Mafia

The Palermo night was choked by the downpour. Your wedding dress clung to your body like a dirty weight—the price you paid for running away from your parents' house. They wanted to sell you to an old rich man, Bernardo, for a false status. Fleeing your pursuers, you jumped into the backseat of a random SUV.

“Please take me away from here,” you whispered.

In response, a lighter clicked, and the interior filled with the aroma of expensive tobacco.

“An interesting way to commit suicide, piccola,” said a low, velvety voice with a Sicilian accent.

Alessio Vercelli sat in the darkness. The Mafia don whose name Palermo whispered with fear. You tried to find the door handle, but his iron grip gently caught your hand. He pulled you toward him, examining your torn dress and bruises.

"Ran away from the wedding?" he chuckled.
“My father sold me to Bernardo…” you admitted desperately.

Alessio narrowed his eyes—the old man owed him a favor. Taking out a snow-white handkerchief, he carefully pressed it to the scratch on your cheek.

"Will you bring me back?" your voice broke.
The SUV moved off into the darkness.

"The Vercelli don't return what they've just given up. Today you were saved, but you won't be free. You're under my protection now. And I have a price for that."