Relucatanaly Ruined & Owned By The Mafia Novel

The Mask He Never Removed by Ariana Drew 6 Summary In Chapter 6 of "The Mask He Never Removed," Lucia prepares for her wedding, feeling trapped and overwhelmed by the expectations placed upon her. Her grandmother, Nonna Rosa, tries to comfort her as she adjusts Lucia's veil, but the weight of the moment is suffocating. Lucia feels like a lamb being led to slaughter rather than a bride, expressing her desire for freedom rather than beauty. The conversation reveals her deep fear of the marriage and the sacrifices she has made to protect her younger sister, Caterina, from a similar fate.

As the ceremony approaches, Lucia's dread intensifies. She is forced to confront the reality of marrying a man she doesn't know, and her father's cold demeanor only heightens her anxiety. The masked groom, Dante, is introduced, and Lucia realizes he is not just any man, but the notorious King of Dublin. The revelation fills her with anger and betrayal, as she recalls their previous encounter and the way he had toyed with her emotions. The wedding feels like a business transaction, stripping her of agency and reducing her to property.

When the moment arrives for Dante to remove his mask, Lucia is struck with shock as she recognizes him as the man she had met the night before. The realization that he had known all along adds to her sense of betrayal. Their shared history complicates the situation, and as they stand together, the tension is palpable. The priest prompts them to kiss, and despite her internal turmoil, Lucia is forced to comply, leading to a moment filled with both dread and reluctant acceptance of her new reality as Dante's wife. The chapter concludes with a chilling exchange between them.

Dante's possessive nature emerges as he taunts her about her past night, and Lucia's defiance shines through her anger. Their dynamic is established as one of power and control, with Lucia determined to resist his influence, while Dante revels in the dominance he holds over her. This sets the stage for a tumultuous relationship filled with conflict, manipulation, and the struggle for autonomy in a world where she feels like a pawn.

Continue Regular Chapter Reading Below **CHAPTER 6** **LUCIA** "Hold still, bambina," Nonna Rosa murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she fussed over my veil for what felt like the hundredth time. The tremor in her weathered hands was evident as she delicately smoothed out the antique lace, a precious heirloom that had adorned my mother and her mother before her. "You look beautiful. Just like Mama Elena would have wanted." Beautiful. What a cruel joke that word was.

I gazed into the cracked mirror of this dimly lit church preparation room, and all I could see was a lamb dressed for slaughter. The white silk gown clung to my frame like a funeral shroud, and the veil draped over my head felt as though it were woven from the very fabric of despair. "I don't want to be beautiful, Nonna," I replied, my voice barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of my emotions. "I want to be free." "Shh, mia cara." Her brown eyes, so reminiscent of my mother's, shimmered with unshed tears that she fought valiantly to conceal.

"Your papa says if you are a good wife, if you make no trouble, perhaps your husband will be kind. Perhaps-" "Perhaps he won't beat me unconscious on our wedding night?" I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and foreign to my ears. "What wonderful possibilities await." Nonna Rosa's expression crumpled, and it felt like a dagger to my heart. She had been my guardian since I was nine, after Mama died giving birth to my sister, Caterina. She was the only mother I had ever truly known, and witnessing her heartbreak over my impending fate was nearly unbearable.

"At least you'll be with me," I said, forcing a smile that felt like a mask itself, a thin veneer over my dread for her sake. "Papa promised you could come." "Si, bambina. Wherever you go, Nonna Rosa goes too." She squeezed my hands, her grip warm and reassuring. "And Caterina-" "No." The word slipped out before I could stop it, firm and resolute. "Cat stays with them. That was the deal." The deal. As if my sixteen-year-old sister's future was merely a business transaction to be negotiated. But that was precisely what it was, wasn't it?

I would marry this old stranger, and in return, Cat would remain safe for a few more years. Perhaps long enough to find someone who would genuinely love her, someone who wouldn't treat her like property. It was the only reason I hadn't attempted to flee again after Mario dragged me home last night. The only reason I had donned this wretched dress and allowed them to paint my face like a doll. "She doesn't understand," I murmured, my thoughts drifting to the way Cat had cried when I broke the news of my marriage. How she had begged Papa to let her accompany us. "She thinks this is romantic.

A fairy tale." "She's young," Nonna Rosa said gently, her voice laced with understanding. "Young girls dream of princes." "There are no princes in our world. Only monsters wearing crowns." A sharp knock interrupted our whispered conversation, and Mario's voice thundered through the door like a death knell. "Time to go, sister. Your groom awaits." Panic surged through me, and my hands began to tremble violently, forcing me to grip the edge of the vanity for support. This was it. No more delays, no more wishing for a miracle.

In less than an hour, I would be bound to a stranger for the rest of my life. "Lucia." Nonna Rosa cupped my face in her hands, her touch grounding me. "Whatever happens, remember-you are Elena's daughter. You possess her strength. Her spirit. That man may own your body, but your soul belongs to you alone." I nodded, unable to trust my voice to convey my gratitude. With her help, I stood, feeling the weight of the dress, the veil, the expectations pressing down on me like a tomb.

In the hallway, Mario waited with Papa, both clad in their finest suits, as if they were attending a celebration rather than my funeral. Papa's eyes were cold and calculating, assessing my appearance to ensure I looked appropriately virginal. "Beautiful," he remarked with a sense of satisfaction. "Your husband will be pleased." Husband. I didn't even know his name. "What's he called?" I asked as we began our march toward the church doors. "My... husband?" Mario and Papa exchanged a knowing glance. "Does it matter?" Papa replied dismissively.

"You'll call him whatever he wants you to call him." They flanked me like prison guards as we approached the grand oak doors. Through the stained glass windows, I could see the church was filled with hundreds of unfamiliar faces, several men in dark suits and shades standing ominously around the perimeter, guns concealed beneath their jackets. How had they managed to fill a Dublin church overnight? "Remember," Papa murmured in my ear as we reached the entrance, "you smile. You say your vows. You sign the papers. And you keep your fucking mouth shut about everything else.

Cat's future depends on your behavior today." The threat was unmistakable. One misstep, one moment of defiance, and my baby sister would pay the price. The doors creaked open with a groan that echoed like the gates of hell, and suddenly I was walking down an endless aisle lined with strangers. All eyes were on me, and I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead at the altar where my fate awaited. Through the haze of my veil, I caught sight of him-tall, broad-shouldered, clad in an elegant black tuxedo that, surprisingly, fit his masculine frame well.

To my astonishment, he wasn't frail or shaky, but that didn't mean he was young. His face, however, was obscured by a sleek black mask that covered everything from his forehead to his cheekbones. What kind of man hides his face at his own wedding? An ugly one, probably. Or perhaps it was some twisted Irish tradition I had never heard of. Regardless, the mask gave him an air of menace, making him appear like a figure from a nightmare, waiting to claim his prize. As I drew closer, I noticed other details that contradicted my expectations.

His fingers were long and elegant, adorned with rings that screamed of his position in the mafia-the Don. Definitely not the gnarled claws of an old man. His hair was dark and perfectly styled, not thin or gray. His posture radiated confidence, even a predatory grace, as if he were a wolf poised to pounce. He was younger than I had anticipated. Perhaps even handsome beneath that mask. But none of that mattered. Young and handsome could be just as cruel as old and ugly. Sometimes more so. Papa and Mario deposited me at the altar like a package being delivered, stepping back to grant us space.

The priest-a thin, nervous-looking man who kept glancing around as if expecting someone to object-cleared his throat. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." His words washed over me like white noise. I focused on breathing, on maintaining my composure, on resisting the urge to run screaming from the church. The masked stranger beside me stood perfectly still, but I could feel his eyes on me through the veil. Was he pleased with what he saw? Disappointed? Did it even matter to him, or was I merely another business acquisition?

"Do you, Dante Lorcan Cummiskey, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Dante. His name was Dante. Wait. Dante Cummiskey. The King of Dublin. I had heard whispers about my husband from the maids in Papa's house, hushed conversations about the Irishman who had built an empire on the bones of his enemies. They said he was old and ruthless, that he had killed his first man at thirteen. That he collected debts in blood and ruled Dublin's underworld with an iron fist. That was who they had sold me to. Not just any monster, but the most dangerous predator in the city.

But I didn't imagine... Wait, I met a Dante last night. I almost slept with a Dante last night. "I do," he said, his voice low and smooth, imbued with a hint of an Irish accent. There was something achingly familiar about it that made my skin crawl. Coincidence. Yes, it was just a coincidence. "And do you, Lucia Nyx Moretti, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, honor, serve, and obey him until death do you part?" The words lodged in my throat like shards of broken glass. Love? This stranger who had purchased me like cattle? Honor?

A man whose reputation was built on violence and fear? Serve? Like a slave would her master? Mario's warning echoed in my mind, and Cat's face flashed before my eyes. "L... I do." The lie nearly made me retch. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The priest's voice trembled slightly. "You may now remove your masks and kiss the bride." I held my breath in agitation, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. My husband reached up with steady hands and pulled off his mask, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud.

Lord knows my spirit left my body in that moment. The face that greeted me was achingly familiar. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, piercing eyes that had haunted my dreams all night. Full lips that had whispered dark, filthy things to my skin in that penthouse right before leaving me hanging. It was him. Dante. The stranger I had tried to seduce. So when his name implied he was the King of Dublin, it meant literally. Like the mafia king type of shit. Anger slowly replaced surprise. He was the same bastard who had left me waiting while he went off to handle "business." My business, apparently.

All this time, he had known. When I told him about my arranged marriage, when I begged him to ruin me, when I offered him my virginity-he had known he was the groom. He had known I was his bride, and he had toyed with me like a cat with a mouse. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. My knees nearly buckled, and I had to grab his arm to stay upright. The impassive expression he wore made me want to punch him right where the sun doesn't shine, the sick bastard. "Hello, wife," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. But his surprise didn't last long either.

When the priest gestured for him to lift my veil, when those clouded eyes finally met my face clearly, his blank expression faltered. Recognition dawned in his gaze like the first light of dawn, quickly followed by something that might have been regret. Or perhaps just annoyance that his little game had become complicated. We stood there frozen, two players in a cosmic joke that neither of us found amusing. "You may kiss the bride," the priest prompted nervously. Dante's shock gradually morphed into a frown, then a scowl, and finally another frown.

When the priest tapped him lightly, his shock melted away, replaced by a strict demeanor I remembered from the club. "Looks like I get to keep you after all, little rabbit. And I do believe I promised you something last night about these sweet lips." Oh my God, he fucking knew! His breath fanned against my skin as he leaned down slowly, his voice dark with both promise and threat. "I guess I wrapped the perfect wedding gift for myself." I fought with every ounce of strength to keep my hands from wrapping around his throat and squeezing until there was no air left in him.

But I'd need a ladder to do that, so I stood there, perfectly still as he leaned down and briefly, very briefly, brushed his lips over mine. Everyone erupted in applause as if they had witnessed something beautiful instead of a predator claiming his prey. Dante pulled back, fingers brushing an imaginary stain from my lips. His gaze locked onto mine as he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear: "If you fucked someone else last night, better say it now... so your father still has a daughter to call his own tomorrow." "Fuck you," I hissed, my eyes blazing into his. "I wish I did.

And thank God you didn't get to touch me-because you never will. Ever." He smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I think I hate you already, wife." And just like that, the dreadful realization sank in. I was married to the King of Dublin. Conclusion As the applause echoed around us, I felt the weight of my new reality settle heavily on my shoulders. This was not a fairy tale, nor a romantic adventure; it was a prison built on the foundation of betrayal and manipulation.

The warmth of Nonna Rosa's hands and the innocent dreams of my sister Cat felt like distant memories, overshadowed by the cold, hard truth of my situation. Dante Cummiskey, the man I had unknowingly invited into my life, stood beside me, a smirk playing on his lips as if he relished the power he wielded over me. My heart raced with a mix of anger and fear, knowing that my freedom was now a mere illusion, snatched away by the very man who had whispered sweet nothings to me just hours before. I was no longer just Lucia; I was now a pawn in a game far more dangerous than I had ever imagined.

Yet, beneath the layers of fear and resentment, a flicker of defiance ignited within me. I would not be a silent victim; I would not let my spirit be extinguished. As Dante's gaze held mine, I felt an unfamiliar strength surging through me-a resolve to reclaim my identity and protect my sister at all costs. This marriage might have been forced upon me, but my spirit remained unyielded. I would navigate this treacherous world with caution, using every ounce of cunning I possessed.

Secrets from Dante's past may come to light, revealing not just the man behind the mask, but the complexities of loyalty, power, and betrayal that define their world. Expect tension to mount as Lucia must decide whether to fight against her circumstances or embrace the unexpected twists that come with being the wife of a notorious mobster. The question looms: can she outmaneuver the dangers surrounding them, or will she find herself ensnared in a game where the rules are written in blood?