He Swapped Brides for a Game. I Married His Worst Nightmare.

"If barking is so harmless, show us how it's done." I'd grown up in my grandfather's house studying calligraphy: invitations, family records, memorial cards. I knew Gina's handwriting from the notes she sent Vincent. The words on that slip were hers. Gina flushed and turned to him, her eyes filling. "Vinnie, how can she disrespect me like this..." Vincent threw his wine in my face. Vincent yanked Gina into his arms, shielding her, and glared at me with open contempt. Across the room, two of his soldiers stopped talking. One of them set his drink down on the bar very carefully, like the sound might draw attention to him. "Serafina, enough! You won't do this, you won't do that, all you're good for is bullying a young woman. There's a limit to how unreasonable you can be!" "You ink memorial cards part-time for old widows in Bensonhurst. With what they pay you, I'd be embarrassed to let you buy the gas for my car." "You live the life you live because of me. Where do you get the nerve to stick your nose in my business?" A sneer curled across his lips. "Gina works for this crew. She keeps my books and carries my messages. If I want to kiss her for a game, I will." "And what have you contributed? Not a cent toward the house or the wedding. You just expected to marry into all of this." "Take the money and sit quietly. If it's not enough, I'll give you more. But cause one more scene and I'll cancel tomorrow's ceremony myself." Wine stung my eyes. I wiped it from my face before the itching could spread, pressing my thumb against the callus on my middle finger. So objecting to the man I was about to marry kissing another woman was causing a scene. And five years of devotion, of standing beside him while he built everything from nothing, amounted to getting something for nothing. But Vincent didn't know. My grandfather had arranged a wedding gift months ago: property, shares, and capital for our future. His lawyers were finalizing the transfers. I'd planned to tell Vincent after the ceremony. He knew my surname. He had never asked which branch of the Falcone family I belonged to, and I'd never corrected his assumptions. Now it was clear he didn't deserve it. "Well, that works out perfectly. I was thinking the same thing." I said it coldly, turned, grabbed my coat, and walked toward the door. The moment I reached the front door, his voice came from behind me. "Hold on!" Vincent came down the marble staircase, smiling as though he already knew I would stay. "That Canada Goose you're wearing cost me two grand. Leave it here." "If you've got the guts to walk out, then don't take my things with you. Can't you afford your own clothes?" "Oh, and don't forget to leave every card I ever gave you." The mansion doors gaped wide open onto the long gravel drive, where his men stood smoking beside the cars. Wind laced with snow bit into the back of my neck. It still wasn't as cold as what I felt inside. Last winter, when the weather first turned, he'd complained that the coats I bought were cheap brands that didn't keep me warm. He'd thrown every single one of them out without asking. The next day, he'd given me the Canada Goose himself, telling me that things were better now, that the crew was finally earning, that he'd never let me freeze again. He remembered. He wanted me cold and humiliated enough to stay. In that moment, all I felt was regret. Regret that I'd been so blind about who he really was. One of the guests, an older associate who ran a trucking line under Vincent's protection, thought things had gone too far and tried to intervene. "Come on, Vinnie. It's below zero out there. She's barely wearing anything underneath. Without that coat, she'll freeze." "It's supposed to be a happy occasion. Don't let it end like this. Just swallow your pride and make up with your wife. There's no shame in that." Vincent clearly didn't see it that way. He smiled. "What wife? We haven't even had the ceremony. I spoiled her, and now she thinks she can threaten to leave whenever she likes." "Apologize, promise to get along with Gina, and I'll forgive you. Tomorrow goes ahead. You still get to be Mrs. Russo." Gina nestled against his side and settled in, beaming. "He's right, Fina. You wanted a rich husband. Why act surprised that he has options?"

"It's two in the morning, and in weather like this, no cab is coming out here. The nearest hotel is miles away. Try not to freeze to death on the side of the road." The moment the words left his mouth, Vincent seemed struck by his own idea. He pulled out his phone and dialed, tugging once at the knot of his tie while it rang. "Put the word out. Every hotel in New York that pays us, every one that owes us. Serafina Falcone doesn't get a room. Anywhere." My heart plummeted. This was Vincent's obedience test. He wanted me to understand that he could dictate my life on a whim, the way he moved trucks and men across the boroughs. He was trying to train me into submission, to break me into something compliant and small. I took a breath and set the cards linked to his accounts on the entryway table. I kept my own debit card. I stripped off the coat and dropped it into the fire burning in the entry hall. The flames surged, casting a bright orange glow across Vincent's stunned face. Behind him, one of his soldiers took half a step forward, then thought better of it. I didn't look back. I walked past the men at the gate and straight into the blizzard. The wind hit me like a wall. I pushed forward, shaking so hard my teeth rattled, arms wrapped tight around myself. Every step was a fight against the cold that clawed through my clothes and sank into my bones. At the main road, I managed to flag down a cab. I asked for the address of my calligraphy studio in the Bronx; I could find somewhere to stay nearby. The studio was closed when I arrived. On a side street off Arthur Avenue, I found a late-night café with its lights still on. The owner brought me tea, and I wrapped my hands around the cup. My eyelids grew impossibly heavy. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't support me. The room blurred. Through the haze, I felt hands on me. Groping. Tugging. I forced my eyes open and found myself staring straight into the owner's greasy, bloated face. The café that had been buzzing with people just moments ago was now completely empty. The metal security shutter had been pulled down to the floor. The owner leered at me, his grin wet and obscene. "Hey there, sweetheart. Pretty little thing like you, wandering in alone this late... you homeless or something?" "Poor baby. Let me take care of you." The tea. Something was wrong with it. Terror crashed over me like a wave. I bit down hard on my tongue. The sharp sting of pain cut through the fog in my head just enough. I shoved him with everything I had, scrambled toward the restroom in the corner, and threw myself inside. The lock clicked into place under my trembling fingers. I called 911 and gave the dispatcher the café's address before the signal cut out. One percent battery. Then Vincent's name flashed across the screen. Dazed and frightened, I answered. The sound that came through the speaker was unmistakable. Heavy breathing. The kind soaked in lust. "Where are the condoms from the bedroom drawer? Gina and I need them." His tone turned mocking. "Did you take them to be spiteful? Is that how desperate you are to ruin my night?" I swallowed back the nausea clawing up my throat and forced the words out. "Vincent, I'm at a café off Arthur Avenue." "The owner is trying to assault me. Please, come get me..." Vincent's voice went taut with alarm. "What? I'm on my way!" Then, in the very next second, Gina's voice slithered through the line, dripping with saccharine contempt. "Oh, please. Do you really believe her?" "I drove past that block just today. There's no café there. You're pulling a sympathy stunt to guilt Mr. Russo into caving first, aren't you?" "Mr. Russo, if you actually go, you're just rewarding her little tantrum. Next time she'll threaten to leave every time she doesn't get her way. In front of the whole crew. How embarrassing would that be?" Before I could get a single word out, Vincent's voice exploded through the phone. "Serafina, you have absolutely no shame! You'd stoop to a lie like this?" "Don't think I'm going to keep indulging you. You want to come back? Fine. Be kneeling outside my club by morning, where every man who walks in can see you, and admit you were wrong!" "You wanted to leave. Stop calling me to fix your life." The line went dead. A second later, the screen went black. Zero percent. Something inside me went cold and still, like ash after a fire burns out. Click. The bathroom lock gave way. The owner burst through the door, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked. That same revolting grin split his face. "Where do you think you're going, you little tramp? This is my place. You think I don't have a key?" "Trying to call your boyfriend for help? I heard every word. He's busy with some other woman and can't even be bothered with you."

"Put the phone down," he said. "No one's coming for you." In the depths of my despair, a deafening crash erupted from outside. The metal shutter was forced open, and people stormed in. "Let her go! Hands where I can see them!" The officers pulled him away from me. My emergency call had got through. Paramedics took me to the hospital, where I was treated and monitored while the police took my statement. A nurse found me a coat from the hospital's donated clothing. I borrowed a charger. Once I could think clearly, I sent my grandfather a message: I need to come home. I'll call when I'm discharged. The next morning, I called the calligraphy studio where I worked on invitations and memorial cards and told the owner I was leaving. After I was discharged, I bought inexpensive clothes from a shop nearby and booked a flight home to Port Sirena. But the second I stepped out onto the sidewalk, several of Vincent's soldiers closed in and blocked my path. Two of them stood at my back. One kept his hand inside his jacket. "Miss Falcone, Mr. Russo is throwing a party at the Sovereign Grand today. The crew's celebrating his two-year anniversary with Miss Marchetti." "He specifically asked that you come and put on a little show for Miss Marchetti. If you'll follow us, please." I frowned. "Get out of my way, or I'm calling the cops." The one in front, Rocco Bruno, Vincent's lead muscle, let out a contemptuous laugh and stepped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him. "Go ahead. We'll file a report of our own." "Mr. Russo says the coat you burned was worth a hundred grand. Destruction of property. Want to explain that to the cops?" "It was a gift, and he said it cost two thousand. You know he's lying." He smiled. It wasn't a legal argument. It was a threat. "Fine. Two thousand. I'll transfer it if that gets you out of my way." Rocco cracked his knuckles, one finger at a time, then snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it on the concrete at my feet. "Still giving orders?" "You're not his wife. You're nobody. Remember that." He jerked his chin at the others. "Take her." They dragged me into the back of a black sedan and sped off. When we arrived, the entire ballroom had been decorated to the nines. Russo men in rented tuxedos lined the walls, and associates from every front business Vincent owned were drinking his liquor and laughing too loudly at his jokes. Gina, dripping in designer couture and jewels, hung on Vincent's arm as they greeted guests together. She looked every bit the role of his real wife. The irony cut deep. Vincent had said he wanted something private. Yesterday's celebration had been dinner with a handful of friends, followed by drinks at his mansion. Most people in his circle hadn't even known we were planning to marry. I'd understood. I knew how hard he'd worked to build his crew. Besides, once I brought him home to meet my family, we'd throw a proper celebration. The whole East Coast would hear about it then, at every Family table and in every society column. So I hadn't minded. The Sovereign Grand was one of New York's most exclusive hotels. Its private ballroom belonged to the Castellano family's hospitality business. Booking it required connections Vincent liked to believe he'd earned on his own. And he'd booked it for Gina's anniversary. He'd even invited the press. When Vincent spotted me, he walked over with a frown. The men near him went quiet and drifted a step back. "The owner of that studio says you quit. Says you're leaving town. Where do you think you're going?" My voice was flat. "Home. To take care of my grandfather. Is that a problem?" A smug, superior smile spread across his face, and he gave the knot of his tie a satisfied tug. "So you've finally figured it out. Without my protection, you can't survive in this city. Your only option is crawling back to the sticks to slop pigs." "Wash Gina's underwear in front of everyone, and I'll forgive you. We can reschedule the ceremony. Start fresh." He had one of his couriers bring out a small basket. There had to be at least a dozen pairs inside. My family had encouraged my work since I was a child. They understood what my hands meant to me. I stared at him in disbelief. "Vincent Russo, is your brain screwed on backwards? Every word out of your mouth is garbage." "You spent last night with her, and now you want me to wash her underwear?"

"Let me make one thing clear: I'm not washing your mistress's underwear, and I'm not marrying you." Vincent's face went cold instantly. "Who told you to disrespect Gina in front of the whole crew yesterday? This is the debt you owe her, and you'll pay it!" "Drop the act. How much do you even make, inking memorial cards and teaching penmanship to old widows all day? I promised you the name. Mrs. Russo. Don't bite the hand that feeds you!" "This is the anniversary gift Gina wants most, and I'm going to give it to her!" As he spoke, he pulled an ebony-handled calligraphy pen from his breast pocket and sneered. "Serafina, I believe this means a lot to you. Am I right?" "If you don't want me to snap it in half right now, you'll do exactly as I say." My fists clenched instantly. That pen wasn't worth much money, but it was the last birthday gift my father ever gave me. He'd made it with his own hands. Shortly after that, he died in a car accident. I took a breath before answering. "Fine. I'll wash them." Then I bent down and picked up the plastic basin they'd prepared, my expression blank. "Can I go to the bathroom to fill this up now?" Only then did Vincent curl his lips in satisfaction. "Good girl. Keep Gina happy, and you get it back." He posted two of his soldiers at the door, broad backs blocking the frame, to make sure I couldn't run. I set the basin beneath the washroom faucet and turned on the water to cover my voice. I pressed the recessed emergency button on the side of my watch. In the café, drugged and panicking, I'd thought only of my phone. Now I remembered the other way I could reach help. Dante had given me the watch before I left Port Sirena, insisting I keep it even if I wanted nothing else from him. The watch connected through its own cellular line. After two rings, Dante Castellano answered. "I thought you'd thrown that watch away. What's this about? Finally decided I'm not so bad after all?" "If this is about the wedding, I already know. Are you all right?" My voice came out steady. "There isn't going to be a wedding. He's had me brought to the Sovereign Grand. His men took my phone. He wants me to wash his mistress's underwear in front of his crew." "I need your help, Dante." The other end went silent for half a second. When Dante spoke again, the teasing was gone. "The Sovereign Grand. Are you hurt?" "Not badly. He has the pen my father made. He's threatened to break it if I don't obey." "Stay where you are. I'm coming." I was brought back to Gina under escort, a soldier's hand clamped on my arm. Vincent had his arm around her waist, his tone tender. "Gina, today, as long as you don't say stop, Serafina will keep washing until you're satisfied." "How do you like your present?" "Oh my God, I love it! You're always so good to me, Mr. Russo!" The two of them locked lips in a long, shameless kiss, as if no one else existed, while his men raised their glasses and whistled. Gina sauntered over to me with a beaming smile. "So it turns out you didn't like barking like a dog, but you prefer doing this kind of thing? Wow. You're even trashier than I thought." "You should've just said so. I've got plenty more at home. But wait, you're not planning to wash them standing up, are you?" The moment the words left her mouth, Vincent flicked his wrist in a signal. Rocco stepped behind me and drove his foot into the back of my knee, forcing me to the ground. Mocking laughter erupted from every direction, echoing off the crystal chandeliers. "There we go. That's the proper position for getting things clean." I pulled the basket closer and lowered the underwear into the water. My fingers shook as I reached for the soap. Gina picked up a bottle of imported grappa with an elegant sweep of her hand, blinking innocently. "The thing is, I'm a bit of a germaphobe. Someone as filthy as you really grosses me out. You won't mind if I use a little alcohol to disinfect you first, right?" I didn't look at her. My gaze went past her, straight to the man behind her. My hands went still against the cold floor. My voice was level. "Vincent. Liquor makes me break out in hives. You know that." "I'm only going to ask you once. Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Something flickered across Vincent's face. Hesitation. His fingers drifted up to the knot of his tie and tugged. Before he could answer, Gina began to cry. "Mr. Russo, don't tell me you feel sorry for her. You promised you'd help me get my dignity back today."

"I'm only trying to teach your wife how to keep a proper, clean house. All she knows how to do is spend your money and throw jealous fits. How is a woman like that supposed to take care of a man like you?" "If you think I'm wrong, then cut me loose. Take the books away from me. I'll walk out of this hotel and never come back, and I won't bother either of you ever again!" Vincent wiped her tears with his thumb, then turned to me. "Serafina, a skin allergy isn't going to kill you. Take some extra medicine." "Gina's right. You need to learn some manners. Other men's wives don't act the way you do. Half the capos in this city keep a whole string of goomahs, and their wives don't say a word at Sunday dinner." "Stop upsetting Gina, and we'll put the wedding back on. Like I promised." My heart went completely cold. When Vincent's first crew fell apart, he'd been scammed out of everything. Not only was he penniless, he was half a million dollars in debt to men who did not wait politely for their money. I couldn't bear to watch him spiral into depression, lying awake night after night with one eye on the door. I hadn't wanted him to feel indebted to my family, so I let him keep believing I had very little. I told him I'd sold an apartment my parents had left me. The money paid his debts and gave him enough to start again. In fact, it had come from my family trust. Then I asked one of my grandfather's most accomplished godsons to pose as a mentor, sitting with Vincent one-on-one and teaching him how to run a crew, how to keep the books clean, and how to survive among the Families. After that, I quietly leaned on the Falcone name behind closed doors to bring in silent partners, unions, and protection, helping him claw his way back and earn a chair at the old-money tables of New York. And now, before he'd even fully secured his footing, he was already plotting to bite the hand that fed him and enjoy the company of another woman. He still believed I had nowhere else to go. Gina gleefully upended an entire bottle of liquor over my head. The alcohol burned my eyes like acid, forcing out involuntary tears. My hair clung to my face in wet, reeking strands. She poured five bottles in a row, making sure every inch of me was drenched before she finally stopped. Around the ballroom, Vincent's crew watched over the rims of their glasses, and not one of them looked away. She watched my skin swell red with the allergic reaction, watched me clench my jaw against the searing sting and the fire spreading across my body. Gina smiled, satisfied. She bent down and whispered in my ear. "Serafina, I thought that mouth of yours was so sharp. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" "You know as well as I do that Vinnie only cares about me now. All I have to do is say the word, and he'll make you drink that entire basin of underwear water." "Beg me in front of everyone, and maybe I'll let you off." So this was payback for last night. I was already on my knees. She wanted me to bow my head as well. Every person in that room would remember it. If I caved that easily, I wouldn't be Serafina Falcone. I went very still. Then I seized a fistful of her hair and shoved her entire head straight into the basin of dirty water and underwear. Gina choked instantly, arms flailing, thrashing wildly, but she couldn't lift her head no matter how hard she tried. One of Vincent's soldiers wrenched me off her. She collapsed to the side, gagging and coughing, but didn't forget to wail between heaves. "Vinnie! She's jealous because you chose to kiss me that night! She did this on purpose to get back at me!" "If you let her get away with this, I'm leaving you!" Vincent's face turned black as iron. He backhanded me so hard I crashed to the floor. My forehead struck the corner of the table, and a warm rush of blood ran down my face. "Serafina, you really don't know when to quit! You don't like me having a mistress? Fine. Then I'll make you the mistress. You can become the very thing you despise!" "I'll marry Gina instead. At least she knows how to behave." "You like using your hands so much? Then I'll take them. Somebody get over here and smash her fingers, one by one. Let's see if she ever dares touch Gina again!" Two men pinned me to the floor. Rocco planted a boot across my right forearm, holding my hand flat against the marble. Gina tossed aside the towel she'd been drying her face with and flashed me a victor's smile. One of the other men handed Rocco a small iron hammer. Keeping his boot on my forearm, he lined it up with my fingers and raised it. Just as the hammer was about to come crashing down, the ballroom doors exploded inward with a deafening boom. Dante Castellano stood in the doorway, snow melting on the shoulders of his coat. Cassio Greco, his underboss, stood beside him. A dozen armed men followed them in, moving to cover the exits. In the next instant, every person in the room shot to their feet, gasping in unison. Glasses froze halfway to mouths. Rocco's hammer hung in the air above my hand and did not fall. "Mr. Castellano! What brings you here?!"