Queen Bee’s Wedding Nightmare

It was Thanksgiving. Bianca, the former high school queen bee, was getting married. She sent an e-invite to our private school group chat, tagging everyone. I was going to ignore it. Then, she @’d me directly: "Alessia, I know you faked your wealthy background in high school to show off. But I'm the bigger person. I'll let you come tomorrow. See what a real mafia wedding looks like." Her minions quickly chimed in. "You're too generous, Bianca! No wonder you're marrying into the inner circle of the Castiglione family. You even forgave a vain fake like Alessia!" "Alessia? At a mansion wedding? She'll just humiliate herself if she shows up." The chat was filled with trash talk, but Bianca played the saint. "Let it go, guys. It's in the past. She has nothing anyway. Let's not be hard on her." Right on cue, everyone praised her noble heart. I lay in my husband's massive, cold bed. My fingertips traced the family crest on the silk sheets. His crest. The most feared mafia Godfather in North America. I let out a cold laugh. Back then, she stole my Vitali family name. She turned me, a real mafia princess, into a pathetic wannabe. She made me a target for bullying and humiliation. I opened the e-invite. My eyes narrowed. The venue was my family's estate in the Hamptons. And the groom in the photo looked awfully familiar. Short hair, hooked nose, a scar on his chin. Wasn't that Nico? My husband Rocco's driver? A slow smirk touched my lips. A bloodthirsty glint flashed in my eyes. I grabbed the burner phone Rocco left on the pillow. I texted his private number: "Your lapdog is acting up on my turf." Then I replied in the group chat: "Sure. I'll be there." Chapter 1 My text killed the chat for a second. Then, a bigger wave of mockery exploded. "She's actually going? Does she have a death wish?" "She's gonna wear cheap knockoffs and embarrass herself!" "Can't wait to watch her make a fool of herself." I let out a cold laugh and locked my screen. Let's see if they kept that same energy tomorrow. The next afternoon, I drove to the Hamptons alone. From a distance, I saw my own estate decked out in extravagant white roses and crystals. The decor was even flashier than my own wedding. I parked and walked to the main hall in my heels. "Oh my god, Bianca! Your husband is so rich! How much is this place worth?" "I heard Mr. Nico makes millions a year in the Castiglione family!" "Being a made man pays off. Just look at this top-tier mansion!" A bunch of overly dressed women surrounded Bianca in her white gown. They reeked of envy. Bianca smugly flashed her massive diamond ring. "This is just the beginning. Once I officially marry into the Castiglione family, you'll all be my VIPs." "You're so lucky, Bianca! Marrying such a powerful man!" "Yeah, I heard the Castigliones are the most powerful mafia in North America!" Her lapdogs kept fawning over her. Bianca was so hyped up she almost forgot who she was. I was just a little curious. Since when did a driver named Gallo run my husband's mafia? I stepped forward with a cold smirk. "If your husband is such a big deal, why is he borrowing someone else's estate for his wedding?" All eyes locked onto me. Bianca's face dropped. Her tone turned vicious. "Alessia! Why the hell are you stalking me here?" A redhead looked me up and down and scoffed. "What thrift shop did you get that rag from? Still trying to act rich?" She was talking about my low-key beige dress. If she had any taste, she'd know it was limited edition Valentino Haute Couture. But I didn't bother explaining. "You were exactly like this in high school!" a tall, skinny girl shrieked. "Stealing other people's family photos to brag, and playing dumb when you got exposed!" "Still trying to clout-chase? You're shameless!" Listening to their grating insults, a murderous urge surged inside me. I thought back to ten years ago, at that elite boarding school. My father had just donated a whole art building. That guaranteed my Ivy League acceptance. Back then, I kept a low profile. I focused on my studies. I didn't care about dressing up or socializing. I looked like a plain wallflower. Meanwhile, Bianca was always glamorous. She knew everything about high-society luxury. She took photos stolen from my social media—my family's estate, the private yacht, even pictures with my dad—and claimed them as her own. Then she flipped the script. She called me a pathetic copycat. Those stupid classmates believed her. I was outcast from the elite circle. I lost my college spot. And she became the school's star "Mafia Princess". Looks like she was still playing the same old trick. "The real owner of this estate—" I started to reveal the truth. "Enough!" Bianca suddenly lunged at me with a twisted face. She grabbed a massive fondant cake from the dessert table and hurled it at me like a maniac. "I won't let you ruin my wedding!" I dodged swiftly, but the huge cake still grazed my shoulder. Sticky frosting and syrup instantly plastered half my face, ruining my haute couture dress. The women around us squealed in excitement, like they were watching a hit show. "You've owed me this for ten years!" Bianca hissed venomously. Crazy hatred flashed in her eyes. "Today, you pay me back with interest!" Chapter 2 I wiped a handful of frosting from my face, my eyes turning instantly ice-cold. Looking at Bianca's triumphant smirk, I suddenly remembered an incident back in high school. She had tried to bully me back then too. I couldn't be bothered to stoop to her level, but my family's men caught wind of it and beat her to a pulp. She took a week off from school, claiming she went on a "luxury vacation." I let out a dark chuckle. It seemed the lesson I taught her back then wasn't harsh enough. "You have a death wish." Without a second thought, I backhanded Bianca hard across the face! Smack! The crisp sound echoed as Bianca stumbled back from the force, landing pathetically on the floor, her gaudy diamond ring flying off. "You hit me?!" Bianca shrieked, clutching her swelling red cheek in disbelief. "My husband is a powerful made man in the Castiglione family! Tear her apart!" The redhead and the skinny woman lunged at me like rabid dogs. As a true mafia princess, I was trained in elite hand-to-hand combat since childhood. And marrying Rocco only cemented the ultimate alliance between North America's two most lethal mafia families. Did these brainless bimbos really think they could hurt me? I kicked the charging redhead flying, then grabbed the skinny woman's wrist, snapping it back with a vicious twist. "Ahhh!" Screams echoed through the hall. But these women had lost their minds. They started hurling everything from the tables at me—champagne, red wine, desserts. I didn't suffer any real injuries, but in the chaotic crossfire, I was drenched in wine and sticky cake. My hair was a mess, and I looked completely disheveled. "This estate bears the name Vitali!" I coldly swept my gaze over these pathetic clowns, like a sovereign looking down on ants. "You will pay for your insolence today with your lives!" However, all I got back was arrogant laughter. "Still dreaming!" Bianca scrambled up from the floor, pointing at me and mocking, "This is my husband's property!" Right then, a black Mercedes pulled into the courtyard. A middle-aged man in a black suit stepped out. It was Thomas, the estate manager. Hope sparked inside me. Thomas had always been perfectly respectful to me. He would back me up. But what I saw next killed that hope. It quickly turned into cold, hard murder. Thomas kept his head down and walked straight to Bianca. He wore a sickeningly eager smile, like a loyal dog. "Mrs. Gallo! You look like an angel today!" He offered her a set of keys with both hands. "Here are the keys to the main house. Everything is ready, just as you asked." "Mrs. Gallo?" I scoffed in disbelief, but my voice was drowned out by their laughter. Bianca smugly took the keys and pointed at the disheveled mess I currently was: "Thomas, tell these guests who really owns this estate. Then clean up this trash blocking the way!" I glared at Thomas, shooting daggers of cold warning. He had to tell the truth, or he would die a very ugly death. He had to... But Thomas just gave a casual glance where Bianca pointed. I saw a brief flicker of panic in his eyes when he looked at me. Even with my face smeared with cake and wine, he recognized me. But greed quickly swallowed his fear. Nico must have paid him a fortune and promised I would never visit. He flipped the truth without missing a beat. "This estate belongs to Mr. Nico, of course," he announced with an oily smile, entirely dismissing my existence. "It's a surprise for his new bride." "As for her?" He sneered at my back. "Just some delusional scammer trying to play house. Want me to call security and throw her out?" The laughter around me grew even harsher. "I told you! Trash like Alessia could never own a mansion like this!" "Even the manager said so. End of story!" Even Thomas betrayed me. Bianca stepped closer and whispered venomously in my ear: "See? No one in this world is on your side. Because you are a nobody." I slowly raised my head. A cruel smile touched my lips. "You better pray your fiancé can save your life later." The sheer darkness in my eyes made her flinch. She stumbled back, then angrily stood up and shouted to the crowd: "Throw this crazy bitch out! Don't let her ruin my wedding!" Chapter 3 The manager's betrayal made their glares even more disgusted. Ignoring the filth on my face, I glared back. My voice carried the absolute, terrifying authority of a superior. "I am the real owner of this estate! My husband, Rocco Castiglione, will not let any of you live!" Bianca burst into loud, ugly laughter. She laughed until tears came out. "Rocco Castiglione? Hahaha!" She clapped her hands. "Your husband is probably some street thug! Trying to claim he's my husband's boss? Everyone knows how untouchable the Godfather of the Castiglione family is. You aren't even fit to shine his shoes!" "She's insane! Totally insane!" the redhead shrieked. "You don't need to lay a finger on me. I'll walk myself." I coldly shoved away the security guards trying to grab me, my gaze as sharp as an unsheathed blade. "I'm going to wash my face. You'd better use this time to prepare your last words." My aura was so overwhelmingly dominant that the guards actually froze, too intimidated to step forward. Ignoring the mess on my clothes, I strode directly toward the luxurious first-floor powder room, like a queen inspecting her territory. I didn't bother listening to the barking of these dead women walking, and locked the bathroom door behind me. Warm water washed away the sticky cream and wine, revealing my flawlessly pale features. I fixed my messy hair, staring at the cold, murderous reflection in the mirror, and patted my face dry with a fresh towel. A loud crash came from outside. "Smash her car!" I heard Bianca screaming. "Driving this junk in here!" I pushed open the bathroom door and walked out, only to see several women using garden stones to smash the windows of my Aston Martin. Glass shards flew everywhere. Reaching through the broken windows, they unlocked the doors and ruthlessly rummaged through my car. They found a custom cigar case Rocco gave me. It had our initials engraved on it—a symbol of supreme power in the North American underworld. They also found a bespoke cashmere coat Rocco had draped over my shoulders last night. It still carried the faint scent of his cedarwood cologne. "Look at this!" The skinny woman held up the cashmere coat. "Just a whore trying to seduce rich old men!" "Showing off this filthy trash!" They cursed at me, stomping those precious tokens under their heels. Bianca pulled out a lighter. She smiled evilly. "Since it's garbage, let's burn it." "Light that, and I promise your hand will end up looking just like those ashes." I stood on the steps, looking down at her from above. There wasn't a trace of panic in my eyes—only the dead calm of looking at a corpse. But she lit the coat anyway. The premium cashmere twisted, blackened, and turned to ash in the flames. Next was the cigar case. The wood bearing our names crackled softly in the fire. The firelight flickered against my bone-chillingly cold face. Bianca, meanwhile, bragged to her friends. "Once I'm officially a Castiglione, I'll introduce you to the bachelors in the family!" "Really? That's amazing!" "You're our savior, Bianca!" Just as they were eagerly daydreaming about their future, a black Rolls-Royce pulled into the estate. The license plate bore the Black Eagle crest—the core symbol of the Castiglione family. It caught the cold sunlight. The car door opened, and a tall figure stepped out. It was Nico. He frowned at the smoking fire. I could see the annoyance on his face—as Godfather Rocco's personal driver, he was used to playing big shot, and he hated people causing trouble on his "big day." "What crazy woman?" he asked impatiently. "That bitch who just came out of the bathroom! She dared to use the Godfather's real name and even slapped me! She has a death wish!" Bianca pointed straight at me on the steps. Nico marched over, a vicious sneer on his face. "Let's see which stupid bitch dares to act up on my turf..." His words stopped dead. His voice cut off like the Grim Reaper just snapped his neck. By now, my face was completely washed clean, restoring the untouchable majesty of a mafia matriarch. When he saw my face, all the arrogance vanished from his. He stopped dead in his tracks as if struck by lightning, his legs shaking uncontrollably. Thump. This "powerful" man Bianca bragged about dropped straight to his knees onto the shattered glass on the ground. "Donna... Donna Alessia!" he gasped in horror. The smiles on every woman's face froze dead.