The Betrayed Mafia Princess's Vengeance

I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone.

The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé.

A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed."

Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt.

My heart didn't break; it simply stopped.

For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him.

But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas.

He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me.

He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency.

He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn.

He was wrong.

I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy.

I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade.

"Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end.

Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil.

"The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection.

"I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."