I Married the Wrong Mafia Prince
Description
Isabella D'Angelo has spent her life obeying - the perfect daughter of one of the most powerful mafia families in Italy. Promised to a man she despises, she's ready to sacrifice her heart for the sake of duty. But when her fiance humiliates her at the altar, Isabella makes the one choice she was never allowed: she runs. Lost, barefoot, and broken, she crosses into forbidden territory - and falls into the arms of Leandro Moretti, the son of her family's oldest enemy. Torn between blood loyalty and the first taste of real freedom, Isabella and Leandro strike a dangerous secret bond. But in their world, love is a betrayal - and some betrayals are paid for in blood.
Chapter 1
Feb 26, 2026
Isabella’s POV
I had always thought that if I stood still enough, smiled softly enough, obeyed perfectly enough, my life would somehow feel right. That if I folded my hands the way my mother had taught me, wore the crosses my father had given me, and said the right things to the right people, I'd be proud of the girl in the mirror.
But standing there, drowning in layers of imported lace and silk, I didn’t even recognize myself.
The mirror stared back at me, cruel and unforgiving. A bride. A daughter. A pawn.
My wedding dress was beautiful. Ivory white, with pearls sewn into the sleeves, the train long enough to drag half the cathedral with me. My hair was pinned back, my makeup was flawless, my nails painted a soft, obedient pink.
I hated it.
Not because I didn’t look beautiful. I did. I looked exactly how a D'Angelo daughter should look on her wedding day: perfect, polished, untouchable.
But inside, I felt like I was suffocating.
My hands trembled as I touched the bodice of the gown. It wasn’t a dress. It was a prison.
"You look stunning, cara," my mother whispered behind me, smoothing the veil over my shoulders. Her eyes glistened with pride. She didn’t see the way my chest tightened, the way my throat burned. I nodded through the reflection because that was what I was supposed to do. Smile because that was what good daughters did.
I thought about Elio Conti, waiting for me at the altar.
My fiancé since I was sixteen. Promised to him like a contract signed in blood. A deal meant to unite the Contis and the D'Angelos into one unstoppable force, to gain more power, more control. My father, Isaac D'Angelo, couldn’t have been prouder.
Elio. Handsome, charming, perfect on paper. Perfect in public, but cruel when no one was looking. He controlled with smiles, but hurt people with words that never left marks. Cheated with girls who giggled and texted him after midnight. Girls like Natalie Romano.
Natalie, who wasn’t even ashamed. She was certainly his favorite toy.
Every time I tried to say something about Elio’s cheating habits, my parents brushed it off. "Normal," they said. "He’s just having fun before settling down."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. My father expected perfection today. My mother expected a daughter she could brag about.
I forced myself to turn from the mirror.
It was time.
The cathedral was already packed when I stepped inside, my arm looped through my father's. Three hundred guests. Allies. Journalists. Detectives in civilian clothes pretending they didn’t notice who was sitting in the front pews. Security guards with earpieces tucked behind their ears.
Everyone was watching. Let me repeat that again, everyone was watching me, ready to get married tonight.
The organ played. My steps were measured. My smile was frozen. I tried my best to look normal and happy.
And there he was.
Elio stood at the altar, handsome in his black tuxedo, his smile wide and wicked. I took another step toward him, and my heart beat so hard it hurt.
I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him. I didn’t want any of it.
But I kept walking, because daughters of mafia men didn’t get to choose.
The priest spoke, and I barely heard him over the rush of blood in my ears. My fingers were cold and numb. I kept my eyes down. Smile. Breathe.
"Elio Conti, do you take Isabella D'Angelo to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
I held my breath.
Elio smirked, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, "I take…you Natalie, to be my wife."
The world stopped.
For a second, I thought I heard wrong. Had he just said Natalie’s name?
But then I saw it.
He was looking—not at me—but over my shoulder. Toward the pews. Toward her.
Natalie Romano.
She was sitting there, chewing gum, smirking, bold as anything. When she caught me staring, she made a lewd hand gesture at Elio, subtle enough that most wouldn't notice. I looked at her, still not believing that this was happening in real time.
My stomach turned. My vision blurred.
There was a ripple through the crowd—laughter. Soft, awkward at first, then louder as people decided it must be a joke.
Of course it was a joke. Elio Conti would never humiliate the D'Angelos like this. Right?
Elio chuckled and faked a cough. "I mean Isabella D’Angelo," he said smoothly, giving the crowd a wink.
But it was too late.
I saw the truth. The mockery. The betrayal.
He didn’t love me. He never did. He paraded me like a trophy while sneaking around with her. He thought I'd smile and bow my head and thank him for choosing me over his countless side pieces.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear this perfect, heavy dress off my body and throw it in his smug face.
My father’s face was stone. My mother was frozen.
The priest hesitated, glancing between us.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t marry him. I just couldn’t.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice shaking but loud enough to echo through the cathedral.
Everyone turned.
"I need a moment," I said, forcing a polite smile onto my face. "Just ten minutes. Please."
There was murmuring. My father started to rise, but I held up a hand, and somehow, he let me go.
I turned and walked—no, ran—down the side aisle, my dress snagging on the pews, my veil slipping from my head. I pushed through the heavy door and stumbled back into the waiting room where I'd gotten dressed that morning. Locking the door behind me, I pressed my back to it, sliding down to the floor, gasping for breath.
Tears blurred my vision, but I wiped them away angrily. I couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.
My mind spun. Should I run? Should I go back out there and pretend like nothing happened? Could I really live the rest of my life with a man who didn’t even respect me enough to fake it at our wedding?
A sharp knock rattled the door.
"Isabella, open this door," my mother's voice called out, tight and urgent. "You have five minutes to compose yourself. Do you hear me? Five minutes. Then you go back out there and finish this."
Finish this.
As if marrying Elio was just a business deal I had to sign.
I hugged my knees to my chest, shaking. I hated Elio. I hated Natalie. I hated myself for ever thinking I could endure this. I stared at the door, the cheap gold handle shaking slightly as my mother tried again.
No. I wouldn’t.
I rose to my feet, tore off the heavy veil, and slipped out the side window, landing hard on the cobblestone below. The city stretched before me, wide and wild and unknown. I didn’t look back. I ran—because anything, anything was better than belonging to Elio Conti.
I burst through the side door of the cathedral, heels clattering against the marble steps. The cold air slapped my face. I ripped off the heels, tossed them aside, and ran barefoot into the city. My expensive dress dragged behind me. My hair came undone. My heart pounded so loud I couldn’t think.
I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t go back.
Not to Elio. Not to my parents. Not to the life they'd trapped me in.
I ran down alleys, across streets, ignoring the gasps and shouts of strangers. I didn’t care if I looked insane. I didn’t care if someone saw.
Let them see.
Let them all see.
I needed to escape. I needed to find something real, something that was mine.
I needed to run away—as far from Elio Conti as possible—and never come back. I wanted nothing to do with him. Not his lies. Not his games. Not his touch. I would rather lose everything than ever belong to him.
I Married the Wrong Mafia Prince
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