His Unwanted Wife, The Rival Don's Queen
The gunman pressed a Glock to my temple and gave my husband a choice.
"One walks out. One stays. Choose, Mr. Underboss."
I wasn't worried. I was Haven. I was his wife of ten years, his Consigliere, the woman who built his empire.
Beside me sobbed Gemma, a fragile twenty-two-year-old he had known for six months.
"Take Gemma! Leave Haven!" Connor screamed, his honor twisting into something unrecognizable.
He walked out of the warehouse with another woman in his arms, leaving me to be butchered.
I didn't wait for the bullet. I threw myself through a glass window into the freezing canal.
I survived the fall, but the life inside me didn't.
After five years of failed IVF, the miracle baby I hadn't even told Connor about was gone.
While I lay in a cold hospital room, bleeding out the remains of our child, my husband was buying diamond earrings for the woman who had set me up to die.
When the doctor tried to sedate me for the surgery, I grabbed his wrist.
"No anesthesia," I commanded.
"But the pain..."
"I want to feel it," I said, staring at the ceiling. "I want to feel every scrap of him leaving my body."
I burned that pain into my soul. Then, I went home, poured gasoline over our wedding bed, and lit a match.
Two years later, I returned to the city.
Connor thought I was dead.
But when he saw me on the arm of his mortal enemy, wearing the crown of a rival Queen, he realized his mistake.
He didn't just lose a wife. He started a war.
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Chapter 4
Haven POV
The file hit the mahogany desk with a heavy, final thud.
It had taken the PI three days to compile everything.
Three agonizing days wherein Connor had barely spoke to me, far too busy managing the fallout of the ambush and comforting the so-called poor victim.
With trembling hands, I opened the folder.
The evidence was damning. Photos of Gemma meeting with a Capo from the George crime family. Bank transfers routing offshore funds. Territory maps found buried deep in her cloud storage.
She wasn't just a mole.
She was the architect of the ambush that had almost killed me.
I didn't wait for Connor to come home.
I tracked Gemma's phone signal instantly.
She was at our private club, using the indoor pool.
The sheer audacity of it stole the breath from my lungs.
I took two of my personal guards-men who were loyal to the paycheck I signed, not the oath Connor swore.
We marched into the pool area.
The air was thick with oppressive humidity and the sharp sting of chlorine.
Gemma was floating on a pink raft, wearing a bikini that cost more than her father's car.
She looked up and saw me. But she didn't look scared.
She smirked.
"Hey, Haven," she called out, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Connor said you were resting. Is the baby okay? Or did you lose it like you lost his attention?"
Red vision clouded my sight.
"Grab her," I ordered.
My guards didn't hesitate.
They waded into the water, silent and efficient. They flipped the raft and dragged her screaming to the edge.
They hauled her onto the wet tiles.
I kicked a folded towel onto her face.
"Hold her down."
One guard pinned her arms, the other her legs.
I grabbed a bucket of pool water.
"You want to play games, Gemma?" I asked, my voice deadly calm. "Let's play."
I poured the water over the towel covering her face.
She thrashed.
She choked.
It was crude waterboarding, but effective.
I stopped the flow.
"Who do you work for?" I demanded.
She coughed, sputtering water from her lungs.
"Go to hell," she wheezed.
I poured again.
This time longer.
Her body convulsed violently against the tiles.
Suddenly, the doors to the pool deck burst open.
"Haven!"
Connor sprinted across the tiles.
He didn't look at me. He didn't ask why.
He tackled the guard holding her arms with the force of a linebacker.
"Get off her!" he roared.
Gemma ripped the towel off her face, gasping for air, and instantly transforming into the victim.
"She tried to kill me!" she screamed, crawling toward Connor like a wounded animal. "She is crazy!"
Connor wrapped his arms around her, shielding her body with his own.
He looked up at me with pure hatred burning in his eyes.
"What is wrong with you?" he shouted. "She is a civilian!"
"She is a rat, Connor!" I yelled back.
I grabbed the file from the table and threw the photos at him.
They scattered across the wet floor like confetti.
"Look at them! She set us up! She is working for the George family!"
He didn't even look down.
He kicked the photos into the pool.
"I don't care!" he screamed. "You crossed a line, Haven. You are becoming a monster."
A sudden pain sliced through my abdomen.
Sharp.
Hot.
I doubled over, clutching my stomach.
"Connor," I gasped, my voice breaking. "Something is wrong."
He stood up, lifting Gemma into his arms bridal style.
She buried her face in his chest, sobbing fake tears.
"Stay away from her," Connor warned me, his voice ice cold. "If you come near her again, I will forget you are my wife."
He turned and walked away.
The photos of her betrayal floated on the surface of the blue water, dissolving slowly into nothingness.
I fell to my knees.
A dark crimson flower of blood bloomed on the white tiles between my legs.
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7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
7.6
" Make love to me, Ryan. F*ck me till my legs give way. "
When Amelia said this, she knew she was willing to risk everything... her father's trust and happiness.
****
" Damnit, Amelia! He's my friend! " Her father snarled.
" And he's my lover! " She yelled right back.
Bryan shook his head, " No, child. Ryan is too dangerous for you. "
" And old, " he added in a whisper.
" I'm not a child anymore, daddy. I'm 21 " Amelia answered.
" Who knows nothing! End it with him or I'll disown you! " He was shouting now.
She stomped her feet on the ground like the child her father had called her, " I'm going to be with him, Dad! Get used to it. "
" He's being called a monster for a reason. Don't you know why? "
" Stupid reason. He doesn't deserve it. " she retorted and added, " And isn't he supposed to be your friend? "
Bryan shook his head, " You come first, Mel. I'm going to protect you from him. "
" At all cost. "
9.0
I shattered my knee jumping in front of a silver bullet meant for him.
The poison seeped into my marrow, putting my wolf into a coma and leaving me crippled.
I thought my sacrifice would secure his love forever.
Instead, five years later, Brennan stood in a warehouse while a Rogue held a silver-laced dagger to my throat.
Beside me sat Debbi, his mistress—a spy who had staged the whole kidnapping.
"You can only save one," the kidnapper sneered.
Brennan didn't even hesitate.
He looked me in the eye, his gaze cold and devoid of the bond we once shared.
"I choose Debbi," he said.
He walked out with her in his arms, leaving his Fated Mate to bleed out on the concrete floor.
As the blade dug into my skin, I felt the mate bond snap.
He thought I died in the explosion that followed.
He spent weeks howling in grief when he finally realized Debbi was a traitor and he had killed the only woman who truly loved him.
But he was wrong.
I didn't die.
A federal agent pulled me from the fire, and the trauma didn't kill my wolf—it woke her up.
A year later, Brennan walked into a small bistro in Italy, looking for redemption.
He fell to his knees when he saw me standing there, healed and glowing with the aura of a White Wolf.
"Alyssa," he wept, reaching for me. "I'm so sorry. I'll do anything."
I looked him dead in the eye, my gaze icy blue.
"Get out," I said. "We don't serve traitors here."
7.8
The moment I saw my husband massaging his dead brother's pregnant mistress's feet, I knew my marriage was over.
He moved her into our home under the guise of "family duty," forcing me to watch as he prioritized her comfort over our vows.
The final betrayal came when she stole and deliberately broke my mother's priceless necklace.
When I slapped her for the desecration, my husband struck me across the face to defend her.
He had violated a sacred honor code by putting his hands on the daughter of another Don-an act of war.
I looked him in the eye and swore on my mother's grave that I would bring a bloody revenge upon his entire family.
Then I made one phone call to my father, and the demolition of his empire began.
9.1
I stood at the altar in a fifty-thousand-dollar custom lace gown, waiting to marry the boy I had loved since I was five.
But Silas didn't say "I do."
He answered a phone call, turned pale, and bolted toward the exit as if the gates of hell had opened, leaving me to face five hundred of New York's most dangerous criminals alone.
He left me for a waitress named Lola.
The humiliation was suffocating. The elite of the Five Families looked at me with pity, a Genovese princess rejected for trash.
When Silas finally returned, he didn't apologize.
He showed up with hickeys on his neck, clinging to Lola, and had the audacity to suggest I become his mistress.
He even demanded I hand over my dowry—millions in weapons and cash—so he could fund their lifestyle and "redecorate" with her.
He thought I was still the innocent girl who would beg for his scraps.
He didn't realize that in the moment he ran, a shadow had stepped forward to fill the void.
Dante Moretti. The Don. Silas's uncle.
The most feared man in the city looked at me with dark, predatory eyes and offered me a choice: be a victim, or be a Queen.
"Since you are to marry a Moretti," Dante said, extending his scarred hand, "why not marry the head of the table?"
I looked at the door where Silas had disappeared, then at the Reaper standing before me.
"I do," I whispered.
Silas thought he had ruined my life, but he only cleared the way for me to marry the monster who would burn the world down for me.
8.6
"This is wrong," I said, my voice rough and strained. "I'm your older brother... we can't do this." I tried to pull away from her, forcing some distance between us, but my body wouldn't cooperate. The pull toward her was too powerful, too deep in my bones.
She didn't let go. Instead, she tugged me closer, guiding me toward the bed. One of her soft hands pressed flat against my bare chest, right over my pounding heart, while her other arm wrapped around the back of my neck, holding me there.
Her eyes burned with hunger as she looked up at me. In a low, needy voice, she whispered, "Whether you believe you're my mate or not... I'm giving you my first everything tonight. All of me. Right now."
The words hit me like a shockwave. Every single inch of my body-my soul, my wolf-screamed the same thing over and over in my head: Mate. Mate. Mate. The instinct roared so loud it drowned out everything else, every rational thought, every rule I'd ever lived by.
I crashed my mouth against hers in a hungry, desperate kiss, claiming her completely. My hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against me as I muttered against her lips, "And I don't care anymore about morals or rules or any of that bullshit. I'm the ruler of these lands... and you're mine. All mine."
I was completely crazy about her. Obsessed. Possessed. She was mine-every part of her-and nothing in the world was going to change that.