I Married My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Older Brother

I was a Vitiello, sold to the Morettis to secure an alliance. For five years, I quietly loved Dante, counting down the minutes until our wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral.

But it ended with a single text three minutes before the ceremony.

"Stay at the apartment. Sofia is awake. Don't make a scene."

His ex-girlfriend, the love of his life, had woken from a coma with no memory. Just like that, I was erased.

For thirty days, I waited in the shadows while Dante played hero to a woman who didn't remember him. He told me he was protecting her fragile mind.

But then I found the truth.

I stood outside the doctor's office and heard Dante refuse a treatment that would restore Sofia's memory.

"If she remembers, she might leave again," Dante told the doctor. "Elena will wait. She's a good soldier. Let me have my fantasy."

He wasn't protecting her. He was keeping her broken to feed his ego, banking on my submission. He thought I was furniture he could put in storage.

He was wrong.

I didn't go back to the apartment. Instead, I dialed a number every made man in New York feared.

"Matteo," I said to Dante's lethal older brother, the King of the underworld.

"I am done waiting. I want to be a Moretti bride. But not Dante's."