The Mafia King's Deadly Wife

Vincent stepped out of the casino into the bright midday sun. Four guards moved with him in a tight formation. He didn’t hurry. He never did. The street was busy with tourists and locals, but his presence cut through the crowd. People moved out of his way without realizing why.

A single rifle shot cracked from a distant rooftop.

The bullet whipped past his head — close, but not close enough. It punched into the brick wall ten feet away, sending a harmless spray of dust into the air.

Vincent didn’t flinch. He didn’t even break stride.

"Amateur," he said.

Gabriel was already moving, his massive frame stepping in front of Vincent like a human shield, but the big man looked more annoyed than worried. Lucian had his phone to his ear before the echo faded, giving quiet orders to track the shooter. The other guards scanned the rooftops with bored efficiency. This wasn’t their first warning shot.

Vincent adjusted his cufflinks and continued toward the armored SUV. "Tell the team to bring the casing. I want to see the message."

Inside the SUV, he leaned back against the leather seat and checked his watch. "They’re getting sloppy. Caruso must be desperate if they’re sending one man with a rifle in broad daylight."

Gabriel grunted from the front seat. "Should I send a team to sweep the roof?"

"No need." Vincent’s voice was flat. "They wanted us to find the bullet. Let them deliver their little threat. We’ll answer it properly."

The drive back to the mansion was quiet. Vincent stared out the window, mind already turning over the next moves. Caruso was testing him. They wanted to see if he would crack under pressure and hand Raven over. They would learn the hard way that Vincent De Luca did not bend.

When they reached the mansion, the war room was already buzzing. All seven Guardians were present. The long table held the bullet in the center on a white cloth so the carved words stood out clearly: ANNULMENT OR WAR.

Raven walked in a few minutes later. Her hair was still damp from training. She stopped at the end of the table and stared at the bullet without saying a word.

Leonid was the first to speak. "Send her back. Problem solved. Give Caruso what they want and this ends."

Sebastian shook his head. "They’re testing him. If Vincent hands her over now, it makes the whole family look weak. Every enemy will come knocking."

Adrian stayed quiet, his sharp eyes fixed on Raven. Dante leaned forward, elbows on the table, clearly interested in how this would play out. Matteo and Gabriel exchanged a look but kept silent.

Raven didn’t defend herself. She just stood there, hands loose at her sides, waiting. She had learned long ago that speaking too soon in a room full of Vincent’s men was a mistake.

Vincent finally spoke. His voice cut through the room — cold and final.

"No."

One word. The entire room went still.

He looked at each of the Guardians slowly. "She stays. The marriage stands. If Caruso wants war, they can have it. We do not negotiate with threats."

Leonid’s jaw flexed hard, but he didn’t push further. The others nodded, some slower than others. One by one they stood and left the war room. Gabriel gave Raven a short nod on his way out. Soon only Vincent and Raven remained.

Vincent picked up the bullet and turned it slowly between his fingers. He held it out to her across the table.

"Keep it," he said. "So you remember what they’re willing to sacrifice just to hurt me."

Raven reached out and took the bullet. The metal still felt warm from his hand. She closed her fist around it tight enough that the sharp edges pressed into her palm.

Vincent watched her face. "You’re quiet today."

She met his eyes. "They missed on purpose. Next time, I won’t."

Something dark flickered in Vincent’s gaze. He stepped around the table until only a few inches separated them. His hand lifted and brushed a loose strand of damp hair behind her ear. The touch was light, but his fingers lingered against her skin.

"You’re not their blade anymore," he said quietly. "You’re my wife. Start acting like it."

Raven’s stomach tightened. She wanted to shove him away. She also wanted to grab his shirt and pull him down. She did neither.

She slipped the bullet into her pocket and turned toward the door.

Vincent’s voice stopped her. "Raven."

She looked back over her shoulder.

"Tonight," he said. "My room."

Raven gave one small nod and walked out.

She spent a long time under the hot spray in her bathroom. The bullet sat on the counter beside her towel. Every time she glanced at it, the carved words seemed to mock her.

Annulment or war.

Caruso had made their choice clear. They were finished pretending she could ever go back. Now they wanted her gone — dead or handed over — and they didn’t care how many bodies it took.

After the shower she pulled on a simple black tank top and soft shorts. She walked down the long hallway to Vincent’s private wing. Two guards posted outside nodded at her but said nothing.

Vincent’s door stood open.

He was standing by the tall windows, shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. A glass of whiskey waited on the small table beside him. When Raven stepped inside, he turned and let his eyes move over her slowly.

"Close the door," he said.

She pushed it shut behind her.

Vincent crossed the room in three long strides and stopped in front of her. One hand gripped her waist. The other slid up her back and buried itself in her still-damp hair. He tilted her head back so she had to look straight into his eyes.

"You kept the bullet," he said.

"Yes."

His thumb brushed slowly over her bottom lip. "Good girl."

He leaned in and kissed her. Hard and possessive. Raven kissed him back with equal force. Her hands grabbed the front of his open shirt and pulled him closer. Raw and undeniable.

But Vincent broke the kiss before it could go further. He pulled back just enough to look down at her face — eyes dark, breathing still steady — like a man exercising a restraint that cost him something.

"Get some rest," he said quietly. "Tomorrow we plan our next move."

He let her go and stepped back.

Raven stood there for a moment, lips tingling. She turned and left his room without speaking.

Back in her own quarters she dropped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The bullet rested on the nightstand, its carved message facing up.

They missed on purpose this time.

Next time, she wouldn’t miss.

She hated Vincent De Luca for everything he had taken from her.

She wanted him so badly it made her chest ache with something that had nothing to do with wounds.

And somewhere deep inside, in a small fractured piece she refused to name, Raven was starting to wonder if she still truly wanted to kill him at all.