Five Powerful Women Wanted Him—But the Mafia Boss Chose the Waitress

"Adrian, darling," Elena Romanov purred, her Russian accent thick and calculated. She didn't look at Liya. "We were beginning to think you wouldn't show your face tonight."

"I never miss an opportunity to celebrate, Elena," Adrian replied smoothly, his grip on Liya's waist tightening slightly. "Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Liya."

Elena finally turned her icy blue gaze to Liya. She looked her up and down, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips.

"Fiancée?" Elena laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "How quaint. Tell me, Liya, what prestigious family do you belong to? I don't recognize the name."

"I don't belong to a family, Ms. Romanov," Liya said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I belong to Adrian."

A murmur rippled through the nearby listeners. Adrian's chest rumbled with a suppressed chuckle.

Isabella Falcone stepped up beside Elena, her dark eyes flashing. "A pretty little nobody. How long do you think this charade will last, Adrian? The Commission will never accept a street rat as the head of the Moretti syndicate."

"The Commission will accept whoever I put on the throne beside me," Adrian warned, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. "And if any of you speak to my future wife with disrespect again, I will personally see to it that your shipping routes are shut down permanently."

Isabella scoffed, stepping closer. "You can't protect her forever, Adrian. She's weak. She doesn't understand our world."

Before Adrian could respond, a waiter holding a silver tray bumped harshly into Liya's shoulder.

"My apologies, miss," the waiter muttered, turning away quickly.

Liya gasped. She felt a sharp, stinging pain on her bare shoulder. She looked down and saw a tiny, localized drop of blood welling up against her crimson skin.