Caged in Love with The Mafia Boss: Chapters 1–5

Matteo's POV:

Today was my wedding day.

As the leader of the largest mafia organization in the Sovereign States of Liberty, I took over the family at twenty, crushed internal power struggles at 23, and fully consolidated my authority. Now, my influence spanned the globe, and even the most powerful families had to address me with respect as Mr. Lascari.

Yet, despite this, that old fox Calvin Quayle still had the audacity to refuse to owe me money and not pay it back.

When I arrived at his place with my men, Calvin crawled out from under the table, trembling, and offered his daughter's hand in marriage as compensation.

In the past, I would have scoffed at such an offer and turned him down without hesitation. But recently, I had clashed with a godfather from Romagna over territorial control. The conflict escalated into a full-blown war, leaving heavy casualties on both sides.

I thought the matter had ended—until two of my most trusted subordinates were gunned down. At the scene, the godfather left me a letter.

It was a warning.

He told me this was only the beginning. He wanted me—and the person dearest to me—to pay the price.

Calvin Quayle offering his daughter to me? He was practically handing me a shield.

The Romagni wanted to take away the most important person in my life. And since they believed my beloved wife would be their prime target, she would undoubtedly become their tool for revenge. But that wouldn't bring us any pain.

So, naturally, I accepted the offer without hesitation.

On my wedding day, I booked the largest six-star hotel in the city to welcome my new bride from the Quayle family.

"Boss, the guys have been drinking to their heart's content tonight, but it's getting late," one of my burly subordinates grunted.

"Boss, I heard the Quayle girl is infamous for being a social butterfly—countless men have been with her. Aren't you worried about getting the short end of the stick?" another added.

"She's just a puppet." I exhaled a slow ring of smoke, my voice cold. "Does it really matter if she's a virgin? Calvin Quayle owes me more money than he can ever repay. Handing over his precious daughter won't be enough to settle the debt."

"So, you're saying you don't plan on letting Calvin Quayle off the hook?" This time, it was Isaac Lidell—my most trusted subordinate—who spoke.

I flicked the last bit of my cigarette into the ashtray and answered lazily, "Of course not. Keep a close eye on him. I want him to suffer a fate worse than death."

"Boss, does that mean you'll make your new bride suffer a fate worse than death tonight too?"

"Boss, I heard she's drop-dead gorgeous—curves in all the right places, seductive as hell. And considering the number of men she's been around, she's bound to be something special in bed."

The alcohol-fueled chatter revolved entirely around my new wife.

"Have you all said enough?"

A sharp voice suddenly cut through the air.

"Aw, our dear Miss Norelli is getting jealous," someone chuckled, and the group erupted into laughter. Anna Norelli's face turned crimson.

"Jealous?" I arched a brow, amusement absent from my eyes, though the corners of my lips curved slightly. I pulled her into my arms.

Among my many lovers, Anna was different. She had fought by my side, through blood and fire. She held a special place in my heart.

"No," Anna murmured, her voice laced with careful affection.

"Boss, why don't you bring out your new bride? Let us have a look at her," one of my men suggested, followed by a chorus of agreement.

Lifting my glass with practiced ease, I downed the strong liquor in one go before giving a slight nod.

Elodie's POV:

I stood in the lavish presidential suite, gazing at my reflection in the mirror.

Flawless makeup. A luxurious wedding gown, custom-made in Lutetia, Gaul. I looked stunning.

Today was my wedding day…

Though grand and extravagant, my wedding had not been attended by a single family member. The moment the ceremony ended, I was sent here, denied even the simple courtesy of toasting with the guests.

With just a signature on a piece of paper, my future was no longer mine to control.

Even if my heart resisted a thousand times over, I still went through with it—for the sake of the man who had raised me. I had taken the place of my so-called sister and married Matteo Lascari, the man everyone called a demon.

I slowly sank to the floor, pressing my back against the wall.

I was only 22. My life should have just begun. But the man I had just married was six years older than me—a ruthless mafia boss who killed without hesitation. Even in this dazzling, extravagant room, fear coiled inside me.

But I had no choice. The moment I agreed to be a stand-in, everything had veered off its intended path. Now, I could only take things one step at a time.

I hadn't eaten all day, and dizziness clouded my vision. The only items in the room were bottles of liquor and empty glasses on the coffee table—no food in sight. I had never drunk alcohol before, nor did I know my own tolerance.

Hunger gnawed at me, my vision flickering with black spots. My once-glossy lips had turned dry and cracked. Just as I decided to take a sip of the wine to ease my hunger, the door suddenly burst open with a loud bang.

The man who entered was not my new husband—but two rough-looking men instead.

"Miss Quayle, the boss wants to see you." Their tone was ice-cold, devoid of respect.

"Where are you taking me?" I forced myself to remain calm.

But before I could finish my sentence, they grabbed me roughly, dragging me forward despite my struggling. My resistance was useless against their brute strength.

"Aah!" I barely had time to react before they flung me to the ground. Even with the thick carpet beneath me, pain shot through my body.

"Yelena Quayle, look up!"

The voice was steady, neither loud nor soft, yet it carried an undeniable authority—the same voice that had spoken the vows at the wedding ceremony.

Matteo Lascari. My new husband.

I didn't dare lift my head. During the ceremony, I had worn a veil, but now, it was long gone. If they realized I was an imposter…

"Yelena Quayle, are you trying to play innocent with me?" Matteo remained seated on the couch, his tone laced with displeasure.

"Are you defying our boss?" a rough voice growled beside me.

The next second, a strong hand gripped my chin, forcing my face upward. I was completely exposed. And in that moment, I saw him—the man who was rumored to be cold-blooded, merciless, and a monster among men.

Matteo Lascari.

…

Matteo's POV:

"I gotta say, boss, this one's a looker. No wonder so many men were drawn to her."

I lazily took in the sight of her.

The Quayle family's daughter was indeed beautiful. Her delicate features were like a porcelain doll's, her long, slender brows framing eyes as dark as black pearls. But there was fear in those eyes.

Her figure—devilish, sinful—was made to tempt men. With just one glance, she could ensnare any fool into desire.

"You afraid of me?" I rose from the couch and loomed over her, looking down at her pathetic form.

"I… I'm not," she stammered. "I'm just… too hungry to speak properly."

I scoffed.

How I loathed women who pretended to be something they weren't. Fake. Deceptive.

And this woman in front of me? The worst of them all.

Had I not already heard rumors about the Quayle family's daughter, I might have actually been fooled by her little act.

"Boss, I heard she's a frequent guest at nightclubs," one of my men sneered. "A woman like her won't behave unless she's taught a proper lesson. Otherwise, she'll go around seducing other men the first chance she gets."

"I haven't! I wouldn't!" The woman lying on the floor suddenly cried out in desperation.

"You'd better not," I warned coldly. "Or else, no one in the Quayle family will be left alive."

"Alright, that's enough," Isaac spoke up. "Let's not ruin the boss' mood."

At my signal, the men quickly filed out of the room. The once-rowdy atmosphere faded into silence.

Now, only she and I remained.

"Come here," I ordered, lounging back onto the couch, one leg elegantly crossed over the other.

She hesitated, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her gown. Her white heels peeked from under the hem, and after an awkward moment, she finally staggered to her feet. Moving carefully, she sat beside me, tense and wary.

"From this day forward, you are Mrs. Lascari," I murmured, gripping her chin with firm fingers. My voice dropped to a slow, deliberate drawl. "This title… is not one just anyone can have."

Elodie's POV:

I never agreed to this willingly, I whispered the words silently in my heart.

I had no desire to be Mrs. Lascari. All I wanted was to finish college, to live a quiet life, to wait for Finn—the man I had loved in secret for years—to return. But that dream had already been shattered.

"What? Does it not please you?" Matteo questioned as if reading my thoughts.

He stood up and, without effort, lifted me off the floor and tossed me onto the massive bed in the suite.

The force of the landing sent me crashing into the nightstand, pain flaring instantly at my temple. A welt began to form, throbbing dully. Dazed, I barely had time to process it before Matteo's cold gaze bore into me.

"Miss Quayle, you've already signed the marriage papers. Who exactly are you trying to save your virginity for?" His voice carried an edge of mockery.

I wanted to resist, but defying him would only lead to a bullet in my skull.

"Who is it? Hmm?" Matteo sneered, pressing a hand against the bed as he leaned in closer. "Starting today, you are my wife. Or are you refusing to fulfill your duties?"

"I won't."

The words barely made it past my lips. I knew it was futile—I knew resistance was useless—but it was the first time I had ever voiced my rejection.

"You think you have a choice?" Matteo's voice was like ice. "You are a woman I paid for. Do you really think you can bargain with me?"

Before I could respond, he gripped my wrist and pulled me into his chest.

"Mr. Lascari, please… let me go," I pleaded, desperate. "I know my father owes you money—I'll work as your servant to repay the debt. I'll do anything."

Matteo's laugh was sharp, merciless. "I don't need a servant. And even if you spent your whole life working, you wouldn't be able to pay back what he owes."

His words crushed the last bit of hope I had. My breath hitched, my vision dimming with despair.

"Enough with the act, Quayle," Matteo said coldly, his fingers effortlessly undoing the leather belt at his waist.

Panic surged through me, knowing what was about to happen.

He reached for my wedding gown, and with a single tug, the fabric slipped from my shoulders, exposing my breasts to the air. I gasped, instinctively wrapping my arms around myself, but Matteo only smirked. He backed me against the wall, trapping me there as he continued stripping away the pristine fabric.

As he pressed closer, I could feel the heat and hardness of his arousal against me. A shudder ran through my body, a mix of tension and fear tightening around my chest.

With little effort, Matteo tore my expensive wedding dress into shreds. Without hesitation, he freed himself, pressing forward without waiting to see if I was ready. A sharp jolt of pain shot through me as he claimed me roughly.

"Ah!" I cried out in pain, my body instinctively trying to retreat.

Matteo's expression darkened. His strong arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me back against him. My bare skin pressed against his firm chest as he moved with unrelenting force, each thrust seeming to vent his emotions.

I was trapped in his embrace, unable to move. All I could do was clench my teeth and endure in silence. A tremor ran through me, my body tightening involuntarily while a deep knot twisted in my stomach.

As he moved within me, my body gradually responded, unwillingly yielding. The pain slowly dulled, replaced by a growing dampness deep inside.

Matteo clearly had no intention of letting me go. He pushed me onto the bed, pinning my wrists above my head as he began another relentless assault.

I had no idea how much time had passed when I felt a rush of heat spill inside me. Then, Matteo pulled away, rising from the bed to get dressed as if nothing had happened.

It was finally over. I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, my eyes devoid of focus.

Just then, his voice cut through the silence.

"How much did it cost to patch up your cherry?" he asked, tone dripping with disdain.

Elodie's POV:

I felt utterly drained, my body devoid of strength.

No matter what I said, he wouldn't believe me. And even if I tried to deny it, how could I? I couldn't reveal my true identity. So, silence was my only option. It was the safest choice.

"Get lost!" Matteo spat before disappearing into the bathroom.

I pulled the thin blanket over me, draping it around my shoulders as I dragged my exhausted body back to the room I had originally been placed in.

I didn't sleep at all that night. I lay on the bed, staring at the window, my mind racing with thoughts of what my life would become. From this day forward, I would have to live under the shadow of this unpredictable man.

The idea alone filled me with despair.

As the outside world gradually brightened, signaling the arrival of morning, I rolled onto my side and prepared to get up.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a loud bang.

Matteo stood in the doorway, a small bottle in his hand. He tossed it onto the bed, his voice indifferent. "Eat it."

Birth control.

He made the right choice. I didn't want to bear his child either.

Matteo stood in front of me, towering as he looked down with an imposing presence.

"Unless I say otherwise, don't even think about getting pregnant," he said, his voice sharp. "If you want your family to stay alive a little longer, you'd better do as I say."

I didn't argue.

Silently, I picked up the bottle, poured out a single white pill, and swallowed it dry without water.

Afterward, I lifted my gaze cautiously, waiting for his next command.

Perhaps my obedience pleased him. Matteo settled onto the couch, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease. "Get dressed. We're going somewhere."

I struggled to stand, my body still aching. "I… I don't have any clothes."

I was still wearing the hotel bathrobe.

Unlike Yelena, who had closets full of designer outfits, I only had a few simple pieces—all left back on campus. I had nothing suitable to wear now.

"Mrs. Lascari, do you think marrying me means you'll lack anything?"

With that, he made a call.

Less than ten minutes later, a mountain of luxury brand clothing was delivered to my room.

As I stared at the array of dresses—silk, chiffon, the finest materials—I felt a strange mix of emotions. What woman wouldn't be tempted by beautiful clothes?

But I wasn't greedy.

I carefully selected a modest white dress and stepped into the bathroom to change.

When I emerged, Matteo barely spared me a glance. He simply stood up and walked out. Without a word, I followed.

…

The ride in the silver Bentley was suffocating.

The atmosphere inside the car was so tense I could barely breathe. I kept my gaze fixed on the scenery outside, trying to make myself as invisible as possible.

With him near, an unnatural chill always seemed to linger in the air, making my entire body tense.

After an hour, the car finally stopped.

We had arrived at Aventis' most exclusive villa district.

The homes here were breathtaking—elegant, intricately designed, and far more extravagant than even the Quayle Residence. And Matteo was the only man powerful enough to own an estate spanning around an acre in this area.

The car pulled into the garage and had barely come to a stop before his cold voice rang out.

"Get out."

I stepped out, instinctively scanning my surroundings. The place I had once called home—luxurious as it was—was nothing compared to this. I followed behind Matteo without hesitation, matching his steps, knowing there was no other path for me to take.

…

Matteo's POV:

"Sir, you're back."

Salvatore, my butler, greeted me at the door. His gaze flickered to the woman trailing behind me, but he said nothing.

I walked into the living room and sat down.

Maeve, the housekeeper, approached with a tray. "Sir, your coffee."

The staff in my house had always known their roles well—efficient, disciplined, and unquestioning.

I picked up the delicate porcelain cup, inhaling the rich aroma of my favorite—Blue Mountain Coffee, the finest beans from Jamaica.

I ran a finger along the cup's handle, then suddenly let go.

With a sharp crack, the cup shattered against the floor, spilling dark liquid across the polished surface.

"Sir!" Maeve instinctively moved to clean up, but I lifted a hand, stopping her.

"You," I said, turning to the woman standing silently nearby. "Come here and clean this up."

She blinked at me, confused.

"What's wrong, Miss Quayle? Mrs. Lascari?" My voice carried a sharp edge of mockery. "You don't want to?"

To my surprise, she immediately bent down, picking up the broken shards one by one and disposing of them in the trash. Then, taking the cloth from Maeve's hands, she wiped the floor with careful precision.

When she noticed a few stray coffee splashes on my polished leather shoes, she pulled a tissue from the table and knelt at my feet, dabbing at the stain with delicate, deliberate movements.

I studied her intently, searching her face for deception.

Yelena Quayle—a woman as proud and untamed as they came—was now humbling herself like this?

Since last night, she had done nothing but surprise me.

I abruptly pulled my foot back and grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "From now on, you will stay here. You are not to take a single step outside without my permission. And everything in this house—you will keep it in order. Understood?"

"I will," she murmured with a nod.

"Good." I released her and stood up to leave. But just as I turned, her voice rang out.

"W-wait!"

I stopped, irritation prickling at the edge of my patience.

"If you have questions, ask Salvatore or Maeve," I said dismissively. I had no time to waste entertaining her.

"No, it's not that!" She grabbed my hand. "You can make me do whatever you want—but please, let me continue my studies."

I stared at her for a long moment before laughing, low and humorless.

"Study?" I echoed as if she had just told the most ridiculous joke.

"You're a Quayle. Anything you want, you can have. Why would you need college?" My voice turned cold. "Besides, from what I remember, the Quayle family's eldest daughter was never much of a student."

She hesitated, lips parting as if to argue, but she said nothing.

"Don't bother me with any more questions!" I had no more patience to entertain her. So, I snapped and kicked her aside before making my way upstairs, leaving her where she knelt.

Elodie's POV:

I couldn't give up so easily!

"Mr. Lascari!" I called out, chasing after him, but Maeve quickly blocked my path.

"You can't go upstairs! No one is allowed on the second floor without his permission!"

"No!" I could endure anything—but I couldn't give up college. I had worked tirelessly to get into university, spent my entire summer working to pay for tuition. How could I just let it all go?

A surge of determination overpowered me. I pushed past Maeve and ran up the stairs, straight into his room.

Matteo turned at the commotion, his expression darkening instantly. "Who gave you permission to come up here?"

His sharp tone made me freeze in place.

"Get out!" he ordered.

"M-Mr. Lascari," I lowered my gaze to the floor. I didn't dare look at him, but I had to try.

Matteo took slow steps toward me, his presence suffocating. "You were bold enough to barge in. What, are you scared now?"

"I… I have a request." My voice was barely above a whisper.

"If it's about college, forget it."

I stood there, stunned.

So that was it? My education was over just like that? Two more years—that was all I needed to graduate. Now, I had to throw it away?!

Matteo turned away and walked into the bathroom.

By the time he stepped back out, I was still standing at the door, motionless.

His complete disregard for me made it clear—this wasn't something he would reconsider.

I pressed my lips together, forcing down my frustration, and turned to leave.

"Wait."

His deep voice stopped me in my tracks. I turned back, watching him sit on the couch, lighting a cigarette as if he had never spoken.

He took slow, unhurried drags, not saying another word.

The silence stretched, making my nerves fray. Memories of last night resurfaced, and an uneasy fear crawled up my spine.

I instinctively took a step back.

"That's all the patience you have?" Matteo's voice finally broke the quiet.

I hesitated. Then, cautiously, I walked toward him. "Are you… agreeing?"

Matteo stood up, closing the distance between us. He tilted my chin up with his fingers, forcing my gaze to meet his.

"How many men are out there waiting for you?" His voice was low, laced with cold suspicion. "Is that why you're so desperate to leave? Hmm?"

"No! I swear, I'm only going to college—nothing else!" I protested.

I knew how people viewed Yelena. And I knew why Matteo doubted me.

I had taken her place to save my family, to protect my adoptive father, Calvin. Everything I did was out of obligation. But I wasn't willing to give up everything.

"You know I hate being lied to."

I swallowed hard and nodded. Was he finally relenting?

"If I find out you're lying, you know what price you'll pay," Matteo warned before letting go of my chin.

"I won't. I swear. I'll only go to college and nowhere else!" I promised, the hope in my heart reigniting.

Though… it also meant I wouldn't be able to work anymore, which meant my tuition would become an issue. But I could figure that out later.

"Go back downstairs," Matteo ordered, settling back onto the couch.

I feigned composure and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Lascari."

Then, with lighter steps, I left the second floor.

…

I had been assigned a small room on the first floor.

It wasn't large—just a bed and a desk—but the large, bright window faced the south, allowing plenty of sunlight to flood in, making it my favorite part of the room.

Compared to the Quayle Residence, this place was much better—aside from the fact that I had lost my freedom.

"Miss Quayle, Mr. Lascari has ordered that you are not to leave this house unless he says so," she informed me. "If you need anything, come find me."

I nodded. "Thank you, Maeve."

As I sat on the bed, a wave of helplessness washed over me.

My belongings were still at the Quayle Residence, and some were at my dorm on campus. I needed to go shopping for supplies.

But I wasn't allowed to leave.

Not long after, Maeve brought in some necessities. Seeing them laid out in front of me made the reality of my situation sink in.

I was really going to be living here.

…

When lunchtime arrived, I walked into the kitchen and offered to help.

Standing by the counter, I instinctively picked up a knife and began washing and chopping vegetables with practiced ease.

Maeve watched in surprise. "Miss Quayle, you know how to cook?"

I nodded. "A little. Just some simple home dishes."

Back home, I had learned a bit from the household staff—since I had to do everything myself.

"In that case, would you like to prepare Mr. Lascari's lunch?" Maeve suggested.

My hands froze over the sink.

"Would… would he get mad?" I asked hesitantly.

I had just gotten him to agree to let me go to college. I didn't want to do anything to upset him.

Maeve chuckled. "Mr. Lascari doesn't talk much, and he looks intimidating, but he's actually easy to get along with. And he's not very picky with food."

Easy to get along with?

The mere sight of him made my body tense with fear. I had never thought of Matteo Lascari as an easy person to get along with. He was cold, distant—one look from him was enough to make me feel like I had stepped into a frozen wasteland.

But as long as he didn't go out of his way to make my life difficult, I would keep my head down and do what was expected of me.

After all, I was the wife he had paid for.