Hei Baidong

I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair. They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves. Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment. But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger. In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all.

I was dragged back from the countryside by my father for one purpose: to be a sacrificial lamb. He ordered me to marry the mafia Don Damien Valachi in place of my sister. Everyone in the underworld knew that this Don's brides never saw the light of the next day. My stepmother put on a fake smile and took my hand, calling it an "honor"; my sister hid behind her, unable to conceal the gleam of triumph in her eyes. I smiled coldly and held up two fingers: "Twenty million dollars. Now." My father tried to play tricks, planning to take back the money from my trust fund after I died, but I had someone transfer every cent out before the wedding, leaving him a zero balance. The next day, the wedding car pulled up to the Valachi estate. The butler ordered the driver to use the service entrance-it seemed my groom didn't think I was worthy of the front gate. I got out and switched to an armored vehicle. I floored the accelerator, crashing straight through the estate gates. The gates shattered, and I didn't stop until I reached the main steps. I jumped out, the heel of my shoe crushing a broken iron railing, and shouted: "The bride is here." I looked up, scanning every window until my gaze stopped on one dark pane. I knew Damien was watching. I brushed the dust off my skirt, raised my voice a notch, and smiled: "What, the Don of the Valachi family doesn't dare come out to meet his new wife?"

My fated mate, Bradford, gently stroked my cheek and told me it was just for one night. "For us, Clio. For our future." He kissed me, and then he served me up like a piece of meat to Conrad Vanderbilt IV, the most feared Lycan Prince in North America, all to secure a business deal. In my past life, I fought and cried in this monster's bed. But my desperate resistance only earned me a brutal claiming and Bradford's ultimate disgust. Later, when the business deal went sour and I was no longer useful, Bradford stood by and watched coldly. He watched as his new allies drove a silver blade right through my heart. Only as I lay dying did I realize the sickening truth. Underneath his scent of sandalwood, there was the sweet perfume of peaches and cream. He had been sleeping with my sister, Julie, all along, planning my ruin while holding my hand. As my lungs burned and the darkness took over, my heart shattered. How could my fated mate desecrate our sacred bond so ruthlessly, treating me as a disposable pawn just to pave the way for his true love? Then, a gasp. My own. My eyes flew open to the smooth feel of a silk nightgown and skin that was impossibly whole. I was back in the Lycan Prince's bedroom. Back on the night my life was sold. This time, when the terrifying Alpha stepped into the room, I didn't scream. I met his glowing golden eyes with a dead, calm stare. The hunt had begun, but this time, I knew the rules of the game.

Alisa Winters stood dripping wet in the grand foyer of her childhood home, greeted only by the sneers of the servants. Her father threw a heavy file onto his desk, coldly ordering her to marry Damien Sterling next week. Damien was a notoriously ruthless billionaire, but he was also a walking corpse, dying of a rare, incurable disease. Her pampered stepsister, Cecelia, had backed out of the arranged marriage, screaming that she refused to be a widow before twenty-five. So, Alisa was dragged in to be the sacrificial lamb. When Alisa refused to be sold off to save their bankrupt company, her father pulled out her late mother's prized jewelry box. He threatened to dump every last memory and letter her mother left behind into the ocean if she didn't sign the contract immediately. Her stepmother and sister watched with malicious glee. "Have fun being a nursemaid to a dying man," Cecelia sneered. They thought she was just a helpless, discarded daughter. They thought they had her completely cornered, using her dead mother's legacy to force her into a miserable life with a doomed man. But they didn't know Alisa was actually "The Surgeon," the most sought-after underground medic in the world. She picked up the pen and signed the marriage contract with a chilling smile. Marrying into the powerful Sterling family wasn't a punishment; it was her perfect cover to investigate her mother's murder. She would cure the dying billionaire, and together, they would tear the Webster family apart.

I was balancing four pitchers of watery beer when my phone buzzed with a photo of my cousin flaunting a massive pink diamond on the hand of my ex-fiancé. Jennings Bowen didn't just break our engagement; his family stripped away my medical scholarship and branded me a "reputational liability," leaving me to scrub grease in a Queens dive bar. When Jennings walked into my bar with the arrogance of old money, my alcohol-fueled rage took over, and I ended up vomiting all over his handmade Italian leather shoes. He didn't just have me arrested; he baited my younger brother, Leo, into a fight and had him charged with felony assault. "He’s nineteen, Bronwyn. We’ll bury him," Jennings whispered at the precinct, while his mother ensured no lawyer in the city would touch our case. With a fifty-thousand-dollar bail I couldn't pay and an eviction notice on my door, I was backed into a corner with absolutely nothing left to lose. I couldn't understand why these people were so obsessed with crushing someone who was already down, or how they could sleep at night while destroying a teenager's life. I realized then that playing by their rules wouldn't save Leo, so I dug out the set of black ceramic scalpels I had hidden under my bed for five years. I wasn't just a waitress or a failed student; I was "The Ghost," a surgeon who operated in the shadows where the law couldn't follow. I marched to the gates of the Phelps estate, the home of the billionaire father who abandoned me, ready to trade his life for my brother's freedom. "I'm here to save you," I told the dying man as his family watched in horror. "But the price is my brother’s life, and you’re going to pay it."

"Her blood type is a match. It’s the only option." I froze outside the conference room door, the quarterly reports digging into my ribs. I knew that voice. It was Ben, my husband’s best friend and doctor. But the next voice, cold and devoid of warmth, shattered my world. "Then we do it," my husband Ethan said. "Chloe cannot wait any longer. If Ava is the match, then Ava is the solution." For the past month, Ethan had been obsessed with my health, insisting on daily "vitamins" and endless checkups. He called it love. Standing in that hallway, I realized he was actually shopping for spare parts. "She is your wife, Ethan," Ben argued weakly. "You can't just harvest her like a crop." "She became my wife because she was useful," Ethan replied, his indifference cutting deeper than any scalpel. "Now, she can be useful for this." The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. The nausea I’d been feeling wasn't stress. I was pregnant. And those "vitamins" he fed me every morning? They weren't supplements. They were poisons designed to ensure I remained a viable donor. He was killing his own child to save his mistress. To him, I wasn't a partner. I was livestock. An asset to be liquidated for parts. I didn't burst into the room. I didn't scream. I walked away in silence, my hand hovering over my stomach. He wanted my kidney? He wanted to carve me up? I decided right then. I wouldn't just leave. I would terminate the pregnancy, fake my death, and burn his entire world to the ground.

For eight years, I was raised to be his queen. My entire world was built on the promise that I would marry Dante Moretti, the future Don of the city's most powerful family. But on the eve of our betrothal, I overheard his plan. He was going to cast me aside for another woman, Isabella, and a street orphan he would pass off as his heir. He publicly humiliated me at his party, introducing her as his true queen. When a crystal chandelier fell from the ceiling, he used his own body to shield her, leaving me to be crushed beneath it. Later, after falsely accusing me of attacking her, he shoved my head under the freezing water of a pool, hissing that my love for him was "disgusting." But the truth that finally destroyed me was worse. For ten years, Dante had been obsessed with a scent he thought was mine. It was all a lie—a custom perfume Isabella had been wearing all along. I was never the one he wanted; I was just a case of mistaken identity. After he broke my bones and shattered my spirit, I finally made a choice. I accepted my brother's offer to escape to the rival Falcone territory. As our jet prepared for takeoff, I blocked Dante's frantic calls without looking back. This time, I was leaving for good.

My husband, the real estate magnate Gregory Thompson, had a five-year affair and a secret son. When the scandal broke, he went on national television, his face a mask of sorrow. He swore I was the only woman he had ever truly loved and that he would spend the rest of his life earning back my trust. I believed him. That belief shattered tonight at a charity gala. I saw him speaking quietly with his mistress, Holly, and overheard their conversation. "The stupid bitch actually believed you," she whispered. Gregory chuckled. "Of course she did. It's what makes her so easy to handle." He promised Holly that he would break me slowly, first my heart, then my spirit, until the Thompson fortune belonged to her and their son. The champagne glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the marble floor. My perfect marriage was an elaborate, cruel lie. Across the room, his eyes met mine, not with panic, but with cold calculation. He took the microphone and proposed a toast to me, his "beautiful wife," the "light of his life." The room erupted in applause for the devoted husband. I saw a monster hiding in plain sight. He leaned in close as I stood beside him on stage, his lips brushing my ear. "Smile, darling. The whole world is watching." I smiled as my world burned to the ground. But as soon as the ceremony ended, I slipped away and booked the first flight out of the city. I had to escape.

The city lights blurred, mirroring the chaos inside me. It was supposed to be our night, the gala where Jake, my fiancé, finally got recognition for a project built on my designs. But he was on stage, smiling under the bright lights, with my sister, Chloe, clinging to his arm. Just moments before, backstage, Chloe had stepped out of the shadows, a smug smile on her face. "He's with me now, sis." My world tilted. "The Skyline project… that was my work, Jake!" He had the nerve to look sad. "Ava, I took your concepts and improved them. I made them viable." I rushed to my parents' house for comfort, but found none. My father, with cold anger, declared, "Jake Peterson is now the most promising young architect in the city. And your sister is by his side. You made a scene. You embarrassed us." My mother dismissed my pain: "Chloe has always been better with people. This was bound to happen." My father added, "The Petersons are an old-money family. This connection is important for our business. You will not jeopardize that with your whining." It wasn't just Jake and Chloe. It was my own family, betraying me without a second thought. "They ruined me," I cried, "And you're worried about being embarrassed?" Their response was a brutal slap: "It's your own fault. You were always too trusting." I was completely alone, in the house I grew up in, a stranger in my own home. My career, my reputation, my love-all were gone. But then, a phone call. Jake, with fake sincerity, invited me to a dinner to show "no hard feelings." My response: "I have one condition. The engagement ring. I'll bring it to the dinner. I want to give it back to you in person." It wasn't just an ending; it was an exorcism.

It was our third wedding anniversary, and I sat alone at a dinner table set for two, a positive pregnancy test clutched in my hand. I' d imagined telling Ethan a thousand times, picturing his joy, the final piece of our life together clicking into place. But then headlights swept across the living room window, and relief turned to ice as I watched him help Chloe, his college sweetheart and the ghost of our marriage, out of the passenger door. I knew, in that single, shattering moment, that it was over. Chloe had waltzed back into our lives months ago, claiming heartbreak, and Ethan had swallowed it whole, canceling our plans to "cheer her up." Now, she was in our living room, draped on our couch, with Ethan stroking her hair, a tenderness he hadn't shown me in months. He accused me of being selfish for pointing out it was our anniversary, twisting our wedding vows into a weapon against me, defending Chloe with a venom I' d never seen directed at myself. The fight left me, all hope draining away as I realized the man I loved was gone, replaced by a stranger who saw me with annoyance and disdain. Then Chloe, with a smirk, told me I was just a placeholder, sending a photo of Ethan asleep in a hotel room, a kiss mark on his neck, sealing my fate. My world went silent, the brutal truth hitting me: I had never stood a chance against her, the great love of his life. I found the hidden divorce papers, a secret escape hatch he'd prepared, and signed my name. When he finally stumbled in, smelling of whiskey and her perfume, I showed him the photo, and then he left again, for her, leaving me to pick up the shattered pieces of my life. I was done being the quiet, steady one, the convenient wife. I called my best friend, Sarah, determined to leave, ready to protect the tiny, secret life growing inside me from this poison.

Five years of silence, a ghost in Eastern Europe for the CIA, and all I dreamt of was coming home to my husband and our daughter. My handler gave me a burner phone, a sliver of connection to the life I' d left. With trembling hands, I tapped into my home security feed, desperate for a glimpse of them. The flickering screen showed my elderly, stroke-ridden mother being slapped and force-fed spoiled mush. Then, my eight-year-old daughter, Molly, on her hands and knees. "Lick it up, you little brat," the nanny, Jennifer, sneered, kicking Molly, forcing her to clean spilled food off the marble floor. My blood ran cold, a primal scream trapped in my throat. I stormed through the door, only to be branded an intruder by Jennifer and her mother, Debra. My husband, Matthew, paralyzed by his manipulative mother Rosalynn' s control, watched as I was humiliated and assaulted in my own living room. They beat me, in front of my daughter, in the very house I' d fought to protect. How could the life I sacrificed everything for have become this twisted nightmare, where I was a stranger, an outcast in my own home? Just as despair threatened to consume me, a fleet of black SUVs swarmed the property, and my CIA handler, Andrew Blakely, walked in. He held up a tablet, and the unedited footage of my mother and daughter' s abuse began to play on our living room TV.

My life was a carefully constructed story, and I was its star. Elara Caldwell, the graceful "American Princess" adored by the public. An investigative journalist, married to rising Congressman Julian, our life was a perfect Georgetown fairytale. Seven months pregnant, I believed I had it all. Then, one quiet night, a live stream from Julian's "charity poker game" changed everything. He wasn't betting money with senators and lobbyists. He was betting "the exclusive rights to a dossier. Kompromat. On my wife." My name, my life, was being auctioned off. He planned to leak fabricated dirt, declare me mentally unstable, seize my assets, and gain full custody of our unborn son. His chilling motive: "This is for Scarlett. It's time to collect the debt." Julian returned home, his face a perfect mask of affection, while taunting texts and media alerts painted me as unraveling. He forced sedatives on me, trapping me in our "perfect" home. The immense stress became a physical weight, and I collapsed in the nursery. I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my hand flying to a now-flat stomach. Our baby was gone. Through the slightly ajar door, I heard Julian' s furious voice, not grieving, but raging about political timing, eager to spin my tragedy for his gain. His "love" was a practiced act, his ambition a poison. I was not his wife; I was a placeholder. My unborn son, a final payment in a twisted game I never knew I was playing. The tears stopped. An icy resolve settled within me, replacing the hollow emptiness. I looked at the monster masquerading as my loving husband. And I began to plan.

My rehearsal dinner was meant to be the perfect prelude to marrying Silicon Valley' s golden boy, Ethan Hayes. The chandeliers of the Rosewood Ballroom cast a warm glow, but a sudden, sickening thud extinguished all light in my world. Ethan dramatically slipped, hitting his head, and when his eyes fluttered open, he looked straight at me, his fiancée, with chilling non-recognition. "Who are you?" he asked, sealing my fate and public humiliation. My world crumbled around me as "transient global amnesia" became the official diagnosis, conveniently erasing me from his memory. My own assistant, Chloe Vance, became his unwavering shadow, her public concern masking an undeniable triumph only I could see. The wedding summarily postponed, I was left to contend with the cruel whispers that followed me everywhere: "He faked it," "She wasn't good enough." I became a ghost in my own life, a pariah in Silicon Valley, branded as "the girl whose fiancé conveniently forgot her." Was his amnesia truly an accident, or was it a meticulously orchestrated betrayal, planned with Chloe, to destroy my life for her own ambition? This agonizing question haunted my every waking moment, fueling a silent despair deep within me. Five years later, having quietly rebuilt myself and secretly married the formidable tech titan Liam Knight, I unexpectedly faced Ethan and Chloe again. Their arrogant smiles and disdain were still sharp, but so was my strength, forged in the fires of past betrayal. This time, our paths crossing wasn't a tragedy, but the precise moment for an unforeseen reckoning.

For years, I lived a quiet life as Sarah, deeply in love with Beau Harrison, tirelessly helping him and his brother Clay rise through the ranks. I poured my heart into a protective Woven Ward for Beau, believing we were building a beautiful, shared future towards our sacred Haven. My Cinderheart sister, Ashlyn, found her own love with Clay, and our gentle Shadowfox, Whisper, curled at our feet, a constant comfort. Then, a knock on the door shattered our world into a million pieces. Clay stood there with a smug Crystal Thorne, his voice chilling as he callously abandoned Ashlyn. Crystal brazenly demanded Ashlyn's very essence, her Spirit-Spark, for her own selfish ascension. But the true horror struck when she casually confessed they' d already murdered Whisper, harvesting his spark for Crystal' s gain. Ashlyn' s raw scream tore through the cabin as untamed flames erupted around her, shedding her disguise like a burning cloak before she rocketed away in a desperate escape. My heart was a burning stone of grief and rage. Moments later, Beau arrived, his face a stranger' s, summarily dismissing our love as he told me I was too "gentle" and "unambitious" for the Haven. He stood there with Crystal, expecting me to hand over my own Spirit-Spark after witnessing my beloved sister' s torments and our innocent pet' s murder. How could they be so utterly blind, so incredibly callous? They saw only Sarah, the soft woman they thought weak and easily discarded. They had no idea I, Scarlett, held the keys to the very divine realm they craved, no idea about the Guardian Spirit they had just so heinously betrayed. But their triumph would be short-lived, their stolen glory a trap. A cold resolve solidified in my core; my own vengeful plan was already set in motion. With a feigned, heartbroken resignation, I handed Beau the Woven Ward again, knowing it was now not a gift, but a tether ensuring their destined fall. "Oh, I' ll be there," I whispered, as Sarah was irrevocably gone, and Scarlett, the ancient Guardian, returned, ready to make them pay.

For nine years, my life as Mrs. Ethan Vanderbilt was a gilded cage, perfect on the outside. Inside, it was a daily torment of his cheating, gaslighting, and relentless cruelty. Then came the divorce papers-not just another empty threat, but grotesque terms that demanded I serve his pregnant mistress, Brittany. He even snatched my mother's heirloom ring to give to her. Brittany, emboldened, then deliberately ran me over with a car, causing a devastating miscarriage. Ethan's response? A shrug. Later, he forced me to undergo surgery to provide skin for her minor scratches. My body and spirit were being systematically broken. The pain, the dehumanization, the monstrous audacity of it all was suffocating. How could anyone be so calculatingly cruel? He had taken everything-my music, my unborn child, my mother's last token, even my flesh. But he didn't know I had secretly reconnected with his older brother, James, my quiet protector from years past. He didn't know about the hidden prenuptial clause, nor the bakery shares I'd rediscovered-my leverage. And he definitely didn't know James's flight was booked, with a promise: "City Hall, 4 PM. Be ready." This wasn't the end of me; it was the beginning of his downfall.

My mom' s cough was a constant reminder: ace everything, win that scholarship, or her medical bills would drown us. A top university was my only shot. But then, Jake gave me a "good luck" bracelet before the physics exam. I aced it, naturally. Except, my score came back a C-. Jake' s? An A+. "Coincidence," I thought, until I overheard Maya, my best friend since kindergarten, admit she'd gotten Jake the 'Swapper's Charm'-a cursed trinket designed to steal my success and bind me. That charm wasn't just stealing grades; it was destroying my life. My GPA plummeted, scholarships vanished, and I was forced to take the fall for a vandalized science project. Suddenly, I was a pariah, jobless, beaten within an inch of my life. Maya, the 'sister' I trusted, abandoned me for Jake, even poisoning my sick mother against me. My mom ended up in the ER, her fragile health shattered by the stress they inflicted. How could the girl who called me 'family' orchestrate such calculated cruelty? How could the friend I considered a brother betray me so completely? My life, my entire future, was crumbling around me, sacrificed for their ambition, all while a bizarre, cursed bracelet tightened its hold. Was this magic real, or was I losing my mind? But lying in the hospital, watching my mother fight for her life, a cold resolve settled in my gut. I had been their sacrifice, their pawn. With the help of a mysterious street vendor, I learned how to break the charm' s hold-and how to make its twisted magic boomerang. They wanted my success? Fine. Now, they' d get a taste of their own cursed medicine.

Michelle had only one longing in her heart: for love and peace. Ironically, she was completely unaware that her five-year-old son had become a billionaire because he was the world's greatest hacker. However, with an attack of amnesia, she had already lost her memory and didn't know who her son's father was. When she received a sudden new threat on top of her recent amnesia and pregnancy, she was caught up in a whirlwind of mystery and intrigue. After an absence of five years, she returned home to find out the truth. However, her romantic troubles had only begun.

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."

I didn't mean to call my boss. I definitely didn't mean to leave a seven-minute voicemail of dirty secrets about him. Working for Ruslan Oryolov is the job from hell. The man is impossible-demanding, arrogant, and way too gorgeous for his own good. After eighteen months of fetching his coffee and swallowing my pride, all I wanted was one night of stress relief. But the billionaire CEO of Bane Corporation isn't just a boss from hell. He's the head of the Oryolov Bratva-and now that he's heard every secret I never meant to share, he's decided to claim me. His contract. His rules. His protection for my three orphaned nieces and nephews-the only reason I'm signing my life away to a man I should fear. He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now he wants my soul.

I was the perfect Mafia wife, my dowry the foundation of my husband's ambition. I paid for his Yale degree, his tailored suits, and the very mansion he called his own. My reward? He paraded his mistress into my bedroom and declared her his second wife, expecting me to silently finance their affair. They thought they had broken a merchant's daughter. They forgot I was raised by wolves. Armed with a blood chit—a life debt owed to my family by the most feared man in Chicago—I walked into the lion's den. I went to Damien 'The Wraith' Falcone, the Dark Don who rules the Outfit with an iron fist, to demand a simple annulment. But the King of Chicago isn't interested in simple transactions. He saw the steel beneath my silk, the vendetta burning in my eyes. He granted me my freedom, but at a price: my allegiance. Now, I'm a pawn in his lethal game of thrones, caught between a treacherous husband I swore to destroy and a ruthless Don who looks at me with a terrifying, possessive hunger. In a city built on loyalty and betrayal, I'm about to teach them all that a queen's wrath is the deadliest weapon of all.

"You've been in denial for so long, Addison." His voice was husky and heavy with lust. "Do you really want me to stop?" I could not bring myself to say no. My best friend's stepdad was like the devil, making me find so much pleasure in sin. "You can't even say no," he chuckled, letting go of my hand finally. They moved to my face and he stared into my eyes, while his other hand still worked wonders between my legs. "Don't make me do this," I finally said, moaning the words out. "Please." "Tell me to stop one more time and I will," he mumbled. "Please, st-" I didn't complete my words because he captured my lips with his. *+*+*+*+*+*+* Addison Rodriguez never expected to feel any sexual tension or fall in love with her best friend's stepdad. As she surrenders to the sexual tension, her loyalty to her best friend wavers, especially when she finds out that he is secretly a Mafia Lord trying to hide in plain sight and that her best friend's life is in danger, her loyalty is tested even further. Would she reveal his secret to protect her best friend, or keep it to protect her love?

On my wedding day, my father sold me to the Chicago Outfit to pay his debts. I was supposed to marry Alex Moreno, the heir to the city's most powerful crime family. But he couldn't even be bothered to show up. As I stood alone at the altar, humiliated, my best friend delivered the final blow. Alex hadn't just stood me up; he had run off to California with his mistress. The whispers in the cathedral turned me into a joke. I was damaged goods, the rejected bride. His family knew the whole time and let me take the public fall, offering me his cousins as pathetic replacements-a brute who hated me or a coward who couldn't protect me. The humiliation burned away my fear, leaving only cold rage. My life was already over, so I decided to set the whole game on fire myself. The marriage pact only said a Carlson had to marry a Moreno; it never said which one. With nothing left to lose, I looked past the pathetic boys they offered. I chose the one man they never expected. I chose his father, the Don himself.

I am the wife of Dante Moretti, a powerful Mafia Underboss. But in secret, I am "Spettro," the phantom architect who built his entire encrypted bootlegging empire. On my birthday, I came home to find him gifting our five-year-old daughter the exact plush toy he had violently slapped out of my hands months ago. Only this time, he was giving it to his mistress, Adriana, to present as her own. "Auntie Adriana is a million times better than Mommy." My daughter's innocent words pierced my heart, while Dante coldly dismissed my presence, treating me like an unwelcome stranger interrupting their perfect family. He mocked my mothering, allowed his mistress to sever my desperate phone calls with my child, and weaponized his power to break our daughter's spirit just to spite me. He sneered that my only purpose was to stay quiet, absolutely certain I would crawl back the second my allowance ran dry. He thought I was just a weak, submissive wife who had lost everything. He didn't realize that the empire he arrogantly ruled was entirely built on my stolen brilliance. I left my diamond ring on the table, violently slashed our ancient blood oath in half, and walked out of his gilded cage forever. Sitting in a cold warehouse, I placed my hands on my telegraph machine and initiated the Ghost Protocol to permanently paralyze his entire criminal network. The era of playing the dutiful wife was over. I am Donna Falcone, and the vendetta has just begun.

"You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly. Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!" "You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now." "Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him. Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly. "I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly. She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud. "Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!" "You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine." "I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!" Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked. Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly. Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..." "I can't," he whispered. And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her. *************** Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark. But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den. The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows. Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive. Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down?

" You were born to be mine , you are mine and you are going to be ...... only mine " He spoke in his Hoarse , deep voice sending shivers down her spine. Her petite body trembled as he gaze at her with his Hawk eyes. His hand slowly caressed her cheek , lovingly as he took a careful view of her face. " Stay away ! " She screamed as she tried to push him away but he was not gonna let her push him away. He looked dead mad hearing her words. His blood shot red eyes dug holes into her brown orbs and her back sank into the wall behind her as he slammed his both fists onto the wall. " you belong to me " He made it clear to her but she was not gonna let him play with her like that. " I-I'm- getting engaged- " She looked up to him in the eyes and she witnessed his darkened eyes. He licked up his dried up lips and all of a sudden , stood up straight , letting her breath in relief but that did not last long when he grabbed her frail arm in his tight grip and dragged her all the way towards his bed , pushing her onto the bed as her body bounced twice. " do you really think you can get enagged to him ? Let me show you tonight and after that you will know ......... Whose sinful obsession you are "

I made my living playing background piano in underground speakeasies to pay off my fugitive father’s blood debt. Tonight, I had exactly ten seconds to make sure my floor-length velvet gown completely concealed the fact that I no longer had legs. The VIP doors swung open, and the most ruthless mafia Don in the city walked in—Killian Vitiello, the boy I loved a decade ago. He didn't know my legs were crushed by rival soldiers on the very night he took his blood oath. Instead of a reunion, he pulled a beautiful woman in a red silk dress to his side and coldly introduced her as his fiancée. "The rumors of you being a desperate opportunist at least explain why you vanished without a word," he sneered, looking at my threadbare clothes. He publicly disavowed my existence to the entire underworld, leaving me to be hunted by rival factions. While he built his empire, I was crawling in the freezing rain to reattach my heavy metal prosthetic, watching my mother descend into fatal madness from our crushing poverty. I swallowed the bitter ash of my ruined life and let him believe I was a traitorous gold digger. I would rather he hate me forever than let my mutilated body become a fatal weakness to his throne. So, after my mother died, I packed a single bag and fled the country to disappear for good. But I didn't know that on the very day I left, Killian kicked down the door of an illicit underground clinic and finally opened my ten-year-old medical file.

I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella. Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark. But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved. Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies. When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel. While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest. The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella. He ordered my father to punish me. I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth. That night, the love in my heart finally died. On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven. Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney. By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.