His Betrayal, My Mafia Revenge

sia

longer, a tableau of betraya

I announced t

o protest. No question. Just the sound of

the cavernous walk-in closet. On my side, rows of beige, grey, and navy blue hu

blood-red silk camisole. I stripped off the conservative dress I was wearing and put them on. I let my hair down from its tight bun, shaking it lo

right scarves and bold jewelry I'd stopped wearing because his mother, Eleanor, called them gaudy. The entire life I had given up, piece

phone again and sent a

unsel. T

organization and a loyal friend from m

The usua

family-owned bar downtown, a place where business was conducted and secrets we

dark, solid presence in a co

He didn't need to ask what was wron

tmares, the foot massage, the shirt. I told him about the deep,

rdening with every word. He had the protective instinct

you certain the child is Marco's?" he asked, his voice d

doubt that planted itself in the fertile

that I didn't see Santino until

off him in waves. He wasn't here out of concern. He was here

voice leaving no room for argument. He grab

ere he had grabbed me. On the nightstand was a bottle of painkillers

for me, but he had prepared a lavish spread for Valentina-pancakes, fresh fruit, orange juice. He

locking with Valentina's. She looked

ce a cold, quiet whis

g. Do not provoke me again. You h

ed gaze. She was seeing the Mafia Quee