Alfredo Deangelo
10 Published Stories
Alfredo Deangelo's Books and Stories
Reborn As The Ruthless CEO's Wife
Romance Evelyn Reed was an Oscar-winning actress and a CEO, about to marry the man she had supported for ten years.
But minutes before the wedding, her twin sister Vanessa handed her a glass of poisoned champagne.
As Evelyn collapsed, paralyzed on the marble floor, her groom Sean walked in.
He didn't help her. Instead, he pulled Vanessa into a passionate embrace.
"I'm tired of taking your charity," Sean sneered, declaring he was taking over her entertainment empire.
Vanessa, her face twisted with pathological jealousy, grabbed Evelyn's first crystal acting trophy.
"It was always supposed to be me," Vanessa screamed, plunging the sharp crystal star deep into Evelyn's chest.
They had already paid off a doctor to frame her murder as a sudden heart attack, ready to inherit everything she had built from scratch.
As her blood soaked her Vera Wang gown, Evelyn watched the two vipers kiss over her cooling corpse.
She had given them fame, money, and her whole heart. Why did they repay her love with such brutal, calculating hatred?
When she opened her eyes again, she wasn't in the bridal suite, but thrashing in the freezing ocean.
She had been reborn into the body of Cassandra Laurent, a bullied heiress who had just jumped off a yacht to escape an arranged marriage.
And the man pulling her out of the water was the ruthless billionaire she was supposed to marry. From Drowned Bride To Shining Starlight
Modern My fiancé plunged our SUV into an icy river during a blizzard. He had a choice: save me, or save his childhood sweetheart, Kianna.
He didn't hesitate. He left me to drown.
This wasn't the first time. In my last life, he' d "saved" me after Kianna drowned, only to trap me in a loveless marriage. He blamed me for her death, his silent accusations a constant torment. My own parents didn't care, forcing the wedding to secure a corporate merger. I was nothing more than a pawn.
He married me not for love, but as penance, making me his living scapegoat for the woman he truly lost.
But when I opened my eyes again, I was back in the sinking car, the icy water rising around me.
This time, I smiled and pushed him toward her.
"Save Kianna," I commanded. "She needs you more." My Secret Crush For Foster Uncle Ethan
Romance It was my eighteenth birthday, a day that should have been filled with joy, but the silence in the grand dining room was heavy with the ghost of my foster parents, gone too soon.
Across from me sat Ethan, my foster uncle and the only family I had left, his serious gray eyes holding a warmth I foolishly mistook for something more, until I finally confessed my love for him.
His reaction was swift and brutal; he called me disgusting, shameful, and a burden, his words shattering my heart as he left me to drown in humiliation and pain, only to reappear two years later with a beautiful fiancée.
I clung to him, desperate, until one horrifying moment on a plummeting private jet when he ripped the parachute from my back, offering my life to save Tiffany' s, leaving me to fall into the abyss.
Against all odds, I survived, pulling his broken body from the wreckage myself, only to wake and hear him praise Tiffany for saving his life, erasing my sacrifice and leaving me utterly broken, a quiet, chilling resolve settling in my soul. Escaping The Betrayal's Chill
Modern The biting cold was the first thing I felt, deep in the walk-in freezer where Chloe, my wife of five years, had locked me.
My punishment for accidentally breaking an outrageously expensive Patek Philippe, a gift not for me, but for Liam O'Connell, her "soulmate" who was returning to the US today.
Hours earlier, her face had turned to ice, her voice dangerously quiet, "You clumsy fool! Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Her grip like steel, she' d shoved me inside, snarling, "Two hours. Think about what you did," before the heavy door slammed shut.
I had loved her, so much so that I' d sold my firm and inheritance to free her from gambling debts, thinking my selfless love had won her heart.
A dream shattered by a hidden journal revealing her rage, resentment, and her true love for Liam, whispering to our son, Leo, "This is your real dad."
Now, shivering, I heard a muffled thud, then another, against the door, and Leo' s small voice screaming, "Get out! You made Mom unhappy! Get out of here!"
A harder kick, "I don't want you as my dad anymore!"
My spirit shattered into a million tiny pieces, the cold from the freezer nothing compared to the chill in my soul.
Just as consciousness faded, Chloe unlatched the door, the kitchen light blinding me.
She found me collapsed, feverish, but her face was a mask of irritation, annoyed she' d been caught, already on the phone with Liam, gushing, "Leo? Oh, he's wonderful. He calls you 'Dad' all the time now. He can't wait to see you."
My son looked down at me, his face twisted in disgust, "You're pathetic."
That was the moment.
The last flicker of hope died.
I stumbled to the guest room, my hands shaking.
Ignoring calls, I booked a one-way international flight to anywhere, vowing never to return.
Two days later, Chloe was seen on the news, chasing my taxi to the airport, screaming my name in a public meltdown no one, least of all me, could have predicted.
I still had no idea how deep her betrayal ran. Swamp Fire: A Trucker's Justice
Romance I pushed my rig across forty-eight states for a year, eating at truck stops and sleeping in the cab, all to save for a home with my wife, Jenny.
Returning home, bone-deep tired but finally holding our savings, I found the house too clean, Jenny wasn't there, and a small tag on her car keys led me to a high-end car wash.
There, an attendant greeted me by name, confirming Jenny's "Platinum" status and frequent visits, which made no sense given her short commute, and a cold dread started to settle in.
The truth exploded when I checked her car's GPS: thousands of miles logged to a luxury hotel, a cocktail lounge, and even a distant casino, all during my brutal year on the road, leaving me reeling in disbelief as I saw a fresh hickey on her neck, and then found a trash bag full of empty men' s cologne boxes and high-end boutique receipts.
How could the woman I' d sacrificed everything for betray me so completely, then feign innocence and turn the entire town against me when her lover announced she was pregnant with his child?
Humiliated and backed into a corner, I knew I had to fight back. His Uncle, Her Vengeance
Romance I was on the cusp of everything, a rising country music star poised for the CMA Horizon Award, making my dying grandfather' s legacy a reality.
But then my boyfriend, Ethan, shattered it all, sending me to the wrong venue, watching smugly as my rival, Jennifer Todd, stole my nomination.
Later, he casually dismissed my dream, then, at Jennifer' s cruel urging, smashed my hand, destroying my ability to play.
As if that wasn' t enough, Jennifer visited my grandfather in hospice, gleefully telling him my career was over, triggering his heart attack.
My world crumbled; I lost my music, my future, and my last link to him, only for Ethan to propose I abandon my "white-trash family history" and the media to accuse me of faking my injuries and causing my grandfather's death.
Just as I stood broken at his graveside, a dark, powerful figure emerged through the crowd, offering a silent promise of revenge. The Price of His Betrayal
Romance I once thought my love for Julian Croft was everything, willingly sacrificing my entire identity and unique art to fit his "pious" world.
I even became pregnant, convinced his child would finally make me permanent in his life.
But his sister, Claire, violently attacked me, kicking my stomach and causing a horrifying miscarriage.
Julian, the man I loved, rushed in and only saw Claire, frantically asking if her hand was hurt, completely oblivious to my bleeding body on the floor.
When I awoke in the hospital, stripped of my baby and hope, Julian appeared desperate – not for me, but to demand my blood for Claire, who' d been in a car crash.
He begged the doctors to save "his Elle," using the same pet name he once whispered to me.
In that shattering instant, I realized the ultimate horror: I was never "his Elle"; I was merely a substitute, a stand-in for his twisted, suffocating obsession with his sister.
Used and utterly destroyed, forced to save the very woman who had killed my child, I found a cold, clear resolve in the void of my being.
I walked out of that hospital, leaving everything behind, vowing to forge a new life far from the wreckage he left.
Now, six years later, I'm back in glittering Manhattan, not the broken girl he thought he knew, but Elara, a celebrated artist, a loving wife to Kael, and a proud mother to our son.
And Julian Croft is about to learn that the woman he betrayed is no longer picking up discarded rings, but building an empire of her own. My Second Shot at Life
Horror My app, GatherGround, was a hit, and my launch party was buzzing.
It was also my birthday, a night meant for celebration.
Then, my best friend Jess and charming boyfriend Ethan gave me a "special" gift: a vintage instant camera.
What followed was a nightmare.
My mother died in a freak accident, my dad suffered a debilitating stroke, my company was cyber-attacked and destroyed, and Ethan coldly abandoned me.
As I stared death in the face, a horrifying truth flashed before my eyes: the camera wasn' t a gift-it was draining everything from me, giving it to them, to Jess and Ethan, who flourished as I withered.
But then, I gasped, the party music pounding again, and saw Jess walking towards me with that same cursed box, moments before it all began.
I was back, and this time, armed with knowledge and burning rage, I would rewrite my fate. You might like
His Vow Broke, Her Empire Woke
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. From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
Xiao Wang 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." Abandoned Heiress, Now His Mafia Bride
Priority I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them. Reborn To Love My Outlaw Husband
Little Red Riding Hood "Once she's finally dead, I want you to take me - right there, in that outlaw President's own bed... promise me, Blaze."
Lying in a freezing pool of my own blood, I watched the man I had loved for three years flirt shamelessly with my cousin. Meanwhile, my so-called "best friend" greedily stripped the wedding ring off my bleeding finger. "Take her. Have your fun with her, just don't let that pretty face go to waste," the scumbag sneered, kicking me aside. As a group of tattooed thugs approached with sickening, lustful grins, I was swallowed by absolute, shivering despair.
Just as I prepared to bite my own tongue to end it all-a deafening engine roar shattered the night. My husband, the ruthless MC President Axel, the "monster" I had spent my life trying to escape, charged into the hellfire covered in blood. He used his massive frame to shield me from every bullet. With his dying breath, his normally cold eyes held nothing but desperate, humble tenderness. "Don't be afraid... I love you..."
When I opened my eyes, I was reborn a year before our fatal fallout. To completely sever ties with the cheating scumbag, I secretly liquidated all my designer assets, transferring the funds into an untraceable offshore account. But the financial report was handed straight to Axel.
He forcefully cornered me against the wall, his eyes swirling with a devastating mix of soul-crushing heartbreak and violent obsession as he ruthlessly bit my lip. "Chloe, even if you run to the ends of the earth, I will drag you back in chains!" he growled, his voice hoarse and his eyes red. "But from tonight on... until I see your lover's corpse with my own eyes, don't you ever try to touch me again."
I wrapped my arms tightly around his solid waist from behind, my small hands slipping under his half-open leather jacket to trace the hard lines of his tense abs. Feeling his massive body instantly freeze into stone, I stood on my toes and whispered breathily against his ear: "Okay. But before you kill him... hubby, don't you want to come back to bed and fulfill your duties as my husband first?" Rejected by the Son, I Chose the Don
Rabbit 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.
The Don's Wife Is His Executioner
Deeply Engaged My husband swallowed a ten-year prison sentence to save me from my abusive stepfather. When he got out, he built a mafia empire and made me his Queen.
But last night, his encrypted tablet lit up with an ultrasound photo and a text from another woman.
"Our little secret is growing."
The mistress soon called to mock me. She was pregnant, while I had been barren for four years. When I confronted my husband, he didn't apologize. Instead, he assigned heavily armed guards to protect her and burned my divorce papers with his cigar.
"The only exit from this Family is death," he warned.
The nightmare deepened when I uncovered her true identity. The mistress was my half-sister, and her mastermind was the mother who had abandoned me at six. My husband knew. He even whispered our sacred vow to her-"I will shield you from the blood"-the exact words he used when I lost our child on a freezing concrete floor for his syndicate.
I took bullets for him. I waited a decade outside those prison gates. Yet he used my absolute loyalty to lock me in a cage, handing my crown to the family that threw me to the wolves.
He thought I was just a helpless wife, entirely dependent on his mercy.
He didn't know I was Vanguard, the shadow billionaire controlling the very lifelines of his empire.
I calmly picked up my phone and called my head operative.
"Liquidate his supply chains. Let's see whose empire turns to ash first." Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him
SHANA GRAY I died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father.
I was twenty years old.
He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant.
He chose her. He always chose her.
And then, I woke up.
Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for.
This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice.
He didn't know he was talking to a ghost.
He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal.
He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder.
That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry.
She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts.
So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie.
I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane.
But I will not be a victim.
This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter.
This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain. The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride
Diversion 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. Too Late, Mr. Mafia: The Surgeon He Discarded
Winnie Suchoff I was the wife of Dante Cavalli, the most ruthless mafia Don in the country.
But today, his Underboss slid mandatory annulment papers across my hospital bed, ordering me to dissolve our marriage.
In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged them not to abandon me.
I spent the next thirty years locked in Dante's massive penthouse, waiting for a man who bathed the streets in blood but never gave me a single drop of warmth.
My aristocratic mother-in-law stripped me of every cent, leaving me completely isolated.
I foolishly threw away a brilliant surgical career to be a submissive, obedient mafia wife.
In the end, Dante never came to see me, and I died entirely alone in that massive, empty bed.
Until my last breath, my chest was suffocated by a lifetime of regrets.
I couldn't understand why I had sacrificed my freedom and my scalpels for a man who would only feel a twisted guilt decades after I was already a cold corpse.
Opening my eyes again, Fate had dragged me back to the exact day my nightmare truly began.
Matteo stood at the foot of my bed, clearly expecting my usual pathetic tears.
"Take your time to think about it."
This time, I didn't cry or beg for my life.
I just picked up the fountain pen, signed my name, and walked out to reclaim the scalpel I had abandoned. The Capo's Scarred Wife: A Vicious Comeback
Sofia Wade I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it." 
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