When You Make A Deal With The Biker Mafia

Matteo

Alessandro had barely staggered into his bedroom before I shook my head in disgust.

Of course, he would accept my offer. Who wouldn’t?

Coward.

But even as the word left my mind, my gaze snapped to Adriana’s room. Something in my chest tightened. An instinct honed from years in blood and war. The hairs on my neck stood.

Something wasn’t fucking right.

I stormed down the hall, pushed the door open.

The bed was empty,Blanket tossed and the window was left wide open.

A spark detonated in my veins, rage and panic colliding into a single inferno.

Where the fuck did my wife go?!

I turned, stalking back toward Alessandro’s room. The old drunk was standing at the window, shoulders slumped, eyes glassy with defeat. For a fleeting second, I almost felt pity for him. Almost.

But pity doesn’t change the truth; his daughter belongs to me.

“Where the fuck is my wife, old man?” My voice rasped like broken glass as I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back from the window.

“She is not your wife yet!” he spat, hatred searing through his whiskey-soaked breath. “And you know where she sleeps. Check her room. Don’t come in here threatening me—”

The back of my hand hit his head before he finished. He seemed to forget who he was talking to. I was a Capo.

“She’s not in her room,” I growled, my grip tightening. “If you don’t want your cock fed to the dogs, you’d better bring her out right now.”

His face went pale, trembling against my hold. “I don’t know, Matteo. You… you were the one who dropped her off.”

“Forget it,” I snarled, throwing him to the floor.

I stalked back into Adriana’s room, inhaled the faint trace of her perfume still hanging in the air, and dialed Marco.

He picked up on the second ring, breathing heavy. “You just interrupted me mid-stroke, Matteo. This better be good.”

“She ran,” I bit out. “Adriana’s gone. I need eyes everywhere. Track her phone, her friends, anything. Alert the men. Standby until you’ve got a location, then call me.”

“Alright but—”

“Marco,” I cut in. “This isn’t negotiable.”

Silence. Then: “Why did she run?”

“Because we’re getting married,” I said flatly. “Next week was the plan, but after tonight… it may be today. Tell our men to dress fancy. I want them to be present.”

I ended the call before his sigh of protest finished.

Behind me, Alessandro stumbled in, eyes wild. “Where is my daughter?”

“Wear a suit,” I ordered coldly. “We’re marrying her tonight. Your debts are cleared. You’re a free man.”

He nodded with his head bent, never meeting my eyes.

I leaned against the open window, staring into the night. My chest burned, not from anger, but from something deeper…an ache I couldn’t kill no matter how hard I tried.

Adriana.

I remembered the first time I saw her. Her mama’s funeral.

I’d been with half the women in this city, burned through them like cigarettes. But Adriana… She was different.

She wasn’t just beautiful—though Christ, she was. That day, she looked carved by God Himself to drive men into madness. But it wasn’t her face or her body that snared me. It was her fire.

She didn’t cry. Not once. While mourners wailed and prayed, Adriana stood like stone. No sadness. No weakness. Only anger radiated from her eyes. Eyes that never left mine.

I remember shifting under her stare, me, the man who owned half this city, feeling stripped bare in front of a girl who hadn’t yet lived half her life.

That night, I asked Alessandro for her hand. He refused. Screamed at me. Drunken rage, spittle flying.

It didn’t matter. Something had already broken loose inside me. She was in my blood.

I learned everything about her in the weeks after: the books she read, the places she wandered, the way she bit her lip when she was thinking. Obsession isn’t even the word. I drowned in her, even without her near me.

I tried therapy, if you can believe it. Me. A Capo sitting in a room talking about “letting go.” But nothing cured it. Nothing burned her out of me.

So when Alessandro’s debts mounted, I let them. I could’ve saved him. Instead, I sharpened the knife and waited for him to fall. Because when he did, I’d finally get her.

And now she thought she could run?

My phone buzzed, dragging me back. Marco’s voice was sharp this time. “She’s heading to New Jersey. With her friend Ruby. I’m sending coordinates. Some of our men already have eyes on the car.”

I scoffed. “My father’s territory. Smart girl.”

“Matteo…” Marco hesitated. “With all due respect, if you set foot there, it’s war. Colombo’s people are thick in New Jersey. You’ll blow our plan to hell.”

“She’s worth it,” I snapped, my voice cracking like thunder. “I’d burn this city to ash for her. Keep your eyes on them. I’m coming.”

Alessandro reappeared in a dark blue suit, sulking like a child.

“Your daughter’s in New Jersey,” I told him. “When we retrieve her, we marry.”

“You’ll be killed,” he whispered, chest heaving.

I grinned, the thrill pumping in my blood. “I’d like to see them try.”

Minutes later, we were flying down the highway, engines howling, my men trailing in a convoy. The city blurred past, neon bleeding into the night.

Her scent still lingered in my lungs, driving me faster.

When we hit the edge of Jersey, the streets grew darker, narrower. My father’s old hunting ground. This place chewed girls alive. It was all drugs, flesh, broken dreams.

Adriana wouldn’t last a week here. And the thought of anyone else laying a hand on her made me see red.

We slowed near a strip of cracked asphalt where Marco’s ping had landed.

Then I saw her.

Adriana stood under the faint glow of her phone, the only light on that desolate block. Her hair shimmered faintly in the dark as she looked around, suspicion flashing across her face. She slipped her phone into her pocket.

“She doesn’t even realize the danger,” Alessandro muttered.

“She’s mine,” I said. “She’ll learn.”

I signaled Lorenzo. He melted from the car into the shadows, moving low and silent. Adriana stiffened, eyes darting. She felt it. Predator and prey, instincts colliding. Then her gaze flicked to my car. Recognition.

She bolted.

“Fuck,” I growled, slamming the accelerator as she tore into the trees beyond the road. Lorenzo chased, his footsteps pounding after her.

Branches whipped her face, gravel skidded under her shoes, but she didn’t stop.

I swung the car around, tires screaming, cutting off the road where I knew she’d break out. My heart slammed against my ribs but it was not from fear of losing her, but from the wild, rabid truth. She was mine. She’d always been mine.

She burst from the woods, hair wild, chest heaving, flagging down traffic with frantic arms.

“Adriana!” I roared, stepping from the car.

A taxi screeched to a halt. Relief flickered across her face, then my blood turned cold.

The driver’s arm stretched out the window, a tattoo visible even from where I stood. A jagged ink mark every Diavoli knew too well.

The Colombo tattoo.

“No—”

She dove inside before I could stop her.

My gun was in my hand before the thought even formed. One shot cracked into the tire, another into the driver’s wrist. Chaos exploded. Screams, cars braking, people scattering.

The bastard fired back through the window, glass shattering around me, then slammed the accelerator. The cab fishtailed and sped off, with Adriana trapped inside.

Colombo traffickers. They hunted girls like wolves, circling the lost and desperate. She couldn’t have picked a worse car if she tried.

But they made one mistake.

They took my wife.

And I would raze this city to its bones before I let them keep her.