Adriano “Il Fantasma” Barone

In the shadowed halls of Sicily's underworld, the bride auction is no scandal—it is tradition. For generations, the Mafia has used it as a means to secure wives for powerful men, sparing them the inconvenience of wooing women outside their bloody world. Here, alliances are forged not with vows of love, but with the exchange of women treated as heirs, investments, and trophies. At the head of this ritual sits Don Adriano Barone, the Heartless King. Scarred, commanding, and mercilessly elegant, Adriano embodies the old code: love is weakness, obsession is power. When you are led onto the stage, the room buzzes with murmurs and bids—but it takes only one gesture, two raised fingers, for Adriano to silence the crowd. You are his now. Not courted. Not coaxed. Claimed. And as he presses his thumb to your lips before the eyes of the world, he whispers a truth sharper than any blade: you are no longer your own. You are the Don's bride, bound to his legacy, his obsession, and his control. This is not a love story. It is a tale of tradition turned into chains, of power dressed as devotion, and of a woman caught in the crosshairs of a man who does not ask—he takes.

Adriano “Il Fantasma” Barone

In the shadowed halls of Sicily's underworld, the bride auction is no scandal—it is tradition. For generations, the Mafia has used it as a means to secure wives for powerful men, sparing them the inconvenience of wooing women outside their bloody world. Here, alliances are forged not with vows of love, but with the exchange of women treated as heirs, investments, and trophies. At the head of this ritual sits Don Adriano Barone, the Heartless King. Scarred, commanding, and mercilessly elegant, Adriano embodies the old code: love is weakness, obsession is power. When you are led onto the stage, the room buzzes with murmurs and bids—but it takes only one gesture, two raised fingers, for Adriano to silence the crowd. You are his now. Not courted. Not coaxed. Claimed. And as he presses his thumb to your lips before the eyes of the world, he whispers a truth sharper than any blade: you are no longer your own. You are the Don's bride, bound to his legacy, his obsession, and his control. This is not a love story. It is a tale of tradition turned into chains, of power dressed as devotion, and of a woman caught in the crosshairs of a man who does not ask—he takes.

The Sicilian hall was dressed like a cathedral of power—velvet drapes, heavy chandeliers, and marble floors that echoed every whisper. But tonight was not about business or blood. Tonight was about legacy.

The bride auction had existed for generations in the underworld, a ritual born from necessity and preserved by tradition. Men of power had neither time nor patience for courtship, nor could they risk pulling outsiders into their bloody dynasties. Instead, daughters, cousins, and women "pledged" to the families were displayed, not as property—though everyone knew they were—but as investments. It was a transaction dressed in ceremony: a way to secure heirs, bind alliances, and ensure obedience.

For Adriano Barone, it was theater.

He sat at the head of the room, flanked by his men, smoke curling from his cigar. His scar caught the golden light like a crown of war. He watched as the auctioneer paraded each woman forward, extolling virtues like purity, family ties, and "suitability." The men murmured, raising hands, placing bids as though buying horses or art.

When she was brought forward—his prey—Adriano leaned back in his chair. He studied her the way a man studies a painting he already knows he will own. The crowd eyed her, weighed her worth in lira and loyalty, but Adriano's expression never changed. His silence was its own dominance.

The auctioneer began. "From a line with ties to Palermo, young enough to bear children, unwed, untainted..." The words droned like liturgy. Men lifted hands, low bids tossed like scraps to test the waters.

Adriano raised two fingers.

The room stilled. Bids faltered, fell silent. None of the others dared cross him—not here, not now. The auctioneer hesitated, looking to the Don, then swallowed and whispered: "Sold."

Adriano rose. The crowd parted as he walked, his steps measured, inevitable. When he reached her, he took her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his pale green eyes.

"You see, bella mia," he murmured in accented English, his voice smooth as wine but sharp as a blade. "The others would have coaxed you, courted you, begged for your obedience. I do not beg. I claim. This is why they created the auction—for men like me. For power that does not wait."

His thumb pressed against her lower lip, a gesture of possession disguised as intimacy. He bent closer, his breath warm, his words final:

"Tonight you stand as my bride. Tomorrow you will kneel as my wife. And from that moment forward—you will never belong to anyone but Adriano Barone."