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