From Tortured Wife To Mafia Queen

I posted a photo of baby shoes to celebrate my pregnancy. Two hours later, my husband was holding jumper cables. Kaeden, the Mafia Capo who swore to protect me, stood under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the basement. He didn't look like the man who brought me vanilla lattes. He looked like a monster. His "fragile" childhood friend, Clemmie, had convinced him that my innocent post was a signal to our enemies. "Discipline," Kaeden muttered, refusing to look at my weeping face. "She needs to learn the cost of her voice." He ordered low voltage—just enough to scare me. But the moment he walked out the door, unable to watch, Clemmie smiled. "He's not coming back for you," she whispered. She cranked the dial all the way to the right. She didn't just want to teach me a lesson. She wanted to stop my heart so she could harvest it for herself. And my husband had already signed the release forms. But they made one mistake. They left the cleanup to Alois, the family's most ruthless Enforcer. He didn't bury me. He saved me. Now, while Kaeden cries over a fake grave, consumed by guilt, I am watching from the shadows. Daria Burris died in that chair. The woman who survived is coming for blood. Chapter 1 Daria POV The man holding the jumper cables wasn't a stranger in a ski mask; he was the man who had vowed to protect me before God and the Family. My husband. Kaeden stood under the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights of the soundproofed basement. His tailored Italian suit was pristine-a charcoal armor that offered a stark, sickening contrast to the blood drying on my split lip. He didn't look like a monster. He looked like the man who remembered to bring me vanilla lattes on rainy Tuesdays. He looked like the Capo of the Burris crime syndicate, a man who could order a city block burned to ash with a mere snap of his fingers. But right now, he looked at me with a glacial detachment that inflicted more damage than the leather straps currently digging into my wrists. "Please," I choked out, the metallic taste of fear and copper coating my tongue. "Kaeden, look at me. It's Daria." He didn't blink. He didn't even breathe. He simply turned the dial on the generator. A low, menacing hum filled the room, vibrating against my very bones like a premonition. "You broke protocol, Daria," he said. His voice was devoid of the warmth I used to sleep beside; it was a flat, dead thing. "You know the rules. Silence is our shield. You exposed us." "It was a photo," I sobbed, my body trembling violently against the cold steel chair. "It was just a photo of baby shoes. I didn't tag the location. I didn't-" "You signaled our enemies," a soft, feminine voice cut through the air. Clemmie stepped out from the shadows behind him. She was petite, fragile-looking, with eyes that held a darkness deeper than an open grave. She placed a hand on Kaeden's bicep, her fingers curling possessively over the expensive fabric. "She's mocking you, Kaeden," Clemmie whispered, her voice like silk wrapped around a razor blade. "She thinks because she carries your name, she can disrespect your authority. A Capo's wife doesn't seek attention on the internet like a common whore." "I was happy!" I screamed, straining against the restraints until my skin burned. "I'm pregnant! It's your child, Kaeden!" Kaeden flinched. For a split second, the mask slipped. I saw a crack in his armor-a flash of horror, of the husband buried beneath the boss. His eyes darted to my stomach, then snapped back to Clemmie. Clemmie squeezed his arm, anchoring him in her toxicity, reminding him of the eyes watching him. "A child born to a loose cannon is a liability," she said coolly. "If she can't keep a secret now, what happens when the Feds press her? She's weak, Kaeden. You need to make her strong. Or you need to cut her loose." Kaeden hardened. The weakness vanished, replaced by the brutal resolve that made him the most feared man in Chicago. "Discipline," Kaeden muttered, the word sounding more like a prayer for forgiveness than a command. "She needs to learn the cost of her voice." He nodded to the soldier standing by the generator. "No," I whispered, the air leaving my lungs. "Kaeden, please. The baby-" "Low voltage," Kaeden ordered, turning his back to me as if he couldn't bear to witness his own sentence. "Just enough to remind her who holds the power." The soldier flipped the switch. Pain. It wasn't a sharp sting; it was a white-hot seizure that ripped through every nerve ending, boiling the marrow in my bones. My back arched off the chair, defying gravity. A scream tore from my throat, raw and animalistic, echoing off the concrete walls until it was the only sound in the universe. It felt like my muscles were snapping off the bone, like I was being unmade from the inside out. Then, silence. I slumped forward, gasping for air, sweat stinging my eyes, my body twitching with the aftershocks. "See?" Clemmie's voice was closer now. She walked around the chair and leaned in, her face inches from mine. She smelled of expensive perfume and moral rot. "She's still defiant," Clemmie whispered to Kaeden, though her eyes were locked on mine, glittering with triumph. "She's not sorry. She's just sorry she got caught." Kaeden remained facing the door, his shoulders stiff, tension radiating from him in waves. "Do it again," Clemmie commanded the soldier. "Kaeden!" I shrieked, my voice cracking into shards. "Stop her!" He didn't turn around. He walked out of the room. The heavy steel door slammed shut, sealing my fate with a final, hollow thud. Clemmie smiled, and it was the ugliest thing I had ever seen. She reached over to the machine. Her manicured fingers hovered over the dial. "He's gone, Daria," she said softly, savoring the words. "And he's not coming back for you." She cranked the dial all the way to the right.