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?"
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
The warm water soaked through my ruined dress, the wet fabric clinging tightly to my skin.
My resolve to break our marriage vows was as solid as bedrock.
Even though I had lost five years of memory, seeing Caspian recklessly risk himself to save Elena still sent an instinctive pang of pain through my heart.
I supposed it was the twenty-seven-year-old me struggling to extinguish the very last ember of love.
Caspian rested his chin on my shoulder, his intangible affection making me feel sick.
"I misjudged the situation; I didn't know you had fallen in too. Otherwise, I would have saved you first," he confessed, his voice raspy. "I swear on my honor, it will never happen again."
I watched the water level rise just below my knees, feeling nothing.
"It doesn't matter. I want a divorce. Bring the divorce papers tomorrow. From now on, whoever you want to save first, go right ahead."
Caspian's arm around my waist tightened, his fingers digging deeply into my flesh.
"The Don does not grant divorces," he denied flatly. "And I do not consent."
His voice dropped into a lethal whisper that sent chills down my spine.
I squirmed against him, splashing water over the edge of the porcelain tub.
"Why are you chaining me to you?" I demanded, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "You value her life over mine. This marriage is a joke."
My elbow slammed hard into his ribs with a dull thud. Taking advantage of his muffled grunt, I scrambled over the edge of the tub, warm water cascading from the hem of my dress.
I retreated to the center of the bedroom, keeping the massive king-sized bed between us as a barrier.
Caspian stepped out of the bathroom, a puddle of water gathering at his feet.
His dark obsession eroded his features, twisting his handsome face into something terrifying.
He walked slowly toward me, shucking off his ruined suit jacket and tossing it to the floor.
"Back off!" I warned, grabbing a heavy brass lamp from the nightstand and wielding it like a club.
He ignored the weapon.
He kept advancing, his steps steady and resolute.
I raised my leg and kicked him hard in the thigh.
A flash of primal rage crossed Caspian's eyes, but he swallowed his anger, letting out a sharp hiss.
He lunged forward, snatching the lamp from my hands and throwing it across the room, where it shattered against the wall.
He grabbed my face, trying to force me into submission with a kiss, his lips pressing punishingly against mine.
"I will make it up to you, Sienna," he growled against my mouth. "You are mine."
I planted both hands firmly on his chest, using all my strength to break free from his hold.
Caspian's patience completely fractured, his last thread of restraint snapping.
He shoved me down onto the mattress, covering my body with his massive frame, intent on claiming his wife and re-establishing his dominance.
A sharp, relentless spike of pain erupted from the center of my skull.
My vision flashed blindingly white.
I screamed, my entire body trembling violently beneath him, as if some lingering trauma from my past life had violently collided with the present.
Caspian instantly shifted from predator to protector, the feral glint in his eyes vanishing.
He rolled off me, frantically checking my face, his hands hovering over me as if terrified of causing further harm.
"Sienna? Look at me."
As I clutched my head, his gaze darted down to my hands.
He froze, his throat tight, unable to breathe.
The warm water in the bathtub had dissolved the adhesive on the waterproof bandages. The struggle had dislodged them, and the thick gauze had peeled away from my skin.
They were completely soaked in bright crimson blood, creating a stark, horrifying contrast against the white bedsheets.
Caspian grabbed my forearms and, with trembling fingers, tore the gauze away.
He stared at the deep, jagged cuts across my veins.
His pupils dilated with horror; the reality of what he was seeing finally convinced him.
He realized the clinic's report was wrong.
He realized I had truly intended to end my life, and that I had meant every single cut.
The Don let out a roar of absolute terror and rage that shook the walls of the suite—a sound of utter devastation.
"Who gave you permission to die?!"
I looked up at his horrified face, my own expression cold, devoid of an ounce of pity, feeling only absurdity.
"You were willing to let me drown, so why do you care about my wrists?"
You may also like
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?