Apache
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Apache's Books and Stories
Reborn To Ruin: The Mafia Queen's Revenge
Mafia I spent twenty-one years trying to be the perfect Mafia Princess, treating my illegitimate sister, Mia, with nothing but grace.
That kindness is exactly what got me killed.
My husband, Luca, didn't take me on a honeymoon. He dragged me into the soundproof basement of our estate.
Mia was there, too. Not to help me, but to gloat.
She laughed as she admitted to poisoning our mother with arsenic, watching with glee as Luca brought a serrated knife to my chest.
"You were always too soft, Sera," he sneered, carving through my skin while I begged for mercy.
I died in that cold, dark room, choking on my own blood and the bitter taste of betrayal.
But I didn't stay dead.
I woke up gasping for air, clutching a chest that was smooth and unscarred.
The calendar on my nightstand read May 12, 2018.
It was five years ago. The very morning I was scheduled to sign the marriage contract that would seal my fate.
I looked at the paper on the vanity.
In my last life, I signed it with a trembling hand.
This time, I flicked open my silver Zippo and watched the flames eat Luca's name.
I didn't pack a dress. I packed a pistol and a stack of cash.
I was going to Las Vegas.
There was only one man dangerous enough to help me destroy the New York families.
I walked into the underground fight club, locked eyes with the deadliest man in the room, and smiled.
"Dante Cavallaro," I said.
"I'm here to make you a King." Invisible To Him, Until She Left
Romance October 12th. Another year. Another morning, another silent coffee delivered to Jake Sterling's desk, and another reminder of his glacial indifference. Three years of unrequited hope, of being invisible to the man she worshipped-her commanding officer.
Then, Isabelle Vance, a new agent, arrived, and suddenly Jake transformed: smiles, patience, shared laughter. Ava witnessed a tender interaction at his parents' home, overhearing joyful whispers about "wedding venues" and a "spring wedding." The world tilted. The crushing reality that he was marrying someone else, someone he showed warmth and kindness to, while she received only cold disdain and public humiliation, shattered her.
The pain was a physical wound, and the injustice burned. Why had he treated her with such cruelty, only to lavish affection on Isabelle? Why was she always the target of his harshness? The constant push and pull, the mixed signals – a sudden kind gesture out of uniform, then a brutal dressing-down back at the office – it all made no sense.
She couldn' t endure it anymore. Her heart, once full of desperate hope, was now a hollow, aching void. There was nothing left.
A final, desperate act: Ava requested a transfer to Cinder Peak, a remote, forgotten outpost. She was leaving. She was walking away from him, from this unit, from everything that had defined her for years. Little did she know, her painful escape was just the beginning of a far more dangerous and complicated journey. The Billionaire's Doll: Her Secret Escape
Romance I was just a placeholder, a warm body in silk sheets to keep the bed from getting cold while my billionaire "owner," Garrick Head, dreamt of another man’s wife. To the world, I was Ever Wells, the lucky girl he’d plucked from obscurity, but in reality, I was a doll on a 145-day contract, counting every second until I could disappear.
Everything shattered when a burner phone buzzed in my hand with a message that turned my blood to ice: "I know your secret, Everly."
My real name was the one thing I had buried to protect my four-year-old son, Leo, who was hidden in a cramped apartment in Queens. Just as the blackmailer closed in, Leo’s asthma flared into a life-threatening fever, and the medication he needed cost thousands I didn't have. When I tried to siphon money to save him, Garrick sensed my desperation and froze my credit cards, mocking my "poverty" and demanding I crawl back to his bed to earn his favor.
The nightmare intensified at a high-society gala when Clarence Frazier, a dangerous ghost from my past, cornered me. He mouthed my real name in front of the cameras, his eyes promising to tear my fake life apart. Garrick’s possessiveness turned violent as he broke a man’s jaw for insulting me, yet in the same breath, he reminded me I was nothing but a "rented whore" he’d bought off a shelf.
I had to smile while he kissed me and detach my mind while he touched me, all while siphoning pennies into a hidden account. He thought he could finalize my imprisonment with a twenty-million-dollar apartment on Central Park West, calling it a gift when it was really just a heavier lock on my golden cage.
"I don't want to save the world," I whispered to the empty, marble penthouse after he fell asleep. "I just want to save my son."
With a predator from my past watching my every move and a master who treated me like a pet, I realized I couldn't wait for my contract to end. I had to run tonight, or Leo and I would both die in this cage. The Mafia Don's Regret: Too Late To Love
Mafia My husband, the city's most ruthless Don, left me standing at the altar to comfort a woman with a sprained ankle.
I thought our marriage was a protection pact, but when a kidnapper held a knife to his childhood sweetheart’s throat on a rooftop, Cedric made his choice.
He physically shoved me—his pregnant wife—toward the blade to save her.
I survived the fall, but our unborn baby didn't.
Yet, there was no apology.
Blinded by her lies, Cedric accused me of staging the attack out of jealousy. He had me thrown into the family dungeon, where I was beaten while still bleeding from the miscarriage.
He didn't know two things.
First, that his "perfect" sweetheart had voluntarily sterilized herself years ago and could never give him the heir he craved.
Second, that I had terminal cardiomyopathy. My heart had an expiration date, and I had only days left to live.
On my 27th birthday, I asked him for one final kindness: a midnight ride on the Ferris wheel where we had our first date.
He promised to be there, but he was late again, attending to her needs.
So I went up alone.
When the carriage came back down, it was empty.
All I left behind were my shoes and a medical file that would destroy him. Protected By The Enforcer: My Ex-Husband's Regret
Mafia The rejection letter from the private security school arrived on a Tuesday. It stated clearly that the single slot allocated to my son, Danny, had been filled by another boy.
My husband, a high-ranking Capo, had signed away our son’s protection to make room for his mistress’s bastard.
He sneered at me, calling Danny "soft," and sent him to an unguarded cabin in the north to toughen up.
Three days later, the Russians took him.
When the courier arrived, there was no ransom demand. Just a package containing a shred of blue cotton with a green T-Rex, soaked in black, stiff blood.
Tom didn't shed a tear. He poured a scotch, stepped over me as I wept on the floor, and blamed me for coddling the boy.
Overwhelmed by the silence of a house that would never hear my son's laughter again, I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills to escape the pain.
But the darkness didn't last.
I woke up gasping, my heart hammering against my ribs. Sunlight hit my face.
"Mommy?"
Danny stood in the doorway, wearing his dinosaur pajamas, whole and alive.
I looked at the calendar. It was May 15th. The day the letter arrived.
The grief in my chest calcified into cold rage.
I knew about the skimming. I knew about the fake widow status. I knew exactly how to bury my husband.
I picked up the phone and dialed the one number no wife was ever supposed to call directly—the Enforcer.
"I have evidence of treason," I said. "And I'm bringing the proof." Revenge Wears Many Faces: Hers, Mine
Romance Three years. That' s how long I spent in prison, taking the fall for the man I loved, Case Stevens, believing his promise of marriage and a future.
But the moment I walked out, I discovered his sweet words were a meticulously crafted lie, a cruel game orchestrated with my university rival, Blair Kelley, to destroy me and my family.
They humiliated me publicly, forcing me into a mock proposal with a dog, while my father lay dying in a hospital, his care deliberately withdrawn by Case to seize control of our family company.
At my father' s funeral, I learned Blair had mixed his ashes into her "art," a twisted masterpiece she then set ablaze, burning the last physical piece of him. I was beaten by Case' s friends, left for dead, my body broken, my spirit shattered.
I was dying, but a doctor, Axel Everett, offered me a chance at a new life, a chance to become a ghost in the world that had betrayed me. Unwanted Husband, Unstoppable Man
Modern I stood before my instructor, Mr. Harrison, the polished floor reflecting my tired face. I was the lead dancer at Stone Corp's prestigious company, but it felt like a prison. "I need to resign," I said, my voice quiet but steady.
Then, the true reason for my discontent emerged. "I want to divorce her," I confessed, referring to Olivia, the CEO and my wife. She had stopped seeing me as a person, only a means to an end.
My world shattered when I overheard Olivia tell her brother that I had "served my purpose." I was merely a distraction, a "replacement" until Derek Chen, her former fiancé and another dancer, returned. I was a ghost, a stand-in-a role painfully evident as Derek sat beside her at dinner, in the seat that used to be mine.
Weeks turned into a nightmare. Derek orchestrated a scene, faking an injury and accusing me of assault. Olivia, without hesitation, believed him. "You are vile," she hissed. She then slapped me, the sting nothing compared to the ultimate betrayal. I crumpled to the floor, consumed by a familiar, dark terror, remembering her promise to never let anyone hurt me.
Later, I dragged myself from the locked basement where her security team had thrown me. In the hospital, the doctor delivered the final blow: the fall had caused irreversible damage, leaving me unable to have children. The dream of a family, a home, snatched away by the woman who once said, "We are not having children."
A quiet, hollow emptiness settled in me. But I wasn't broken. I was done being a victim. I would get my justice. I would escape my gilded cage. Grand Theft Fiancée
Romance The day I was supposed to pick up my fully restored vintage Ford Bronco, a symbol of my hard-earned success, I was blindsided.
My fiancée, Gabby, whom I trusted implicitly, appeared in a viral TikTok video handing my dream car-a sky-blue masterpiece-to her ex-boyfriend, Wesley, for his 30th birthday, all for online clout.
The comments section exploded with praise for her "generosity," while my world tilted. She hadn' t just given away my car; she had stolen a piece of my success and gifted it to another man, publicly humiliating me.
It wasn't just the blatant theft and the shocking disrespect; it was the audacious lie, the sheer betrayal in front of the entire internet. How could someone I was about to marry be so public and brazen with her deceit, turning my private milestone into a weapon against me?
But instead of despairing, a chilling clarity settled over me. I pulled up the car's title, screenshot the police report I' d just filed for grand theft auto, and commented on her viral video, "Glad you like my Bronco. The Austin PD has been notified... See you soon." The game was on. A Million Dollar Bluff
Romance The air was thick with the smell of barbecue, but my stomach was churning with dread.
My upscale Austin life was supposed to merge with my fiancé Ryan's small-town roots this Thanksgiving weekend, finalizing our wedding plans.
But then Ryan's family started a poker game, and my father, a notorious soft touch after a few bourbons, lost everything.
Every cent of the $200,000 wedding fund I' d given him for safekeeping was gone, wiped out in one night.
Ryan, instead of comforting me, put on a masterclass of manipulation, shaming my father and threatening to call off the wedding, using "tradition" as an excuse.
His whole family watched, smug and complicit, as if I was the problem, not their pathetic, greedy scheme.
The humiliation was suffocating, crushing not just me, but my parents too, turning a celebratory weekend into a public shaming.
How could the man I was about to marry betray me so completely, letting his family fleece mine, then blaming us?
But as my mother begged me to leave, a cold resolve settled in my gut, hardening into steel: I wasn't leaving until I' d taken back what was mine.
I walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and calmly declared, "I want to play." The Ivy League Curse
Young Adult I was a scholarship kid, grinding daily for a shot at the Ivy Leagues, my entire future resting on those SAT scores.
My best friend, Ethan, had just given me this vintage 'good luck' watch, and my other best friend, Chloe, was like family-always in my corner.
Then the practice SAT results dropped.
My scores, usually stellar, had crashed to zero, while Ethan, who barely passed, was suddenly top of the class.
That's when I overheard Chloe, my 'sister from another mister,' confessing.
She' d given me Ethan' s 'lucky' watch, not for my good fortune, but to transfer mine to him. Because I was 'in his way.'
The betrayal was a gut punch.
This wasn't luck-sharing; it was a score-sucking curse.
First, my grades vanished, then my scholarship was revoked after Chloe framed me for plagiarism-a move that sent my already fragile mom to the hospital.
To top it off, Chloe, the 'family' I trusted, dumped me in a dark alley to be beaten almost senseless by a jock and his crew, just to protect Ethan.
Lying broken, abandoned, and stripped of everything, I couldn' t grasp the cruelty.
My best friend, my 'sister'-how could they orchestrate such a calculated downfall? Was this just about Ivy League dreams, or something far more sinister? Was I merely a pawn to be discarded? And what kind of 'good luck charm' destroys lives?
But beneath the pain, a cold resolve hardened.
I found Marcus, the mysterious man who' d warned me about the watch.
He promised a way to break the curse, to make them pay.
My future, my mom, my very identity-it all hung in the balance. This wasn't just about getting my life back; it was about exposing the darkness, and making sure justice found its true mark. Unforgiven: A Love Betrayed
Modern For seven years, I was Sarah Miller, dating Senator Ethan Bailey, my life a meticulously crafted lie for a shadowy organization.
I was nearing my triumph, about to secure his loyalty.
Then, a shattered glass, scattered files. Ethan' s furious roar echoed: "A. God. Damn. Assignment?"
Our entire relationship, a carefully woven deception, was exposed.
My D.C. career turned to ash. Ostracized and radioactive, I thought hope arrived in Mark Thorne, but his 'devotion' was another twisted lie, a calculated tactic fueled by his obsession for Ethan' s new wife, Victoria.
Victoria unleashed a horrifying campaign of torment: public humiliations, framed corruption, a deepfake.
She called my murdered assistant, Izzy, a "loose end." Worst of all, Mark, cold and brutal, snapped the neck of my only solace, my dog Buster.
How could my life become a landscape of such profound betrayal and calculated cruelty? Every supposed kindness, every bond, revealed as a sickening deception.
Shattered and broken, I whispered one word to Aegis: "Extraction."
My past memories were wiped clean.
I awoke as Amy Peterson, free in a quiet Maine town.
But the man who destroyed me, Mark Thorne, was unknowingly given an Aegis "Redemption Mandate," sent to earn my love, unaware I' m finally truly protected from his lies. Whispers of a Dark Prophecy
Young Adult I clutched my Yale application, a symbol of hope amidst the stifling air of my own home. My parents, my brother, and my childhood friend Jake stood before me, a picture of familial expectation.
But I heard their thoughts, a chaotic chorus of fear and malice. "Lock her down. Save Chloe," my father thought. Jake proposed eloping, ostensibly for love, but their true motives were horrifying: to stop me from going to college, to prevent me from 'destroying Chloe' s future' – all based on a 'prophet' s' twisted premonitions about me.
My refusal ignited their true rage. They stripped me of my agency, condemning my ambition as a 'dark path' to protect their 'blessed' Chloe. Every success I had ever achieved they twisted into a tool for villainy. My chronic illness, initially dismissed as 'drama,' became their excuse for outright torture: confinement, forced sedatives, and a dog leash chained to my ankle. They genuinely believed I had to be stopped, by any means necessary.
How could a family be so utterly consumed by such a delusional prophecy, twisting every fiber of their love into a suffocating paranoia? How could they view me, their own daughter, as a malevolent force simply for wanting a future? The betrayal from Jake, someone I once crushed on, cut deeper than their predictable malice, as he chose their twisted narrative over me.
But even held captive, my will wasn't broken. With my last ounce of strength, I penned a desperate 'SOS,' pressing it into Chloe's hand. This was my final gamble, my last hope to break free, to expose their monstrous delusion, and to reclaim my destiny, even if it cost me everything. A Mother's Impossible Sacrifice
Billionaires Nine months pregnant, I walked into another one of my husband's lavish galas, the latest accessory in his perfectly curated, yet utterly broken, life.
When premature labor struck, triggered by his blatant disregard, he simply sneered, telling me not to be 'dramatic,' while I was left to face a life-threatening delivery alone in a sterile hospital room, his phone conveniently off at a party with his secretary.
Lying in the hospital bed, watching his latest public indiscretion flash across my TV screen, I made the agonizing choice to give up my newborn son, Leo, convinced he' d be better off with the Caldwell fortune than with a broken mother like me.
The system failed me, and I couldn't bear the thought of my tiny, vulnerable son enduring a life of instability because of me, a mother with no resources and no family.
So I vanished, changing my name and leaving behind Sarah Caldwell, believing my sacrifice was the only way to shield Leo from the poison of his father's name.
But just as I' d rebuilt a quiet life, two years later, he walked into my new bakery, Leo in his arms, and a single, innocent word from our son - 'Mama!' - shattered my carefully constructed peace, demanding I once again deny the love I desperately craved. A Mother's Scorched Earth
Modern My seven-year-old, Ethan, was my whole world, a sensitive boy whose eyes held the wonder of distant galaxies and whose laughter filled our lives. But beneath that joy lay a constant fear: his severe, life-threatening peanut allergy. Weekend handovers at his father Mark' s perfectly manicured, magazine-worthy backyard were always a tightrope walk.
One scorching afternoon, a pristine ornamental tree lost a branch, triggering a terrifying chain of events. Mark, egged on by his new girlfriend Chloe, forced Ethan to dig a stubborn tree stump in the cruel sun, all while Chloe lounged nearby, casually eating peanuts. Soon, Ethan was gasping for air, clutching his throat, his face turning splotchy red.
As I scrambled for the EpiPen, screaming for Mark to call 911, he grabbed my arm, dismissing it as "overdramatic," convinced I was panicking. Precious, agonizing seconds ticked by as he held me back, until my precious boy collapsed, blue-lipped and lifeless. Later that day, while Ethan lay in the morgue, Mark was gleefully celebrating a gender reveal for his new baby with Chloe, dismissing our son's death as mere "unpleasantness." He then heartlessly threw Ethan' s most treasured toy, his grandfather's vintage X-Wing, into the trash, trying to erase his existence entirely.
My grief was an open wound, yet his callous detachment, his immediate celebration, and Chloe's cold triumph were an unimaginable torment. How could the man who once checked every food label now call my son's tragic death "unpleasantness"? How could I be forced to film a humiliating apology video, publicly blaming myself, just to be free?
But then, a hidden surveillance video from the backyard cameras, secretly kept by his parents' housekeeper, surfaced. It laid bare Mark's fatal inaction, Chloe' s deliberate malice with peanuts, and exposed the shocking lie that Chloe's unborn child wasn't even his. Now, armed with undeniable proof, I was ready to pursue justice for Ethan, guided by the dreams he left in his cherished Space Journal. Wedding Day’s Final Drop
Billionaires My billionaire father, Arthur Vanderbilt II, constantly pressured me to choose a bride from the brilliant women of our Foundation Scholars program.
My focus, however, was stubbornly fixed on the enigmatic and beautiful Isabelle Hayes, convinced she was the one.
But then, I overheard an intimate conversation between Isabelle and her supposed younger brother, Leo, discovering their illicit affair and calculating plan to exploit our family's fortune.
My heartbreak quickly turned to fury as I uncovered a web of deceit: the other Scholars were actively mocking me, and Isabelle herself sabotaged me in a polo match, causing serious injury.
The public humiliation escalated at the Met Gala when Isabelle, a master hacker, froze my accounts and then mockingly covered my immense philanthropic pledge, all to elevate Leo and further disgrace me.
I was left reeling from their calculated gaslighting and the profound injustice, struggling to comprehend how deeply I’d been betrayed by the very people my family had uplifted.
But Leo’s final, vulgar taunt – a video flaunting Isabelle’s twisted devotion to him, followed by a crude offer of other Scholars – ignited an uncontrollable rage, solidifying my decision: they would all pay. You might like
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.
My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
Rabbit 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. Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
Dorine Koestler I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved.
He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again.
"Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports.
For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian.
In return, he treated me like furniture.
He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste.
I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home.
So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco.
I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage.
But I underestimated Dante.
When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat.
He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away. Marrying The Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Mafia Brother
Nero Daniels My fiancé left me standing alone at the podium during our rehearsal dinner to rush to the side of a woman whose only illness was a desperate need for attention.
He humiliated me in front of the heads of the Five Families, abandoning our alliance to scoop his "dying" mistress off the floor.
I didn't cry. I didn't run. I walked straight to the head table, to the most terrifying man in the city—his older brother, the Don.
"The Woodward family owes me a husband," I declared calmly.
An hour later, I was married to the Capo dei Capi. But my ex-fiancé didn't accept his demotion.
He kidnapped me, strapping me to a chair in a soundproof basement.
For three days, he drained my blood pint by pint to "save" his mistress, Jaidyn, who watched me fade while she casually ate an apple.
"Take another bag," she ordered, smiling at my agony. "She still has too much fight in her."
As the cold crept up my chest and my vision blurred, I realized I was going to die for a lie, drained dry by a madman.
Then, the steel door detonated.
Through the smoke and debris walked my husband, not with a ransom, but with a serrated knife and a promise to burn them alive. His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
Temple Madison For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe.
On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring.
Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger.
Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family.
When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence.
"Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets."
My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet.
He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts.
He was wrong.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use.
Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed.
*I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.*
His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning.
*The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?*
I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me.
I looked down and typed three letters.
*Yes.* My Cold Heart: Rejecting The Mafia Boss
Jia Zhong My husband, the Outfit’s most feared Consigliere, stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.
He had just convinced a jury that Sofia Moretti was innocent.
But we both knew the truth: Sofia had poisoned my mother over a spilled martini on her Valentino dress.
Instead of comforting me, Dante looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"If you make a scene," he whispered, gripping my arm until it bruised, "I will bury you in a psychiatric ward so deep even God won't find you."
To protect the Family alliance, he sacrificed his wife.
When I tried to fight back, he drugged me at a gala.
He let a private investigator take photos of me, naked and unconscious, just to have leverage to keep me silent.
He paraded Sofia around our penthouse, letting her wear my dead mother’s shawl while I was banished to the staff quarters.
He thought he had broken me.
He thought I was just a nurse’s daughter he could manage.
But he made a fatal error.
He didn't read the "committal forms" I handed him to sign.
They were divorce papers, transferring his assets to me.
And the night of the yacht party, while he toasted to his victory with my mother's killer, I left my wedding ring on the deck.
I didn't jump to die.
I jumped to be reborn.
And when I resurfaced, I made sure Dante Russo burned for every sin. Mistaken Identity: Loving The Wrong Twin Sister
Tabbie Platt I replaced my twin sister in a marriage contract to the ruthless Mafia Don, Donovan Blackwood.
For three years, I was a ghost in his home, silently enduring his coldness while he flaunted his mistress, Chloe.
On the very last day of our contract, Chloe staged an accident.
Donovan didn't hesitate.
He forced me to drain my blood to save her life.
Then, to prove his loyalty to her, he drove me to the cliffs and pushed me into the freezing ocean.
He even locked me in a cellar infested with spiders—my deepest phobia—because she lied and said I threatened her.
He thought he was punishing the spoiled, arrogant Isabella.
He didn't know he was breaking Ava, the woman who had silently memorized his allergies and waited up for him in the dark every single night.
When I finally took my fifty million dollars and vanished, I left behind nothing but the divorce papers and a photo revealing the truth.
He tore the city apart, destroying my family to find me, only to realize he had tortured the wrong woman.
Now, he is standing on my porch in the pouring rain, staring in horror at the simple wooden ring on my finger given to me by another man.
He falls to his knees, begging for a chance to love the wife he tried to destroy.
I look at him, feeling absolutely nothing.
"It's too late, Donovan," I say, locking the door. "You killed her." A BRIDE FOR THE MAFIA LORD
Nooriva "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?
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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