The Capo's Deadly Bride

The steady hum of the jet's engine filled the luxurious cabin.

Seated in the opulent, cream-leather chair, Marco Donato's fingers moved swiftly across the keys of his laptop.

His eyes—dark grey—were locked on the screen, his expression sharp and focused.

In his mid-twenties, Marco's entire presence radiated dominance. His tall, muscular physique filled the seat with an effortless grace, his black hair styled just enough to maintain a hint of messiness, giving him a charming look.

The dim lighting of the jet’s interior cast sharp shadows across his face, emphasizing the stern line of his lips.

He typed out a quick message to his family, and just then, the door to the cabin opened softly.

Gino, his trusted right-hand man, entered. A hulking figure with an athletic build, Gino always bow to Marco, though he carried the strength of a man not easily intimidated.

Gino bowed his head slightly in respect. "Boss, is there anything you would like?"

Marco didn’t look up. "Just wine," he replied in a low, authoritative tone, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Without another word, Gino nodded and exited the room, leaving Marco to return to his work. Minutes passed, the only sound being the quiet clicks of the keyboard and the occasional flick of Marco’s eyes as he reviewed his messages.

Moments later, the cabin door opened again, this time revealing the hostess. Her figure was flawless, her uniform tailored to show off her curves.

She carried a tray with a glass of fine red wine, approaching Marco slowly.

The hostess leaned forward to set the glass on the table. The neckline of her blouse slipped down slightly, revealing a generous glimpse of her cleavage.

Marco's eyes flicked toward her for a second.

He saw the attempt—the practised seduction so many women tried around him—but he remained indifferent.

His gaze shifted away immediately, showing not a hint of interest.

With a subtle, dismissive wave of his hand, he gestured for her to leave.

The hostess's face faltered for a brief moment, disappointment flickering in her eyes, but she quickly recovered her professional composure.

She straightened up, flashed a forced smile, and exited the cabin.

Alone once more, Marco took a brief sip of the wine, his focus still on the laptop. The message was ready.

"Landing in Ashwood City tomorrow. Be prepared."

He sent it, closing the laptop with a quiet click.

Leaning back in his seat, Marco allowed a small smirk to curl his lips as he turned his gaze toward the jet window. The world outside was a blur of clouds and distant lights, but his mind was already in Ashwood City.

"Well," he murmured to himself, the smirk growing slightly, "I'm back home... away from work and back to being surrounded by curvy beauties."

The anticipation of returning to the city, with all its familiar comforts and sexual temptations, stirred something within him.

There were always people waiting—eager, desperate, or simply willing to do anything to gain his favour. And Marco liked being in control.

He watched as the clouds below cleared, revealing the city’s twinkling lights in the distance.

Ashwood was near. His smirk remained as he leaned forward to finish his wine. Thirty minutes until landing.

And once he touched down, Ashwood City would be his playground once more.

---

Outside the Shh... Café, Delilah stood outside, admiring the steady stream of customers who walked through the doors.

The breeze rustled her long, auburn curls as she adjusted her leather jacket, a smirk playing on her lips.

Her curves were effortlessly accentuated by her fitted jeans and low-cut top, her confidence evident in every step she took.

Inside, the café was cosy, filled with the aroma of fresh coffee and pastries.

The soft, cosy jazz music played in the background as patrons sipped their lattes and chatted in low murmurs.

From the outside, it looked like any other popular café in Ashwood City. But Delilah knew better.

Her deep hazel eyes scanned the room.

Helen stood behind the counter, gracefully pouring an espresso shot into a cup while Ruby cleaned tables, her quick, playful smile drawing appreciative glances from some of the regulars.

They were both stunning women in their own right, but it wasn't just their looks that made them stand out—it was their identities beneath the surface.

Delilah's heels clicked softly against the wooden floor as she made her way inside, waving at a couple of familiar faces.

"Busy day," she said, her voice low but sweet as she passed Ruby.

Ruby responded with a small smile.

Meanwhile, Delilah continued walking until she reached the counter, then leaned casually against it, watching as more customers filtered in.

Some were just there for a quiet cup of coffee, but others... others had a different reason for visiting.

She waited until the café had settled into a slow rhythm before casually tapping a button hidden beneath the counter.

A soft click echoed from behind one of the bookshelves, and with a low whirr, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a hidden passage.

Without a word, Delilah motioned for Helen and Ruby to follow her.

The three women stepped inside, and the wall closed behind them with a faint hiss.

The hidden room was a stark contrast to the cosy atmosphere of the café.

It was a large space filled with expensive weapons, training equipment, and sleek leather chairs that encircled a large table.

The faint glow of fluorescent lights illuminated the walls, casting long shadows across the room.

Delilah walked to the centre, her fingers trailing along the cool surface of the table. "They come for the coffee," she began with a sly smile, "but they stay for the service."

Helen crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "And by 'service,' you mean..."

"Executions," Delilah said simply, her smile widening.

Delilah had recently hired Helen for her experience working in cafés, but more importantly, for her secret identity as a renowned hacker.

Delilah continued with her head held high, "Most of our regulars are clients. They need someone taken care of, and that’s where we come in."

Ruby chuckled softly as she joined her. "And to think people just assume we're running a quaint little café."

Helen glanced around the room, her expression unreadable for a moment as she processed everything.

Then, with a slow nod, she relaxed her stance. "I guess I'm in," she said, her voice steady. "I’ve worked with worse."