Rising From Ashes: The Mafia King's Bride

I discovered the dark secret my stepmother Beatrice had been hiding for years.

When I threatened to expose the truth to the mafia, my half-brother Angelo and step-sister Carmella locked me in an abandoned Brooklyn warehouse.

Carmella stood there in my mother's expensive silk dress, her voice sweet and venomous as she confessed how she had meticulously stolen my life and my father's love.

Angelo looked at me with cold indifference, pouring gasoline over my feet before striking a match.

"You're insane for threatening to break the code of silence," they laughed, leaving me to burn alive to protect their stolen thrones.

My own father turned a blind eye, letting his trueborn daughter turn to ash just to maintain the illusion of his perfect family.

The smell of charred flesh filled my throat. Until I died, I didn't understand. I had bled for our survival, even taking a bullet for the terrifying Moretti Matriarch.

Why did my father let the bastard children of a Chicago bootlegger steal my inheritance and murder me?

Opening my eyes again, the phantom heat of the inferno faded into a cool New York afternoon.

I was seventeen again, sitting in the backseat of a Cadillac, just returning from my three-year exile in Switzerland.

This time, I wouldn't just scream. I would marry the terrifying Prince of New York and watch my stepmother's entire bloodline burn.