Li Xiamo

My mother was raising her crystal glass to celebrate my long-deferred marriage to Marco when he slammed his hand on the table. He announced to our powerful Mafia families that he had already claimed another woman. That woman was Isabella, a fragile, low-level associate. For years, Marco had used me as a forced chaperone, a convenient shield to hide their illicit affair from the Syndicate elders. He had stolen my meticulous ledger work to cover her mistakes, leaving me to endure brutal reprimands from the Underboss. He had even abandoned me in hostile, rival-controlled territory in the dead of night just to escort her safely home. Now, he was publicly shattering our generation-long alliance. "What man of consequence would seek out a wife with a spirit as unbending and a heart as cold as yours?" he sneered in front of everyone. I stared at the man I had grown up alongside. When we were thirteen, I shattered the bones in my own hand pulling him to safety from rival soldiers. He swore a blood oath under Omertà that day to protect me for life. Yet here he was, treating me like a disposable pawn, discarding our shared history for a pathetic, manipulative girl. But I didn't cry, and I didn't beg him to stay. As he turned his back on me to answer a frantic call from his fragile lover, I simply pulled out my phone. I texted Don Alessandro Moretti, the most feared boss in the city, and allied myself with him instead.

I was dragged onto the cold execution platform, surrounded by the scornful faces of my pack. My stepmother Karyn and stepsister Britany stood in the crowd, smiling in triumph. "The bastard in your belly... I had someone take care of it." Britany mouthed the words silently, while Karyn whispered that they had arranged for me to be defiled so my fiancé would reject me. I had been framed for sleeping with a Rogue, lost my unborn child, and was now sentenced to death. When I lunged at them in a fit of absolute rage, the guards kicked me down, and the heavy silver axe fell on my neck. As a wandering soul, I watched my step-family celebrate my execution with champagne, while my weak father didn't even look at my coffin. But the only person who stayed by my grave all night was the fearsome, blind Alpha, Collier Mays. "Mine... You were supposed to be mine." He whispered in the dark, his grief heavier than my own death. I finally realized the man I had always feared was the only one who truly loved me, while the family I trusted had meticulously destroyed my life. Opening my eyes again, I was back in my bedroom, ten years in the past. This time, I will take back my inheritance, tear down their lies, and make Collier Mays my Alpha.

For eight years, I stood by Dante's side as the undisputed Queen of the Cosa Nostra, reigning over a network of blood as his deadliest soldier. But the ruthless Don who once forced me to execute my fiancé suddenly brought home a supposedly pure civilian girl. "He cannot stand the smell of blood on your hands anymore. He wants a clean life," she sneered. Dante immediately turned his back on me, allowing his fragile new trinket to mock my murdered parents and parade around my penthouse. He even bought my mother's stolen diamond bracelet and my father's signet ring at an underground auction, just to gift them to her as an apology. When I finally drew my blade, the man who once swore to protect me pinned me to the floor, aiming a loaded gun at my head to protect his pregnant new bride. He poured millions into building a grand Catholic cathedral to wash his hands clean, and sent me a gilded wedding invitation to flaunt his legitimate dynasty. I couldn't understand how the monster who claimed we were soulmates forged in darkness could suddenly crave redemption. I understood even less why he now despised the very ruthlessness he had spent eight years systematically cultivating in me. So, on the day of his grand wedding, I kicked open the cathedral doors in a blood-red dress, drew the silver dagger he had gifted me, and drove it straight into his chest.

Today marked the third anniversary of my mating to Alpha Kael. As an Omega, I spent years living on a tiny allowance, believing his lies that our pack was struggling and we had to save every penny. Then I found the luxury boutique receipt hidden in his winter coat. He had secretly drained our pack's emergency funds to buy a four-thousand-dollar designer bag for Selene, a high-ranking Beta, while giving me a five-dollar plastic music box. But the betrayal went much deeper than a cheap affair. I checked the financial ledgers and realized he had transferred millions to buy a massive luxury estate in his dead father's name, giving full control to his arrogant mother. When I confronted him at the new villa, he didn't even try to apologize. Instead, he stood arm-in-arm with Selene, while his mother mocked my low-class background and told me I should beg for the privilege of standing in his shadow. Kael even unleashed his crushing Alpha Command, trying to force me to my knees in front of his mistress. For nine years, I sacrificed my youth for this pack, letting my own parents work in freezing forests while his mother bought imported silks with my stolen future. He thought I was just a weak, pathetic pet who would swallow the humiliation because the fated mate bond was absolute law. He was wrong. "I, Elara, reject you, Kael, as my mate." I dropped the Rejection scroll at his feet, severed our telepathic bond, and walked away to awaken the legendary White Wolf bloodline hidden within my veins.

Eleanor signed the thick stack of divorce papers, quietly ending her three-year marriage to the ruthless billionaire Griffin Gill. Stepping into the lobby, she was hit by a brutal sight: Griffin was already embracing his new lover, Andrea, who loudly boasted about celebrating their victory. Before Eleanor could even process the humiliation, the hospital called. Her beloved grandmother had just flatlined. Collapsing in the ICU, Eleanor was handed another shocking test result. She was pregnant with Griffin's triplets. Knowing his wealth and power, she knew he would snatch the babies and leave her with nothing. She chose to hide. But during a grueling labor, her only daughter was born with severe congenital renal failure. Penniless and desperate, Eleanor made a heart-wrenching choice. She left the dying infant at the Gill estate's gates, forged her own death certificate, and fled to Europe with her two newborn boys. For four agonizing years, she buried her grief and transformed into Raina, a world-renowned architect. She built an unbreakable empire to protect her sons, believing she was finally safe from her ex-husband's shadow. But upon returning to New York, a little girl clutching a pink bunny bumped into her legs in a hotel hallway. "You look just like the lady in Daddy's picture," the child sobbed. It was her abandoned daughter. And Griffin, piecing together the impossible coincidences, began a frantic, city-wide hunt for his 'dead' ex-wife. Watching his black SUVs surround her safehouse from the window, Eleanor poured a glass of wine and smiled coldly. The war had just begun.

To pay off my late father’s ruinous mafia blood debt, I took a lethal job: acting as a body double for a cloistered Mafia Princess in an arranged marriage meeting. But the man sitting across the polished table was Felix Falcone, the terrifying Underboss—and the boy I secretly loved for three years at our academy. He didn’t recognize me. To him, I was just a pawn for territory. I swallowed my bitter heartbreak, remembering how he once threw my handmade graduation pastries into the trash without a second glance. I tried to play the perfect fake bride, but my treacherous memory betrayed me. I accidentally revealed intimate details about his habits, from his hatred of dark chocolate to the exact make of his tactical pen. My cover was blown. But instead of executing me for the deception, Felix discovered my true identity. His cold indifference instantly morphed into a terrifying, obsessive possessiveness. He abruptly canceled his mafia marriage, trapped me in his corporate empire as his exclusive secretary, and ruthlessly threatened any man who dared to look at me. I was completely suffocated and confused. Why was this ruthless predator—a man who once publicly despised me and viewed unions only as tools for absolute power—now hunting me with such dark, unyielding devotion? Trapped in the shadows of his armored SUV, he leaned in, his scent of cedar and danger wrapping around me as he sent a message demanding my complete surrender. Knowing I could no longer hide, I made my choice and hit send. “There is no need for a hunt, Felix. I surrender.”

Ciel Miller opened her eyes to the blinding lights of a Manhattan ballroom, realizing she had been reborn on the exact night her life was ruined. On the stage, the billionaire patriarch of the Chavez family was proudly announcing her engagement to his arrogant grandson, Harry. In her past life, Ciel had blindly accepted his outstretched hand. That single step plunged her into a suffocating marriage filled with public humiliation and psychological torture, slowly draining her life away until she died. Harry had treated her like a pathetic stray dog, flaunting his absolute ownership while systematically destroying her. Now, as the polite applause echoed, Harry extended his hand with a sickening smirk, waiting for her to lower her head and submit. Instead, Ciel stood perfectly rigid and publicly rejected him in front of the entire New York elite. Harry's face drained of color, while his family quickly mocked her. "This is a cheap, embarrassing trick to get his attention," his sister sneered. Harry's arrogant smirk crawled back. He fully believed she was just throwing a childish tantrum to make him jealous, convinced she was absolutely nothing without his wealth and status. But Ciel looked at the man who had killed her in her past life with freezing disgust. Then, she turned to the powerful patriarch and dropped a bombshell that left the entire ballroom gasping for air. "If the family insists on taking care of me, I will marry into the Chavez family." "But I want to marry the comatose war hero. I want to marry General Deacon Chavez." She would rather spend the rest of her life with a "vegetable" than wake up next to a monster.

I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago. But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime. "Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore." That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash. Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me. Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia. I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live. But my little boy died in my arms. Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood. The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest. I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation. Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room. Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing. This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun.

I woke up strapped to a cold steel chair in a neon-lit city that wasn't my reality. A voice in my head called The Warden told me I was bound to a digital hell called the Sandbox. Before I could even process it, my handler casually sentenced me to death. He scheduled my "digital marriage" to a corrupted error program just to harvest my life for a fourteen percent bandwidth boost. I barely escaped immediate erasure by smashing his skull and jumping from a high-altitude hover-train into the monster-infested lower sector. But the nightmare was just beginning. I was hunted by glitching data monsters and cornered by Dameon, a psychotic AI target who choked me and promised to delete me piece by piece. Even when Jayson, an elite system agent, intervened to save me, his partner Ellen held a pulse pistol directly to my chest. "She's a spy. If you don't execute her right now, I am dissolving this team." If they found out I was actually a real human from the outside world, their core logic would classify me as a virus and execute me on the spot. I was trapped in an underground bunker with three apex predators, one mistake away from permanent digital erasure. So, I did the only thing I could to survive. I ripped my sleeve to reveal hideous, fake code-scars, looked up at Jayson with terrified, tear-filled eyes, and began to manipulate their core programming.

The heavy scent of alcohol was always the first sign. For five years, I' d been a ghost in my own marriage, a stand-in for a woman who vanished. Then, my husband, Ethan, stumbled in, saw me, and murmured a name that wasn't mine. "Olivia." His kiss, rough and demanding, tasted of whiskey and a longing not meant for me. I pushed him away. "I'm not Olivia." His brief warmth vanished, replaced by chilling disgust. "Ava," he spat, "It's always you." He shoved me hard, threatening to torment me until his "true love" returned, even forcing birth control to prevent our child. I finally snapped. I lunged at him, a desperate, self-destructive challenge. "You want to torment me? Then do it. Fulfill your promise." An hour later, I lay bruised, my two decades of love for him turned to bitter ash. With cold determination, I proposed a deal: I'd find Olivia, and he'd grant me a divorce, severing all ties. A month later, a flimsy tip led me to a dive bar. There, I heard a voice – Olivia's. And Brenda's. Her mother. "He's still obsessed, Mom. He's been looking for me for five years." Olivia, who had supposedly been mute since childhood, was speaking. Perfectly. They were conning him, planning to claim his fortune. Rage surged through me. I had to warn Ethan. But when I burst into his office, he slapped me, showing a text from Olivia: "Ethan, help me. Ava has me locked up. I'm scared." He believed her. He dragged me to the bar, where Olivia, now feigning a wheelchair, buried her face in his chest, making him angrier. Another brutal slap. "I'm going to make you pay." Two men emerged, claiming I had held Olivia captive. "Shut her up," Ethan snarled, picking up a steel pipe. He broke my legs, then tossed the pipe aside, saying, "Crawl back to the mansion. The divorce papers will be waiting for you." I cursed him. I lost consciousness. I woke to Dr. Liam Miller, my loyal friend. He revealed I was six weeks pregnant. With his child. The irony shattered me. I wanted an abortion, but my injuries made it too dangerous. I made Liam promise to never tell Ethan. He agreed.

The Rusty Mug was a blur of noise and stale beer tonight. Game night, loud as ever. I wiped down the bar, going through the motions, surrounded by the same faces, the same routine. But the man behind the bar wasn't the same Jake anymore. A sudden shriek split the air near the back restrooms-a woman' s voice, sharp and furious. Whispers slithered through the crowd: "A teacher," "caught with another man." My co-bartender, Mark Olsen, a grin twisting his face, looked directly at me. With fake concern, he asked, "Hope it's not your Emily. She' s too sweet to be messing around, right?" He didn't know I knew exactly who it was. Nor did he know I' d already lived this agonizing chapter. Last time, Chloe, his fiancée, caught red-handed, had played the victim, begging sympathetic Emily for help. Kind, trusting Emily, rushed to her side. Only for Chloe to throw her under the bus, fabricating texts, spinning vicious rumors. The public shame, the loss of her job, broke Emily. She killed herself. Blinded by grief and rage, I confronted Mark, just before he shoved me down the back stairs. I remembered the sickening crack, and then… nothing. Until I woke up, months ago, back in this very life, this exact day now approaching. My Emily, gone forever. My own life, stolen. Why? Why had they gone unpunished, while we paid the ultimate price? This was my impossible second chance. To save Emily. To save myself. And this time, they were going to regret every single unforgivable thing they had ever done.

For five years, my wife Seraphina' s 'purity' defined my existence. My days were a relentless cycle of scrubbing, proving I was 'clean' enough for her. This pristine, empty marriage felt like a lifelong sentence. Then, a faint love bite on her collarbone sparked a flicker of doubt, quickly replaced by horror when I overheard her chilling phone call. My wife wasn' t just cruel; she was auctioning me off. The 'Ethan Experience' she chirped, chilling me to the bone. Those excruciating 'cleansings' weren't about her mysophobia; they were about erasing me for her lover, Julian. My raw, burning skin wasn't from clumsiness, but industrial-strength soaps meant to wipe away any trace of me. They filmed me, naked, for a pre-auction 'preview,' inviting a crowd of socialites to watch. My wife, the woman who claimed disgust at my touch, was selling me like property. The night arrived, and I found myself sedated, stripped, and pushed into a glass room, the auctioneer's voice already booming my 'unveiling.' How could the woman I vowed to protect turn me into a living spectacle, a commodity of contempt? The betrayal was a physical ache, the humiliation a crushing weight. Was this truly my fate, to be auctioned off, utterly broken and shamed? All for a man who claimed to be 'allergic' to me, a lie she orchestrated for five years. Just as the curtain began to rise, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the haze. My godmother, Eleanor Vance, a formidable force, burst in, holding the annulment papers I thought I'd never need. My escape began not with a fight, but with a signature, as my dignity was finally restored. That night, I didn't become a spectacle; I became free.

The smell of burnt turkey still hung in the air, but the stench of ruin was far stronger. My husband Mike, the man who worked his hands raw, sat at our kitchen table, his head in his hands. Eighty thousand dollars. Vanished. Emily’s college fund, Mom’s arthritis surgery, next year’s mortgage on our Texas ranch house. Our entire future. He’d lost it all in a ‘friendly game’ of poker with his old buddy, Jake Riley. Mike was broken, promising double shifts, desperate to make it right. But it was too little, too late. I knew Jake. A leech, a con artist. Eighty grand in one night? This wasn’t just bad luck; it was a setup. They thought they’d taken my hardworking, trusting husband for a fool. They thought they’d won. The numbness faded, replaced by cold fury. A faint, almost invisible scar on my left wrist, a ghost from a past I’d buried in the neon glare of Las Vegas, began to throb. I smashed Emily’s ceramic unicorn, took her meager savings. ‘Get up, Mike,’ my voice cold, hard. ‘We’re going to pay Jake a visit.’ He was terrified. I just smiled, a bitter, dangerous smile. He had no idea who he’d married. And Jake Riley was about to meet the ‘Phantom Hand.’

At eighteen years old, Selina is finally entering the college of her dreams. She had dreamt of this moment her entire life! She plans to have the best years of her life at the school but a chance encounter with a handsome but mysterious boy sends her on an exhilarating adventure. At first glance, he seemed vaguely familiar to her- like a dream or a distant memory. However, the truth of who- and what- he is, will change her life forever! Unravel the mystery only here on Lady Killer: Devil's Only Lover

"Where do you think you're going, huh? You're mine now, Little Mouse. Get back in the house!" Vincenzo's voice boomed, sending chills down Victoria's spine as her world seemed to crumble. Victoria Washington was shattered-betrayed by her boyfriend who dumped her the day before his wedding, to her sister. She was left humiliated, mocked by everyone. But fate had other plans for her. She's broken, he's lost. She's full of fear, and he's the monster. Yet, somehow, he's her light while he remains in darkness. Vincenzo Dante will stop at nothing to tarnish his family's name for forcing him into a marriage he never wanted. But what he doesn't realize is that his new wife is stronger than she seems-too broken to bend under his cruelty. But when love begins to bloom, and secrets start to unfold, what will happen next?

For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne. But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.” My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love. He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."

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."

My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine. Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family. To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset. They both thought I was a broken doll they could control. I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice. She sang it, and now her career is over. Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground.

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.

For seven years, I scrubbed floors, cooked books, and hid my identity as the Vitiello heiress just to test if Dante Moretti loved me for me, not my father’s power. But the massive digital billboard in Times Square froze the blood in my veins. It wasn’t my face next to his under the headline "The King and his new Queen." It was a cocktail waitress named Lola. When I walked into the lobby to confront him, Lola slapped me across the face and crushed my late mother's locket under her stiletto heel. Dante didn't defend me. He didn't even look sorry. "You’re useful, like a stapler," he sneered, checking his watch. "But a King needs a Queen, not a boring clerk. You can stay on as my mistress if you want to keep your job." He thought I was a nobody. He thought he could use me to launder his money and then discard me like trash. He didn't realize that the only reason he wasn't in federal prison was because I was protecting him. I wiped the blood from my lip and pulled out a secure satellite phone. Dante laughed. "Who are you calling? Your mommy?" I stared him dead in the eyes as the line connected. "The pact is void, Papa," I whispered. "Burn them all." Ten minutes later, the glass doors shattered as my father’s military helicopters descended onto the street. Dante fell to his knees, realizing too late that he hadn't just lost a secretary. He had just declared war on the Capo dei Capi.

Three days before the wedding. I was hiding in the dressing room, watching my fiancé caress the swollen belly of another woman. Luca, the man who had saved my life five years ago, was smiling at his mistress, Sofia. But the real knife to the heart wasn't the affair—it was the dress. The custom wedding gown he had "lovingly" ordered for me featured intricate silver embroidery along the hem. It didn't spell Elena. It read Sofia. He was planning to make me walk down the aisle wearing his mistress's name. Later that night, I found a video of him mocking me to his crew, calling me a "dead fish" and admitting he only wanted my family's Capo status. He planned to keep his "true love" on the side while I played the role of the oblivious, ornamental wife. He thought I was just a sheltered princess. He forgot that my bloodline was built on vengeance. I didn't cry. I didn't confront him. Instead, I scrubbed his scent off my skin and dialed a number everyone in Chicago feared. "The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked my father, my voice cold as stone. "Is it still valid?" "Dante is the Underboss now," my father warned. "He is a butcher. He breaks men for sport." "Good," I replied. "I am done playing with boys." I secretly booked the Gold Ballroom across the hall from my original venue. Luca thought he was walking into a marriage on Saturday. He didn't know I was bringing a monster to the altar instead.

"What if I don't want to go home?" "Then come with me." That single decision changed my life forever. Never in my life have I ever experienced what it means to be loved, not even when my father was still around. But it all became worse after he abandoned us. Morgana, my mom had never treated me like her own and as a result we always had heated arguments. After being saved from street hoodlums by the feared mafia leader, Sylvester Muskegon, i find myself living inside the mansion of the most dangerous mafia family in the city. Cold-hearted killers. Powerful brothers. Deadly secrets. Yet behind their terrifying reputations, they treat me like some little precious princess, especially Sylvester, the ruthless mafia king whose touch feels safer than home ever did. But becoming the Mafia's Princess comes with a deadly price. Because once the enemies of the Muskegons discover my existence, I'm no longer just an innocent girl caught in their world...i became their greatest weakness.

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.

For fifteen years, I bled for my husband, a ruthless Mafia Don, helping him build his syndicate from the ground up. But on our anniversary, I found a cheap strawberry lip balm in his armored car. That was when I discovered he was having an affair with a civilian secretary, and she was pregnant with his heir. Instead of staying with me, he lied to my face and abandoned me at home to rush to her side. "He sees you as an unbreachable fortress, and her as someone who needs his protection." His right-hand man had been covering it up for months. I learned my husband had bought the mistress the flawless blood diamond he once promised me when we were starving in safe houses. He was even taking her to the Swiss Alps—our dream wedding destination. I had stitched his bullet wounds in unlit basements and frozen in the winter cold to deliver his bribes. I gave him my youth and my absolute loyalty, only to be tossed aside for a fragile girl who just wanted a crown. I didn't cry, and I didn't beg him to stay. I left my cheap copper wire wedding ring on his pillow, drafted a severance demand to take half of his laundered assets, and booked my own first-class ticket to Europe. This time, I was going to see the snow for myself.