After losing my memory, I divorced Don
I woke up to find that I had lost five years of my memory.
I was told that I had been married to Caspian, the ruthless Godfather of the New York Mafia, for five years.
I had harbored a crush on him for a long time, so marrying him should have been good news.
But the terrible truth was, he didn't seem to love me.
After losing my five years of memory, he felt like nothing more than a stranger to me.
"Break the blood oath, Caspian," I said. "We're getting a divorce."
Yet later, he would pace outside my door late at night, refusing to leave: "Darling, just look at me one more time, please?"
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Chapter 2
I woke up to find myself lying alone in the middle of a massive bed big enough for four people.
I reached out; the sheets on the other side were crisp and cool, as immaculately made as they had been last night.
I pushed myself up, my heavily bandaged wrists throbbing with a dull ache, and made my way downstairs.
The penthouse lobby was suffocatingly silent, broken only by the heavy footsteps of armed guards pacing the perimeter.
I found Caspian sitting at the head of a long dining table.
Flanked by silent enforcers, his deep, intense gaze was locked on a syndicate ledger.
He didn't look up at me when I walked in.
The estate's Capo, an older man in a crisp suit, stepped forward with a stiff, formal demeanor.
"Good morning, ma'am."
"Sit down and eat," Caspian ordered, his tone flat and authoritative.
I sat at the absolute furthest end of the table, putting as much distance between us as possible.
The Capo placed a heavy crystal bowl in front of me.
It was a specialty mango dessert, its sweet aroma so rich it was almost nauseating.
"Miss Elena had this sent over first thing this morning," the Capo announced, his voice sharp enough to carry across the room. "It is Miss Elena's favorite."
The smell, coupled with the nakedly insulting gesture, sent a wave of nausea through me.
I shoved the crystal bowl away, the glass screeching harshly against the tabletop.
"Take it away."
Caspian finally looked up from his ledger.
His deep eyes narrowed, his gaze so piercing it felt as if he were trying to pin me to my chair.
"Know your place, Sienna. Eat your food."
I met his murderous glare without flinching, my resolve only hardening.
"I have no right to eat the leftovers of another woman's favorite dessert in my own home."
I didn't know what my relationship with Caspian was like during the five years I couldn't remember. But we were supposedly husband and wife, yet he didn't even know I was allergic to mangoes.
The guards around the room shifted uneasily, the rising tension in the air becoming almost thick enough to choke on.
Caspian slammed his pen down, the sharp crack echoing like breaking bone.
"Throwing this ridiculous, childish tantrum over a gift—stop embarrassing yourself."
Before I could answer, the heavy double doors of the dining room were pushed open.
The guards immediately parted, bowing their heads slightly in a show of deep respect.
Elena glided into the room.
She wore a designer dress that perfectly accentuated her figure, her smile stiff and insincere.
The Capo rushed forward, hurriedly pulling out a chair and placing it right next to Caspian.
"Good morning, Miss Elena."
Elena rested a slender hand on Caspian's broad shoulder before looking across the table at me.
Her gaze slowly drifted down to my bandaged wrists.
"Sienna, I was so worried. How are your little scratches healing?"
I didn't lower my head, nor did I cry.
I leaned back in my chair and looked at her.
"Did you come all this way just to show off? Or do you always enjoy crashing a married couple's breakfast uninvited?"
Elena's fake smile vanished, replaced by a look of outright hostility.
An angry flush crept up her neck.
She instantly turned to Caspian, her eyes widening to look incredibly vulnerable.
"Caspian, I just came to check on her. I don't know why she's being so cruel to me."
Caspian slammed his hand against the table.
The sound echoed in the high-ceilinged room like a gunshot.
"Enough."
At the Don's command, the entire room fell dead silent.
He glared at me, his face radiating absolute, unquestionable authority.
"Sienna, your unreasonableness is exhausting. Elena is my guest and is under my protection. You will treat her with respect."
I looked at the man who was supposed to be my husband.
He was actively protecting the woman who had openly humiliated me in my own dining room.
Elena appeared exceedingly gentle: "Don't be angry, Caspian. I came specifically to invite you to my celebration banquet..."
After saying that, she seemed to suddenly realize I was standing right there, and it would look bad not to invite me. She had no choice but to say to me, "Will Miss Sienna be joining us as well?"
I originally had no desire to attend, but seeing the smug triumph in Elena's eyes, I changed my mind.
A rebellious sneer graced my lips.
I stood up, pushing my chair back with a harsh scrape of wood against stone.
"Of course. I will respect her immensely. I assume we're all attending her Syndicate's dinner tonight? I wouldn't miss it for the world."
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7.1
After five years in a federal prison, framed by my stepmother and fiancé, I was finally released.
Instead of a welcome home, my stepmother tossed me a one-way ticket to Geneva and a threat: renounce the family name and disappear, or end up in the Hudson River.
When our limo was suddenly ambushed by military-grade SUVs on the highway, their cowardice almost got us killed.
I took the wheel, crashed the attackers, and saved their lives.
But the moment the danger passed, my stepmother tried to slap me, called me a psycho, and abandoned me on the desolate roadside.
My ex-fiancé later cornered me in public, trying to assert his dominance by grabbing my arm.
They still thought I was the broken girl they sent to a cage just so they could steal my dead mother's biochemical research.
I didn't feel heartbreak, only a cold, absolute certainty.
They threw me to the wolves, not realizing the federal penitentiary had burned away my capacity for mercy.
I hacked into the dark web and found out Dante Meltoni, the most dangerous Mafia Don in New York, was tearing the city apart to find a legendary underground doctor.
I am that doctor.
I walked straight into his heavily guarded fortress, pulled out a syringe, and saved his dying grandfather.
Then I looked the terrifying Don right in the eye.
"Marry me. And let me use your empire to wipe my family off the map."
9.5
"My father sold me to a sixty-year-old monster to clear his gambling debts. So, I made a desperate gamble of my own."
Seventeen-year-old Isabella Rossi has two choices: become the broken plaything of a sadistic mafia Capo, or do the unthinkable. She chooses the latter. Sneaking into a high-end speakeasy, she slips an aphrodisiac into the whiskey of the deadliest man in New York—Damien Falcone, the ruthless Underboss of the Falcone family.
Her plan was simple: steal his seed, secure his protection, and run.
But you don’t drug a predator and expect to walk away.
When Damien wakes up, he doesn’t kill her. Instead, he claims her.
"You intercepted a delivery meant for my enemy. Turns out, it was you. Now, you are my Collateral."
8.0
After fifteen years of marriage and a brutal battle with infertility, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. This baby was my victory, the heir that would finally secure my place as the wife of mob capo Marco Vitiello. I planned to announce it at his mother's party, a triumph over the matriarch who saw me as nothing but a barren field.
But before I could celebrate, my friend sent me a video. The headline read: "MOB CAPO MARCO VITIELLO'S PASSIONATE NIGHTCLUB KISS!" It was him, my husband, devouring a woman who looked like a younger, fresher version of me.
Hours later, Marco stumbled home, drunk and reeking of another woman's perfume. He complained about his mother begging him for an heir, completely unaware of the secret I held. Then my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number.
"Your husband slept with my girl. We need to talk."
It was signed by Dante Moretti, the ruthless Don of our rival family.
The meeting with Dante was a nightmare. He showed me another video. This time, I heard my husband's voice, telling the other woman, "I love you. Elara... that's just business." My fifteen years of loyalty, of building his empire, of taking a bullet for him-all dismissed as "just business."
Dante didn't just reveal the affair; he showed me proof that Marco was already stealing our shared assets to build a new life with his mistress. Then, he made me an offer.
"Divorce him," he said, his eyes cold and calculating. "Join me. We'll build an empire together and destroy him."
8.1
I died once. Betrayed, broken, and discarded by the most powerful man in New York.
Now, I'm back. Reborn on the very day my husband, Dante Moretti, handed me an expulsion agreement. But this time, I know his secret. The coldness in his eyes isn't cruelty; it's a slow-acting poison, a betrayal creeping through his veins, fed to him by those closest to him.
This time, I don't cower. I meet his icy command with a slap and an ultimatum: I carry his heir. To cast me out is to sentence his own bloodline to death.
He is the untouchable Don, a king on a poisoned throne, fighting a war within his own mind. I am the ghost of the queen he tried to break, armed with the memories of our enemies' every move.
I won't be a pawn in their game again. I will dismantle them all, from my treacherous sister to the viper he calls a mother. I will be the queen he needs, even if he fights me every step of the way.
It's a vendetta.
9.6
I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it."
8.6
She entered his world as prey. Now, she's learning to bite back.
After her mother's death, Annabelle Gracia seeks fragile solace in the flower shop-until her father trades her to Antonioni D'Angélo, the ruthless mafia billionaire known as The Shadow King. Nights with him burn with pain, pleasure, and control. His coldness shields a heart hunted by a dangerous fraternity, one that will not forgive tenderness-love is a risk he cannot afford. Yet desire refuses to be silenced. In their world, love is weakness, and weakness could destroy them both.
Antonioni is not just another mafia heir; he is a force who commands the world's shadows. Beyond the empire most will never see: high-stakes deals in European marketplaces, clandestine arms trades, and the quiet power of a man who moves money, influence, and danger across continents.
Once fragile, she rises. No longer a pawn, she becomes his fiercest ally and mafia queen, his quiet hope. But betrayal is never far, and enemies wait in the shadows. When Nora, the daughter of one of their deadliest rivals, enters their world, alliances shatter, and danger multiplies.
In a world ruled by secrets and scars, can love save them... or destroy them?