The Mafia King's Deadly Wife

Raven woke up alone.

Every muscle screamed. The deep ache between her legs made her hiss through her teeth. Raw. Throbbing. Every tiny shift of her hips sent fresh pain shooting up her spine. Vincent hadn’t been gentle. He’d fucked her like he owned her — and part of her still hated how hard she’d come while screaming his name.

Her thighs were bruised. Her hips carried fingerprints. Even breathing pulled at the rawness where he’d gripped her too tight.

She pushed herself up slowly, wincing hard. The sheets reeked of sweat and sex and him. That ring on her finger glinted in the morning light like a fucking shackle.

Raven De Luca.

The name burned in her throat.

She dragged her shaky legs to the mirror. The girl staring back looked wrecked. Messy hair. Swollen lips. Dark hickeys scattered across her neck and collarbone like brands. Someone had taken away yesterday’s torn dress. In its place hung expensive black pants and a tight shirt that screamed money and control.

Raven yanked them on, ignoring how her body protested with every move. Each step made her tender core clench and ache. The memory of Vincent driving into her flashed hot behind her eyes — the stretch, the force, the way she’d shattered even while hating him.

She stepped into the hallway and two guards straightened immediately. Their eyes dropped straight to the ring on her hand, then flicked away fast.

"Mrs. De Luca," one of them said, voice respectful.

The title punched her in the gut.

Raven walked past them without a word, teeth locked tight. Their stares burned into her back the whole way.

The war room doors swung open before she even reached them.

The air inside was thick. Suffocating.

Vincent stood at the head of the table, shoulders rigid, eyes already locked on her the second she walked in. Lucian was hunched over screens. Dante paced like he wanted to break something. The others were there too, tense, watching.

All of them turned to her at once.

Vincent’s gaze dragged down her body slow and heavy. He took in her stiff walk, the way she was clearly still hurting, the marks he’d left on her skin. A dark, satisfied glint flashed in his eyes.

Color stained Raven’s face. Her sore thighs gave an involuntary clench. Shame and unwanted want twisted low in her belly.

Dante didn’t bother with politeness. "Damn. Looks like he really fucked you raw."

"Shut the fuck up," Raven snapped, voice hoarse.

Vincent crossed the room in three strides and stopped right in front of her. Too close. His scent wrapped around her. He reached out and brushed his thumb over the biggest hickey on her neck, the one he’d sucked while buried deep inside her last night.

"You’re still sore," he said, low and rough. "Good."

Raven slapped his hand away hard. Her pulse became a war drum. "This isn’t protection. This is painting a giant fucking target on me."",

Before Vincent could answer, Lucian burst back into the room, face grim as hell.

"Caruso moved fast."

He slammed a tablet onto the table.

Raven stared at the screen and her stomach dropped.

First feed: a De Luca warehouse. Five bodies in pools of blood. Red spray paint across the wall screamed:

THE DE LUCA WHORE DIES FIRST.

Second: Caruso’s public statement, sent to every major family.

"Raven Caruso is dead to us. She’s a traitor who opened her legs for the enemy. Anyone who shelters the De Luca whore burns with her."

Third: bounty notices already blowing up the underworld. The price on her head was sickening. Enough money to make killers out of friends.

Raven’s hands started shaking. Her breath came short. The lingering throb between her legs suddenly felt disgusting — like a brand of betrayal. Twelve kills she’d survived. Being fucked by Vincent she’d survived. But this? Being hunted openly as "the De Luca whore"? It made her feel sick. Naked. Exposed.

Dante slammed his fist on the table so hard everything rattled. "They’re not playing. Three scouts are already missing."

"They’re testing us," Sebastian growled. "Seeing if Vincent will bleed for his new wife."

Raven’s chest tightened painfully. Anger. Fear. Humiliation. All of it crashed through her at once.

Vincent’s voice cut through the noise, steady but deadly.

"She’s not a liability."

He turned to her, eyes dark and possessive. His hand slid to her waist and yanked her against him. The sudden press of his body made the ache between her thighs flare sharp.

"You don’t leave this compound without me anymore," he said against her ear. "Not even with guards. You stay where I can fucking see you."

Raven shoved at his chest, breathing hard. "You’re locking me up?"

"I’m keeping you alive." His fingers dug into her hip, right over a fresh bruise. "Last night made you mine in private. Today the whole world knows it. Caruso is coming for you harder now."

His thumb stroked the curve of her hip slowly, a filthy reminder of how he’d gripped her while pounding into her.

Raven’s breath hitched. Heat crawled up her throat even as shame hollowed her chest. She could still feel the ghost of him — the stretch, the claiming, the way she’d broken apart and hated herself for it. Her body hadn’t asked. It had simply known. She hated that most of all.

She ripped herself out of his hold and stepped back on unsteady legs.

"I never asked for your protection," she bit out.

"You don’t have to." Vincent’s voice dropped, dangerous and intimate. "You’re my wife now. That makes you mine to protect. Mine to keep."

The word "wife" hit her like a slap.

Dante crossed his arms. "We should hit back. Hard. Send a message."

"No," Vincent said, eyes never leaving Raven’s face. "Not yet. Let them get stupid. Then we destroy them."

He moved close again, voice only for her.

"And you... you stay right here with me. Last night was just the start."

The dark promise in his tone sent another rush of heat through her aching body. Her nipples hardened. The deep pulse of him — of what he’d done to her — throbbed back to life.

Raven swallowed. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to drag him down and feel that brutal fullness again. She wanted to run.

Caruso didn’t just want her dead anymore.

They wanted her humiliated first.

The underworld had her name on a bounty list with a sickening price tag.

And Vincent De Luca wanted to own every single broken piece of her.

She pressed a trembling hand low on her belly, right where the deep ache still throbbed.

This was the real cost.

And it was only going to get worse.