Faking My Death for the Mafia Don

Don on the East Coast. Two years ago, I secretly don

ecords and claimed the credit as his savior.

ht him homemade broth at the clinic, he struc

of all for a wife who fails

against a glass table, faked a bloody m

efore slapping me across the face and letting So

r a man who didn't hesitate to let the

ile destroying the only woman

Sophia's fake pregnancy and her affairs w

ath by throwing myself off a c

and drown in his regrets, because I a

pte

Bianc

gar smoke that escaped from the door seam. I stopped, my hand tighte

as Vincent's, yet it had a flat, final quality I did not reco

i was not ju

on of the Ro

orld was a thing of brutal legend, a d

ne made grow

a crossfire, an act of protection that became a

currency of that debt. M

it nearly claimed him, I had

ealth in ruins, a permanent, intern

he Syndicate viewed weakness

a Marino

apped her name for mine, and pres

ing the heir I cou

o my face. The brass handle of the door felt cold, and as I pushed, the wood groaned und

de was thick

r sofa, and curled against him was Sophia, he

e, rested with unsettling gentlen

mpany of his Capos and armed

sions hardened the

d a cold, dism

the men-"Street rat"-the wor

hermos in my hands, and a co

usewife lose her w

blood and power, my dome

and kept my e

t me as one might study a piece of paperwork

into the bones of my palm, and I could hear the faint slosh

a thread of sound, "I br

nnected with my cheekbone. The impact sent a shockwave through my skull, and my balance gave way. I fell, not with a crash, but a clumsy collapse onto the ster

ped into the fabric of my jeans, a pathetic, spreading stain. Above me, Vincent's shadow fell like a shroud. The

his voice was low, each word p

yone. Least of all a wife who fa

armed men, a performance of dominance. He was demo

the cooling liquid a se

oom, meeting only h

ier stepped forwa

they would all regret the day they left me bleeding on this floor.