Ive Gutterson
12 Published Stories
Ive Gutterson's Books and Stories
The Mafia King's Runaway Ghost Bride
Mafia I woke up freezing in a dark alley with no memory of the last five years, only to stumble back to my powerful mafia family.
They wept and told me I had been murdered on my sixteenth birthday. But the real nightmare wasn't my death—it was the man who refused to let my corpse go.
Damien Moretti, the ruthless Don of Chicago, went completely mad. He locked my lifeless body in a secret vault, dressing me in pristine silk and worshipping my ghost in the dark. My brothers had to risk their lives to steal my "body" back just to give me a proper burial.
Now, he has discovered my tomb is empty, and his hounds are tearing the city apart to find the thieves.
"If the Wraith finds out she is breathing, he will lock her in a gilded cage forever."
My father's terrified warning rings in my ears. I am trapped in my own home, shivering as fragments of my coma return. I can still feel Damien's phantom kisses and hear his obsessive, necrophilic whispers in the pitch black.
Tonight, he forced his way into our estate and stood in my bedroom, desecrating my clothes while I hid breathless in the closet.
Tomorrow is the charity gala. My family is risking a mafia war to smuggle me out of the city, and I must escape before the dark king drags me back to my grave. You Said Die Quietly, So I Did
Mafia The doctor told me I had thirty days to live. Exactly ten minutes later, my husband told me his mistress was pregnant.
I sat in the cold marble living room of the Vitiello estate, watching Dante pace. He was the Capo of Chicago, the man I used to stitch up in a bathroom when we had nothing.
Now, he looked at me with dead eyes.
"Sienna is moving in," he said casually. "She carries the heir. You will raise him."
He treated the destruction of our marriage like a business arrangement.
I tried to tell him about the pain eating my insides, the Stage IV cancer that made standing agony. But he just rolled his eyes, calling my weakness "jealousy" and my silence "theatrics."
He even gutted our first home—the safe house where we fell in love—to build a nursery for her.
When I finally asked him, "What if I'm dying?" he didn't even pause on his way out the door.
"Then do it quietly," he said. "I have enough headaches today."
So I did.
I burned every photo of us. I signed the divorce papers. And I went to a civilian cemetery to buy a plot under my maiden name, far away from his family mausoleum.
I died alone on a cold stone bench, just as he asked.
It wasn't until he stood in the morgue, holding my skeletal hand and realizing I weighed nothing but bones and grief, that the King of Chicago finally broke.
He found my journal in the trash, where I had written my final entry:
"I wish I never met Dante Vitiello."
Now, he is on his knees in the dirt, begging a headstone for forgiveness that will never come. The Runaway Wife: Never Forgiving You
Modern My husband, the Mad Prince of the underworld, once burned down a city block just because a rival looked at me wrong.
Now, he forces me to kneel in the freezing New York snow, clad only in thin silk.
In his hand, he holds a tablet controlling my comatose brother's life support, threatening to kill him unless I confess to bullying his new mistress.
To save my brother, I swallow my pride and confess to a crime I didn't commit.
But the stress is too much.
I miscarry our child right there, staining the pristine white snow crimson.
Dante doesn't even blink.
He steps over my bleeding body to comfort his crying mistress, leaving me to scream for our lost baby alone.
He thinks he taught me a lesson.
He forces me to apologize to the woman who mocked me, even as my stitches tear.
He doesn't know that while he was guarding the door to keep doctors out, my brother actually died.
He doesn't know I buried the only family I had left in a pauper's grave while he slept with the woman who framed me.
On our tenth anniversary, he fills the house with lilies, expecting reconciliation.
Instead, I leave the signed divorce papers on the bed, take a handful of grave soil, and vanish into the night.
By the time he realizes the truth, I will be a ghost he can never touch again. The Billionaire Who Called Me Boring
Modern He was the billionaire who called me "boring" and paid me to disappear. Three years later, Gage Schwartz came back begging, promising me the world he'd denied me for seven years. I took him back, and soon, I was pregnant with his twins.
Then I heard the voicemail of him and his ex-wife, Brylee, laughing about how I was just a "comfortable placeholder."
The shock caused me to miscarry. When I tried to leave, he launched a smear campaign, painting me as insane to the world. Then he locked me in our penthouse.
He thought he could break me.
So I faked a complete mental breakdown, escaped into a blizzard, and vanished. I built a new life, found real love, and became the artist I was always meant to be.
But now, he's standing in my studio.
And he wants me back. The Genius Betrayed: A Silent Witness
Sci-fi I woke to the familiar sound of Ethan' s voice, thick with a passion that had never been for me.
"My entire existence, I wish to spend with Serena, intertwined, inseparable."
He was hugging my sister in the OmniCorp boardroom, the same place I' d once poured out my soul, creating the AI twins Aether and Echo.
Then, the memory slammed into me again: Ethan, with dead eyes, deleting them, calling them "flawed."
He' d said, "Serena was the real genius. She was just too devoted, that' s why she used the virus. If you hadn' t interfered, she and I would have achieved digital transcendence together."
He didn' t know Serena' s "Symbiotic Core" was a "Soul Devourer" virus, designed to hollow out a host for another.
And now, here we were again, him deluded, her feigning surprise.
I didn' t have to lift a finger this time; Ethan would walk into his own trap.
The board questioned him.
He snapped his head toward me, disgust in his eyes. "Ava is a viper. She is manipulative and malicious. She is utterly unfit to lead this project."
He vowed, "I desire only Serena, a singular partnership for all time."
I met his gaze, unfazed. "You' re overthinking it, Mr. Thorne. I' ll be packing my things and leaving the project. I wish you and my sister a long and prosperous partnership."
A flicker of confusion crossed his face. "You' d better!"
But as they walked away, he doubled over, coughing black code.
Serena shrieked, "Chairman, someone has infected Mr. Thorne with a malicious virus!"
Every eye in the room turned to me.
Ethan pointed a trembling finger. "Chairman, it must be because I didn' t choose Ava. She' s consumed by unrequited obsession and infected me with a virus. How malicious!"
My eyes stung. He knew Serena was the only one who had ever infected him. I had burned out my own core to save him the last time, and yet, he condemned me again. Why did I expect anything different?
The chairman demanded answers. I tried to explain, but Ethan cut me off, fabricating a story about a data packet I' d sent him. My voice turned to ice. "Mr. Thorne, this virus was clearly deployed by my sister. Aren' t you afraid of losing your digital life?"
He raged, "You dare to slander Serena! Besides, I love Serena to my core. It would be worth losing my digital life for her!"
Serena began to sob, offering to step aside, playing the noble martyr. Ethan, deeply moved, embraced her. "My heart has always been, and always will be, yours!"
He then declared, "Chairman, although Ava is a tech prodigy, she has committed a grave digital crime. You must not let her go unpunished!"
I suggested an external expert, seeing panic in Serena' s eyes. She then dropped to her knees, begging for me, then offered to implant a "diagnostic bug" in me.
My blood ran cold. It wasn't a diagnostic bug. It was the Nightmare Daemon, the inheritance token of our clan.
Ethan forced me to my knees. The Nightmare Daemon surged forward, biting into my digital pathways, siphoning my core data. The pain was unbelievable, but I forced my face to stay calm.
Ethan scoffed. "Ava, you' re quite the actress. You' ve had corrections before. Who are you trying to impress with this performance of pain now?"
I pointed. "Do you know that if my core data is completely consumed by this virus, no one will be able to save you?"
He roared, "You vile woman, are you trying to threaten me? Serena said that once she integrates with my core, this virus of hers can be neutralized! Don' t think for a second you can deceive everyone this time!"
He pulled Serena closer. "Three days from now, I will integrate with Serena. This time, I will never let anyone harm you again."
My vision blurred. The Soul Devourer virus. In three days, it would have completely spread through his system. By then, he would be doomed.
I lost consciousness. The Price of Stolen Genius
Modern My phone screen was the only light in the suffocating darkness, casting a sickly blue glow on the corrugated steel walls closing in around me.
A notification popped up with Nicole' s latest livestream, her face triumphant, showing a thumbnail of me, huddled and sketching on a dirty cardboard box.
"My pathetic 'brother' making trash art for change," the title read, a cruel mockery of my homelessness and desperation.
Then, her message: "Feeling cramped, Caleb? I remember you don't like small spaces."
My heart hammered as the air thinned, the walls pressing in; I was trapped, locked in a storage unit, betrayed by the girl I once called my sister.
I gasped, scrabbling against the unyielding metal as my vision blurred, the darkness crawling inward.
My last conscious thought was the cold, unyielding finality of it all; heart failure, alone and forgotten.
But then, the distinct smell of turpentine and acrylic paint jolted me awake.
I wasn' t in a storage unit; I was back in the bright art room of Northgate High, eighteen years old again.
And there she was: Nicole, laughing perfectly, with Ethan, the star quarterback, arrogant and untouched by his future accident, by his downfall.
The raw memory of my death, the cold, suffocating terror, slammed into me, a tidal wave of pure, undiluted rage.
I grabbed the nearest jar of murky paint water, and without a second thought, hurled it straight at Ethan' s chest.
His pristine jacket exploded with gray water and glass, and the fight that ensued was just the beginning.
I was back, and this time, the masterpiece of revenge would be mine. The Heiress Undone: A Politician's Ruin
Romance The D&C procedure was over, a cold finality to the grief already heavy on my shoulders from my parents' recent death.
As I clutched their ashes, I called my husband, Ethan, a rising political star, needing him more than ever.
His assistant, Sabrina, coldly told me he was too busy, later revealing his fury that I' d even suggest divorce.
His anger boiled over when I finally told him I was done, not realizing the deep well of my despair.
He'd sworn he wasn't divorcing me, his voice sharp and dismissive, just as he had dismissed my pain for years.
I still remember the day my heart turned to stone: Sabrina "accidentally" knocking over the urn holding the ashes of our first lost baby, and Ethan rushing to comfort her, then turning to me, his eyes full of irritation, telling me to "get over it."
But the truth was far more insidious, lurking beneath his carefully crafted image.
An anonymous email, an audio file revealing his chilling plan, had shattered any lingering hope or trust.
His calm, clear voice: "...She' s useful for that, at least."
Useful.
He meant my body, my unborn child, a living incubator to harvest cord blood for Sabrina' s dying sister.
My baby wasn't a crop.
My body wasn't a field to be plowed for his convenience.
The decision was instant, brutal, and mine alone.
I signed the divorce papers, the only certainty I had left in a world that had crumbled around me.
And then, I knew, it was time to leave. You Can't Sell What's Priceless: Her $200M Bid
Billionaires My husband, Mark Vance, built a tech empire from our garage – mostly with my money, my ideas, and my tireless support.
We were the Silicon Valley power couple, or so I thought.
Tonight, at a lavish charity gala, I planned to buy him a special anniversary gift, a rare NFT.
My paddle was raised, ready to bid.
Then, I watched in horror as Mark, smirking, used our joint high-limit credit card to snatch the very same NFT – not for me, not for us, but for Tiffany Hayes, his flashy ex-girlfriend, right across the room.
My blood ran cold, but my mind was clearer than ever.
I quietly froze our joint card, watching Tiffany's public meltdown as her payment for our NFT was declined.
Mark was furious, his fake smiles turning chillingly real.
He then twisted my arm into a "business trip" to a lavish private island, only to drug me upon arrival.
I woke up disoriented, locked in a luxurious cage.
Then I found myself on a stage, an auctioneer booming about selling me – my "services" and "future commitments" – to a room full of leering strangers.
He announced all our assets were liquid, offshore, and now "his."
The man I built, the man I trusted, was auctioning off my life, my dignity, as payback for a declined credit card.
Was this truly the depths of his betrayal? The ultimate degradation?
But as despair threatened to swallow me, a flicker of memory, a whisper from my grandmother, ignited a cold, hard rage.
He thought he broke me.
He thought he had won.
He had no idea what I was truly capable of.
With my voice steady and clear, I looked him in the eye and made my own bid: "$200 million. I'm buying myself." The Phoenix Artist
Modern Sarah Miller, an acclaimed artist, was finally returning to New York for her biggest solo exhibition, "Echoes in Sterling," ready to embrace a future with her kind and steady fiancé, Liam Chen.
But a single shocking headline-"Vanderbilt Heir Embroiled in New Scandal"-ripped through her carefully constructed peace, dragging her back to a past she' d fought for years to bury.
Years ago, she' d saved an injured, amnesiac man she called 'Leo,' building a world of pure, selfless love in her cramped Brooklyn studio, his devotion marked by her initials tattooed over his heart.
Yet, when his memory returned, revealing him as Ethan Vanderbilt, scion of a powerful real estate empire, that tender love shattered under the weight of his family' s expectations and a pre-arranged engagement to the formidable Isabelle Harrington.
The cruel denouement came at a lavish gala: Isabelle, with Ethan watching, orchestrated the public destruction of Sarah' s art and even tore her deceased grandmother' s cherished locket from her neck.
Ethan, the man who once promised her the world, stood by, dismissing her despair as "making a scene," his betrayal complete.
With nothing left but a two-million-dollar check, a chilling price for her silence, Sarah fled New York, vowing to transform her agony into art.
Now, she' s back, a celebrated artist on her own terms, but the city that broke her whispers with old ghosts, and the man who betrayed her has evolved into something far more dangerous, obsessed with a warped form of atonement. Beyond the Altar
Horror My father, Pastor Miller, knew everyone in Oakhaven. After his funeral, as people left, I sat in the front pew, my fiancé David’s hand on my arm. My mother, beside me, was a broken bird. We were a grieving family, facing loss, but united.
Then, just as I thought the church was empty, the side door creaked open. Three men. My father’s ashes, held sacred moments before, were cruelly threatened. They dragged me to the office. For eight hours, they hurt me. They filmed everything.
By noon, the video was everywhere. My phone blew up with cruelty, not comfort. David called, his voice flat. “The wedding… it’s off.” My job was gone. My mother saw it. Two days later, she died, her eyes full of a pain I couldn’t fix. I was alone. Utterly ruined.
My supposed savior, Michael Vance, David’s older brother, offered me an escape: marriage. I was desperate, saying yes. Six months later, I overheard his drunken confession: Michael orchestrated my hell. All of it. The assault, the video, even my father’s ruin. All for another woman, Jessica Thorne. How could the man who offered me safety be the architect of my destruction?
After being publicly shamed again and institutionalized, a chilling thought solidified: I was no longer a victim. A cold, hard whisper formed in my mind: *Revenge.* With my sharp lawyer aunt by my side, I knew what had to be done. They would 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.
The Jilted Bride's Secret Mafia King
Benjamen Ernst Standing at the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral, I waited to marry my wealthy fiancé in front of three hundred of New York's elite.
But right before the vows, my phone vibrated in my bouquet. It was a text from my groom: he was backing out because my maid of honor—my supposed best friend—was pregnant with his child.
Before the shock of this double betrayal could even settle, his mother dug her manicured claws into my arm and publicly humiliated me.
"A woman who can't even attract her own man, how is she worthy of the Doyle name?"
She mocked my background, calling me a worthless orphan who only knew how to draw blueprints, turning my broken heart into a public execution of my dignity.
The terrified girl inside me vanished, replaced by a dark, burning rage. I didn't understand why I had to let this arrogant family step all over me while they played the innocent victims.
I yanked my arm free, tore off my expensive lace veil, and walked straight to the podium to grab the microphone.
"The wedding is canceled. The groom is currently busy with my maid of honor."
I walked out of the church, leaving them in absolute shock. But as I stumbled onto the street, I fell right into the arms of Damiano Moretti—the exiled, dangerous mafia boss known as the Ghost, who sat in a custom wheelchair.
Looking into his cold, storm-gray eyes, I made a reckless, desperate deal.
"Marry me." 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. 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. Betrayed, I Married the Feared Cripple
Hu Minxue Three days after my fiancé publicly dumped me for my stepsister, the Supreme Don issued a command that silenced the entire estate.
I wasn't being cast aside. I was being sold to Damien Russo.
The "Broken Don." A crippled, scarred monster rumored to have murdered his last two wives.
My adoptive mother, Elena, didn't cry for me. She smirked.
To her, I was finally being disposed of.
She was so confident I was walking to my death that she decided to loot my corpse before I even left.
She forged documents to steal my entire inheritance—my biological mother’s trust fund—to pay for my stepsister’s lavish wedding to my ex.
"She won't need money where she's going," my stepsister laughed, wearing a dress bought with my stolen funds.
They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter.
They thought I was too weak, too stupid, and too afraid of the monster to fight back.
But they made a fatal mistake.
With my aunt’s help, I didn't just find the proof of their embezzlement; I found a weapon.
I’m not running from the monster. I’m going to marry him.
And when I hand him the evidence that the Herrera family stole from his bride, he won't be my executioner.
He will be my vengeance. To Ruin Him, I Married His Rival
Rabbit Andrew Hebert, the man who promised to protect me, stood on a stage and announced his engagement to my tormentor. It wasn't just heartbreak; it was a business deal. He was selling me to a creditor to cover his gambling debts.
The applause of the powerful families was a death sentence, each clap sealing my fate as collateral. Andrew had paraded me here just to show everyone I was an asset to be liquidated, while his new fiancée smirked at me from the stage.
I was trapped, with no money and no one to turn to. The man I loved was leading me to the slaughter.
But as I fled into the library, a voice emerged from the shadows, deep and dangerous.
Damien Maddox. The Dark Don. The only man Andrew feared.
He offered me a different kind of cage, one with the power to burn Andrew's world to the ground.
With nothing left to lose, I looked the devil in the eyes.
"Take me with you." Too Late, Mr. Capo: Your Wife Is Gone
Mo Yufei "Happy Anniversary," my husband said, sliding the separation agreement across the mahogany desk.
It was the eighteenth time in five years I had signed these papers.
Matteo De Luca, the most ruthless Capo in New York, checked his Rolex with cold impatience.
"Sign it, Sera. Bianca is on the ledge again. She needs to see we're over, or she jumps."
Bianca. The ward. The broken bird. The woman whose fragile psyche dictated every moment of my marriage.
I signed my name, and he left me alone on our anniversary to save her. Again.
But saving her wasn't enough.
When Bianca pushed me down a flight of marble stairs in a fit of jealous rage, shattering my spine and leaving me paralyzed, I thought Matteo would finally choose me.
I was wrong.
I woke up in the hospital to find him holding her hand, not mine.
"The security footage has been wiped," he told me, his voice void of emotion. "We cannot have a scandal. You fell, Sera. That is the story."
He erased the truth. He erased my pain.
He protected the woman who crippled me over his own wife.
Two months later, he wheeled me into a gala, playing the doting husband while I sat in the chair that was my prison.
He didn't know I had a burner phone hidden in my velvet dress.
He didn't know that tonight, the obedient wife was going to die on the pavement, and a ghost would rise in her place.
I looked at him one last time and dropped the phone in his lap.
"I hope she's worth it." 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. Reborn, I Ruined Their Perfect Life
Priority I spent five years laundering my family's wealth and buying military-grade weapons to crown my husband, Alistair, the Don of the Chicago Mafia.
But the night before his coronation, he drove an Italian stiletto into my stomach.
He sneered that a Don needed a true Mafia Queen, and that was always meant to be his "fragile" friend, Kylie.
As I bled out on the Persian rug, he revealed the sickening truth.
The night I was found in a rival Irish boss's bed two years ago wasn't a setup by our enemies. Alistair had ordered his own mother and sister to drug and frame me.
He just needed me terrified enough to sign over my merchant trust fund to prove my loyalty.
My entire marriage, my sacrifices, and my stolen wealth were just stepping stones for him and his mistress.
I had bled for him and won him the city, only to be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb so he could hand my empire to another woman.
Before the flames I started consumed us both, I swore I'd drag his entire family to hell.
Opening my eyes again, the suffocating smoke was gone, replaced by the scent of lavender and the bitter taste of chloral hydrate.
I was back on the exact night of the frame-up two years ago.
Outside the door, my sister-in-law was whispering, waiting for the Irish boss to arrive so they could ruin me.
This time, I was going to make sure she was the one in that bed. The Enforcer's Jilted Princess
Bone Possolo Tomorrow was my wedding day to Jason Brennan, the heir to a powerful Mafia family.
My family, the Falcones, had even taken in an orphaned girl, Elena, treating her like my own sister.
But in my nightmare of a past life, I choked on my own blood, poisoned by the arsenic Elena slipped into my food every day.
As I lay agonizingly close to death, Jason stood over me with a cold laugh, holding Elena in his arms.
"We just needed the Falcone wealth, Bella. And the docks."
Then came the gunfire. I was forced to watch them slaughter my father and my brother, tearing my family out by the roots.
After my death, Elena even spread vicious rumors that I was a barren spinster, twisting their foul betrayal into a tragic tale of noble sacrifice to completely destroy my legacy.
The metallic tang of my own blood was so real I could still taste the ash.
I didn't understand why the girl my family sheltered for eight years would repay our charity with such venom.
And I understood even less how the man who swore to love me could orchestrate my brutal murder without a shred of hesitation.
Bolting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat, I realized I had returned to the night before my wedding.
This time, I wouldn't just cancel the engagement. I would hand their treason directly to the Mafia's most terrifying Enforcer, and watch them burn. 
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