The Don and his Girl

For five years, I bled for my fiancée, Elena. I drained my personal accounts to settle her family's ruinous debts and built a fortified estate to keep her safe from rival mafia families.

But as I stood at the altar, she video-called me from a hotel in Iceland, demanding I cancel the ceremony.

She was busy comforting Julian, a manipulative parasite who faked panic attacks to keep her attention. She had previously slapped our marriage papers from my hand, refusing to sign them because it would upset him.

"You are choosing your mafia pride over a victim's sanity."

Watching her bleed with sympathy for a fraud, the warmth I held for her for five years drained out of me like water from a cracked vessel.

She smiled smugly through the screen, completely certain that my love was an infinite resource she could exploit forever, believing I would never have the guts to abandon her.

So, I didn't cancel the ceremony. I turned to the woman standing beside me—Celeste, the ruthless heiress of the Sinclair syndicate.

"I do."

I married Celeste, merged our syndicates, and when Elena later embezzled three million dollars from my accounts to buy Julian an art gallery, I didn't protect her.

I transferred her massive debt directly to the unforgiving Sinclair enforcers, permanently blacklisted her number, and left her to face the wolves alone.

Chapter 1

Lucian POV

As the priest posed the question of my vows before the altar of a private cathedral, my phone sent a low, insistent vibration through my breast pocket. It was a video summons from Elena—the woman for whom I had spent the last five years letting blood.

I paid the vibrating device no mind, my gaze fixed upon the massive gold cross. Beside me, Celeste, the Sinclair heiress, whispered, "Say the words now and merge our syndicates, or I will have my enforcers put a torch to every holding you have."

I stared forward, the muscles of my face utterly still. A knot of muscle worked in my throat; I swallowed the faint, metallic taste of bile and then uttered the two dry words. "I do."

The priest, recovering his composure, hastened through the remainder of the blessing.

Celeste turned to me. No smile touched her lips. She simply held out her hand, and upon her finger I set the heavy gold ring, an act that sealed our pact.

We proceeded down the aisle and into the sacristy behind the main hall. The air in the secluded chamber was heavy with the scent of old wood and candle wax.

My phone vibrated again—a second attempt. I drew it from my pocket and answered. The screen showed Elena, reclining upon a hotel bed in Iceland beside another man, issuing her fifth demand that I cancel the wedding.

Elena looked annoyed. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and let the camera drift toward Julian, who was curled up under a heavy blanket, his eyes squeezed shut in a crude and unconvincing display of agony.

"Lucian, Julian is having another episode," Elena said, her voice weighted with that familiar, demanding tone. "I cannot come back. Postpone the ceremony. Send your Capos home."