His Betrayal, My Mafia Revenge

his dead brother's pregnant mistress

e of "family duty," forcing me to watch a

e stole and deliberately broke

ecration, my husband struck me

e by putting his hands on the daug

y mother's grave that I would bring a

to my father, and the dem

pte

sia

brother's pregnant mistress's feet, I knew my m

ghost in every hallway. Santino wore it like a second skin, a layer of ice over his already cold demeanor. He was the Don of the Moretti family, a man wh

ntina Ros

d a belly just starting to swell. She claimed the bab

t. He simply announced sh

his dark eyes giving nothing away. He stood in our sprawlin

ingle, questioning eyebrow, a subtle disapproval that Santino ei

on, Alessia. She's

found it. "Protection is one thing, Sant

s for family unity. Th

Don's wife, was diminished. I was a fixture,

in quiet manipulation. She was a ghost in silk robes, al

, a towel slung low on his hips, water dripping from his black hair onto the mar

t need this," she'd murm

me. It was an intimate, domes

e the ni

voice trembling. "I'm so sorry to bother you, Ale

muscle moving through the darkness, and go to her. He would be

powerful man in the city, began to crack. I had given up my art, my friends, my vibrant wardro

of that facade s

lked silently, my bare feet cold on the stone fl

ing the arch of her foot, his large, strong hands moving with a gentleness I hadn'

r. It was this. This public, tender act of service in my

ting. It was a dishonor to me, and by extension

ffice. I pulled out the encrypted phone I kept for emergencies.

n the first r

lump in my throat. I just

chi's voice was suddenly quiet, letha

ther," I whispered, the words tasting like a

eance already turning. "The Bianchi family stands with you, my daughter. Always. We will launch

the shame. I was no longer a good girl. I w

k upstairs, and sle

of Santino's white button-down shirts, the fabric hanging loosely off her shou

p to her, my eye

my voice as cold and ha