself. Mother would have questions if I looked upset. The party was in three hours. I needed to be perfect.

I spent the evening playing my role flawlessly. Smiling at Mother's friends. Accepting birthday wishes from people whose names I couldn't remember. Cutting the cake, opening presents, laughing at the right moments.

The perfect daughter.

The valuable pawn.

No one suspected a thing.

That night, after the last guest had left and the caterers had cleared away the champagne flutes, I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror. Mascara smudged beneath red-rimmed eyes, lipstick bitten away. The face looking back at me belonged to a stranger.

Bennett or Altieri? Beloved daughter or valuable pawn? The person I thought I was had never existed.

"Who am I now?" I whispered to my reflection.

Only silence answered.