Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Elena

"Mr. Moretti, are you in there?"

The third-floor hallway sat quiet, wall sconces casting soft light. I stood outside Dante's room, clutching an expensive Italian suit, waiting. No answer came from inside.

Alfredo sent me to deliver this suit to Dante. Why he'd given this task to me—someone who'd never even spoken to Dante—I had no idea. But he was the manor's head butler, the highest authority. I couldn't question him. I had to obey.

Security at the manor was tight. The guards who usually watched the third floor were nowhere to be seen.

I felt a little nervous, so I knocked on the door again, but there was still no response.

Since I was only here to deliver the clothes, I could just leave them inside and leave right away.

With that thought in mind, I reached out and gently pushed open the half-closed door.

Just as I was about to step inside, I heard the bathroom door open.

I instinctively looked up toward the sound, and the sight before me made my mind go completely blank for a moment.

Dante stood there, dripping wet. Water rolled down his hair, droplets sliding along the strands. He gripped the bathroom doorframe, his bronze body completely exposed. The second he saw me, irritation flashed across his face. He grabbed a towel and covered himself from the waist down.

I dropped my gaze fast, pretending I'd seen nothing.

Too late.

I'd seen everything.

The hard chest. The tight lines of his abs. Black ink sprawled across his bronze skin—dangerous and magnetic.

I'd never seen a man's body before. Heat flooded my face, spreading from my neck to my ears. I clutched the suit tighter, wanting to scream, but I swallowed the sound. I stood frozen, holding the garment like a statue.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?"

Dante's voice came out low and deep, pulling me back.

"I-I..."

I kept my head down, fingers white-knuckled on the garment bag. I didn't dare look up, but the image of him was burned into my mind. I couldn't shake it.

"Alfredo sent me to bring you your suit!"

The words tumbled out. My voice shook. Even I could hear it.

Dante said nothing. I waited for judgment.

After a few seconds, he spoke. "Put it on the bed."

I heard fabric rustle—he'd put on a robe. I walked to the bed, head still down, and pulled the neatly folded suit from the bag. I laid it out across the mattress.

Just as I finished, I heard his footsteps approach.

"Wait."

I lifted my head slightly. He walked closer. His robe hung loose, the belt barely tied, the front gaping open to reveal his collarbone and traces of ink beneath.

I didn't know where to look. I turned my eyes to the floor.

He picked up the suit and examined it. His brow furrowed.

"Why's it so wrinkled?" He muttered, then looked at me. "Iron it for me."

He pointed to the window where a standing ironing board and steamer sat.

I froze for a second, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

I walked over and hung the suit on the board. I picked up the steamer. Ironing a suit required precision. I adjusted the steam temperature carefully and started at the shoulders, working slowly and evenly.

The room fell quiet.

Just the hiss of steam and the soft press of iron against fabric.

I could feel him watching me. He sat on the sofa by the bed, his gaze fixed on me like some unavoidable presence.

My hands weren't steady. I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus.

"What's your name?"

His voice came from behind me, softer than before.

"Elena," I answered quietly, not turning around.

"What do you do at the manor?"

"I take care of Salvador."

He didn't respond right away. After a moment, he said, "His temper's shit."

I hadn't expected him to talk about his own father like that. Salvador's temper was notorious—everyone at the manor knew it—but no one dared say it out loud.

I hesitated, searching for words that wouldn't offend. "It's okay. I'm used to it."

"Being used to it doesn't make it easy." Dante's tone carried something like sympathy, maybe kinship. "Salvador's not easy to deal with. The fact that you've lasted over a year means you take this job seriously."

His tone was flat—not praise, just fact.

But the words stirred something in me.

In over a year, no one had said that to me. Lucia was kind, but she never commented on the family. The other maids didn't care how I felt. Only I knew how much courage it took to face Salvador's moods and demands every single day.

And now this man—who'd just met me—casually said what I'd been thinking all along.

I didn't respond. I kept ironing.

But my fingers started trembling.

Not from fear.

From the way he'd said it—not cold like I'd imagined. Almost... gentle.

Could someone as powerful as Dante actually be gentle? I was curious, but I'd never know.

Dante rarely came to the manor, but his name came up every day. The maids loved talking about him. Tall, handsome, powerful, rich.

And single. For a long time.

No girlfriend. No wife.

The maids fantasized about catching his eye and becoming the lady of the manor. Every time I heard it, I thought to myself: Dream on. A man like that would never fall for a maid.

I'd been at Moretti Manor for over a year, but I'd only seen Dante three times, and only from a distance. Because Dante and Salvador had a terrible relationship—hostile, tense—Dante rarely came home. I rarely had the chance to see him.

Once, he'd passed by me quickly. I'd kept my head down, afraid to look, only watching his long legs and spotless shoes stride past.

Three seconds. Maybe two. Then he was gone.

The suit was smooth now. I hung it on the hanger and set the steamer aside. Dante loved custom suits. This one would look elegant on him. Handsome.

"It's done, Mr. Moretti."

Dante sat on the sofa, flipping through a magazine. He didn't look up. "Thanks."

I backed toward the door slowly, never meeting his eyes. I reached for the handle, then stopped.

"Um..."

I turned back and gathered the courage to glance at him.

He leaned against the sofa, robe loose, morning sunlight streaming through the window and carving shadows across his face. He looked like a sculpture.

"Salvador... he actually misses you. He talks about you a lot."

I didn't know why I said it. Maybe because that comment—"not easy"—made me think the relationship between him and his father wasn't as simple as it seemed.

Dante didn't respond.

The sunlight hit his profile. I couldn't read his expression.

I said what I needed to say and left quickly.

I closed the door and leaned against the hallway wall, breathing deeply.

My heart was still pounding—harder than when I'd walked in on him fresh from the shower.

Why?

He'd only said "thanks."

I covered my face and stood there for a few seconds, steadying my breath, then headed to Salvador's room.

Salvador's temper was awful. He was obsessive and ruthless. I'd heard that two years ago, a car accident left him wheelchair-bound. The physical damage had broken his spirit. Going from powerful to dependent had made him angry. Extreme.

I understood his pain. That understanding helped me endure his temper.

I opened the door. Salvador sat in his wheelchair, white-haired, legs covered with a thick blanket. His eyes fixed on me.

"Mr. Morreti, I'm here."

After over a year with Salvador, I knew how to handle him.

When I'd first interviewed, he'd tested everyone. He threw things. Gave bizarre orders—like moving every flower in the garden to the greenhouse, then back out again. Everyone before me had fled, men and women alike. Only I'd followed every command, no matter how difficult or unreasonable.

By enduring Salvador's temper, I'd earned this job.

When he called me to his room outside work hours, it usually meant his mood was bad, and he needed to improve it by tormenting me.

Fine. I was ready.

But I never expected—

"Elena."

Salvador spoke slowly, his voice aged but powerful, like an old lion's growl.

"I've decided. You'll marry Dante and become the lady of the Moretti family."

His voice sounded like it came from hell itself.

I stood there for a full minute, unable to believe my ears.

Salvador—the former Don of this mafia family—wanted me, a manor maid, to marry his son, the current Don, Dante?

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Salvador ignored my reaction. His tone left no room for argument.

"You've been attentive this past year. I've been watching you.

You're patient. Detail-oriented. You don't complain.

Everyone else couldn't handle my temper.

Only you stayed." He paused. "You're not just capable—you're not the type to sell out for money.

You take your pay and nothing else. You don't exploit this job for extra gain. I can tell."

He looked at me with an emotion I couldn't read.

"The Moretti family needs a lady. If I chose someone from inside the family, or from another family who could help Dante consolidate power, they'd have ulterior motives. They'd cause him problems. I need someone who doesn't belong to any faction. That's you, Elena."

He continued slowly, "I'll have Alfredo choose a date soon. You and Dante will get married quickly."

No. No.

I stepped back instinctively.

Minutes ago, I'd been in Dante's room ironing his suit. He'd said "thanks." Said I had it "not easy." I'd even worked up the nerve to say something nice about Salvador. But I'd done all that as a maid. In my mind, it was just work.

Now Salvador wanted me to marry Dante?

This was insane. There were no feelings between us. No understanding. I'd only met Dante today. We'd exchanged maybe ten words. That wasn't enough for marriage.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Morreti..."

In over a year, I'd never defied Salvador's orders. But now, I forced the words out.

"I can't agree to this."

I'm a coward by nature. With Salvador, I always kept my head down and obeyed.

But now I lifted my head and met those cold, aged eyes.

"Dante and I have no emotional foundation. I don't want to hand over my life to someone I don't know at all."

"So... I won't marry him."

I'd said it. Finally.

Salvador paused.

I thought he'd get angry. Instead, he laughed.

Why?

Like he'd heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Little girl, you don't realize what an honor it is to become the lady of the Moretti family."

"You'll have everything." He paused. "And if you don't marry Dante, you could work at Moretti Manor your whole life and never have any of it."

He was right. The manor paid well, but even after ten years, I couldn't afford that Italian suit I'd just ironed. Working for myself, I'd never have what Salvador promised.

But I wouldn't trade everything I was for power and wealth.

I shook my head firmly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Morreti."

Salvador's face darkened. He laughed coldly and stared at me like I was a disobedient animal. After a long moment, he folded his hands and looked up, expression grim.

"Elena, I believe you'll come back begging me."