I’ll Marry Another Mafia Instead Chapter 01

I’ll Marry Another Mafia Instead Chapter 01

The day we went to try on our wedding outfits, my mafia fiancé suddenly pushed aside the suit the store clerk handed him.

“I don’t need it’.”

I turned around, stunned. “What do you mean?”

Dante Moretti casually crushed out his cigarette and smiled. “I won’t be there on the wedding day. You go ahead and try on your wedding dress.”

A wave of absurdity washed over me, and my voice came out hoarse. “But you’re the groom. How could you not show up? Dante, you’ve called off our wedding seven times already. What is it this time?”

Dante gave a careless shrug. “I’ve been chasing this girl lately. She’s different from other women. There will be media coverage at the wedding. If she finds out I’m marrying someone else, she’ll be devastated.”

“The wedding can go on without the groom, can’t it? Isn’t that how our engagement party worked? If it doesn’t pan out, we can always try again later, okay?”

My entire body went rigid, but Dante didn’t seem to notice.

He just turned and walked away on those long legs of his.

The clerks exchanged awkward glances. I took a deep breath and reeled off a string of measurements. “Alter the suit to these sizes.”

A wedding can’t go on without a groom.

Fine then. I’ll just find another one.

…

My phone kept buzzing, all messages from that girl’s boyfriend.

First, he begged me to talk some sense into Dante, to stop him from tearing them apart.

Then he called me useless—said I was pathetic for not being able to hold onto my own man, asked why I didn’t just go kill myself.

I didn’t reply to a single text.

Of course I’d tried talking to Dante about it.

But every time I brought up the wedding, he’d brush me off with a joke first, then look at me with barely concealed irritation and ask, “Serena White, are you that desperate to get married?”

His familiar face started to blur. But I still remembered the boy he was at seventeen, how he’d blushed and said, “Serena, when we grow up, I’m gonna marry you.”

I was lost for a moment. Was this really the same Dante from back then?

We were the talk of the whole city—the classic mafia royalty childhood sweethearts.

My parents used to laugh and scold me fondly, “Serena, Dante has spoiled you rotten.”

I loved high-end jewelry and couture gowns. Back then, even as the Don’s son, Dante was often short on cash, sometimes even struggling to afford a meal.

Whenever people asked about it, he’d just flash that carefree smile of his. “Blown all my money at the auction last week. Bought Serena an antique ring. Worth every penny, though.”

I heard he’d kicked up another fuss at the auction house last night. Over nothing more than that girl taking an extra glance at a display case.

Outside the bridal shop, that black Rolls-Royce was rocking slightly. Soundproof, of course.

But if one got close enough, they could still hear some noises.

The girl was whimpering, begging him to be gentler.

He chuckled lowly. “Did he just text you? Read it out loud.”

“I…I’ll work hard. I’ll give you a good life.” Her voice was thick with mockery. “Don’t leave me.”

Funny.

Dante had said those exact same words to me once.

I’d never been a woman with a sharp intuition.

Even when this relationship started to rot from the inside out, I still felt like I was living in a sweet, honeyed dream.

Dante wasn’t like those guys who went out of their way to hide their infidelity. He just called me directly, his voice a little breathless. “Serena, I’m in the middle of…”

At that moment, I was showing off all the little trinkets he’d sent me from New York.

For years, no matter where he traveled on business, whenever he saw something interesting, he’d buy it and send it to me.

I thought it was a bad connection. So like an idiot, I asked, “What are you doing, honey? I can’t hear you.”

A pause. The rustle of clothing. A man’s sigh. A woman’s shy, flustered laughter.

“You idiot!”

The summer in the city had never felt this cold. A chill surged up from the depths of my bones.

I took a red-eye flight back home. Tears streamed down my face nonstop.

Dante opened the door, still half-asleep, shirtless, with scratch marks on his stomach that looked like they were burning—like they were screaming accusations.

He brushed his thumb gently over my swollen eyes. No explanation, no apology.

“Do you want to break up, Serena?”