His Unwanted Wife: The True Mafia Queen

Emily POV

The silence in Gwen’s private lounge was deafening, broken only by the ragged breathing of her stunned security detail. Britney’s Glock remained perfectly leveled at the head of the lead guard, her finger resting lightly on the trigger.

Gwen sat frozen on the leather sofa, her face pale, her eyes darting between the splintered mahogany of her doors and the black muzzles pointed at her men. She opened her mouth, likely to scream for the rest of the West Wing Soldiers, but a calm, weary voice cut through the tension.

"Enough."

The inner door to the bedroom clicked open. Al Collins stepped out. My father-in-law possessed the elegant, silver-streaked features of a man who had chosen peace over power. He didn't look at the guns. He looked directly at his wife.

"If you call for reinforcements, Gwen, the gunfire will echo all the way to the Main Estate," Al said, his tone mild but carrying an undeniable weight. "Doris and Exa will hear of this humiliation before the blood even dries. Do you really want to give them another reason to laugh at us?"

Gwen’s jaw snapped shut. Her hands curled into tight fists in her lap.

Al briefly met my eyes—a look of quiet surprise at my ruthless methods—before he respectfully stepped back, adhering to his strict rule of never interfering in the women’s wars.

I smiled and raised a single finger.

In perfect unison, Britney and my maids lowered their weapons, though their stances remained lethally alert. I stepped further into the room, my heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor.

"He is right, you know," I said, my voice dropping to a smooth, conversational murmur. "Why give the Main Branch more ammunition? Look around you, Gwen." I gestured to the room. "Your son is the Don. He holds the power of life and death over New York. Yet Exa keeps you caged in the West Wing with rotting deadbolts and downgraded security, while Doris and Julianne parade through the Main Estate like royalty."

Gwen’s face flushed, the raw truth hitting her where it hurt most.

"Exa despises your Thornton blood," I continued, circling the sofa like a predator assessing its new ally. "She thinks your family’s heavy artillery and street tactics are beneath her. She favors Doris’s old money and legitimate disguises. But I am a Golden. I have the political machinery and the aristocratic bloodline you lack." I stopped in front of her, holding her gaze. "Stop fighting me. Let me be your weapon. Ally with me, and within two years, I will throw Doris out and hand you the keys to the Main Estate."

Gwen stared at me, her chest heaving. The resentment she had harbored for years finally found a proper target. The realization dawned in her eyes—I wasn't a pampered Consigliere's granddaughter sent to replace her. I was the blade she desperately needed.

She stood up, her posture stiffening with renewed pride. Without a word, she walked over to a hidden wall safe behind a painting. Her hands trembled slightly as she spun the dial. She pulled out a heavy, flawless emerald bracelet—a priceless family heirloom—and walked back to me.

With surprising gentleness, Gwen fastened the cold stones around my wrist. It felt like a pact sealed in blood.

"Joleen," Gwen snapped, her voice ringing with authority.

Joleen, who had been cowering near the doorway, scrambled forward. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Prepare the Family Coffee immediately. And send an encrypted blast to all Capos and core members," Gwen ordered, her eyes locked on mine. "Tell them the Mafia Queen is receiving guests."

I gave Ashlynn a subtle nod.

In a blink, the Glocks vanished beneath the folds of their skirts. Britney’s lethal glare dissolved into a soft, submissive gaze. Ashlynn lowered her head, her posture instantly morphing into that of a fragile, demure maid.

Gwen blinked, utterly bewildered by the seamless transformation. She looked from my perfectly innocent maids to the splintered mahogany on the floor, her brow furrowing. "How did the door..."

"It seems the West Wing is severely underfunded," I said, my voice dripping with aristocratic concern as I adjusted the emeralds on my wrist. "The deadbolt was completely rotted through. It simply gave way when Ashlynn leaned on it."

Gwen looked at the rusted metal on the floor. Her eyes darkened with fresh, venomous hatred—not for me, but for the Elder who had denied her the funds to maintain her home.