I Married His Enemy and Watched Him Burn

Two pink lines on a pregnancy test. I was going to surprise my husband, Vince, the Moretti family heir.

Instead, the surprise was on me.

A pair of black lace panties—not mine—left in his car. The air reeked of cheap perfume and betrayal.

I stormed his casino, demanding answers.

But I found her in his private suite. Sophia.

She smirked, looking me up and down. “You must be the wife. I’ve seen your picture on the nightstand. Vince says you’re a boring little nun. Says he can’t even get hard looking at you.”

I snapped. My hand shaking, I hurled a glass of red wine in her face.

She shrieked, stumbled back, and crashed into a glass cabinet. Blood bloomed across the carpet.

Vince burst in and slapped me so hard I hit the floor.

"Are you insane?! She's carrying my heir!"

My heart shattered. As I fell, a darker pool of blood spread beneath me. Our baby. I was miscarrying.

And when forced to choose between his wife and his whore, Vince chose her.

He forgot who put him on his throne.

I’m not some trophy wife he can discard. I am a DeLuca. A princess of the underworld.

So for revenge, I married his worst enemy, Dante Costello.

And when we burned his empire to the ground, Vince finally broke.

He got on his knees and begged me to come back.

I made my husband the heir. Five years later, he repaid me by getting another woman pregnant. Then he killed our child to save hers.

But he didn’t know who the hell he married. I’m a DeLuca princess, not some trophy wife he can throw away.

It started with the scent on his suit jacket. A strange perfume.

Not my Chanel.

My fingers brushed the cuff of his shirt. A faint lipstick stain. The color of blood.

I don’t wear red lipstick. Vince always said it was for whores, not his wife.

But now, he’d clearly been kissing a woman who did.

My gut twisted. A woman always knows.

I dropped the jacket and ran to the garage. I knew Vince's Maserati was there.

He’d claimed he was out on business. He always took a driver when he was ‘working,’ leaving his Maserati behind.

I pulled open the driver's side door.

On the passenger seat lay a pair of black lace panties.

A thong.

My vision blurred. Not my size. Not my style. I would never wear… this.

"Damn it..."

My hand shook as I reached for them. The satin felt slick between my fingers. Still warm.

Vince Moretti and I had been together for five years.

When I wanted to marry him, my parents looked down on his family. They weren't powerful enough. And Vince himself didn't have what it took to be a Don.

But I was a fool for his handsome face and sweet lies.

I traded New York for Chicago, a DeLuca princess for a Moretti wife.

My mind for the arms trade and our underground network was a weapon. I used it to help him crush his half-brother and secure his title. I went from a DeLuca princess to the woman standing in his shadow.

For what?

So he could sleep with another woman in our bed?

I threw the panties back on the seat, slammed the car door, and called him.

"Bella, what is it?" Vince’s voice came through the phone, cold as always.

"Where are you?" I fought to keep my hand steady, my voice even.

"An important deal. You know how busy I’ve been."

Lies. More lies.

Busy in someone else's bed?

"Where’s the deal?"

Silence on the other end. Then, "The casino. You know, the new VIP section."

The Queen of Hearts. His own private kingdom.

"Okay." I hung up. I was going to confront him. Now.

An hour later, I was standing in front of the Queen of Hearts Casino.

The place reeked of money, sex, and desperation.

"Mrs. Moretti!" The doorman recognized me. "Are you looking for Mr. Moretti?"

"Is he in the VIP section?"

"Yes, ma'am. In the lounge upstairs."

I walked straight to the elevator.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I told myself I was wrong. Maybe there was an explanation for the panties.

But when the elevator doors opened on the third floor, I heard laughter.

A woman’s laughter.

I followed the sound to the VIP lounge at the end of the hall.

The door was ajar. I could see the plush decor and dim lights inside.

"When is Vince finally going to ditch that frigid wife of his? He told me I'm the only one who can get him hard."

A woman's voice, sickly sweet.

I pushed the door open.

A blonde was lounging on Vince’s leather sofa, talking on her phone like she owned the place.

She was poured into a tight red dress, her lipstick the color of blood. She was the one. The one who’d marked him as hers.

She saw me and stood up, running a hand through her messy hair.

She was prettier than I'd imagined. Younger. A predatory kind of beautiful.

"You must be Isabella." Her voice was a challenge. "I'm Sophia. I've seen your picture on your nightstand."

Our nightstand...

A wave of nausea hit me. She said it so casually.

An image of her and Vince in our bed flashed in my mind.

Sophia smiled, a cruel, vicious thing. "He says you’re a frigid little nun."

She walked to the bar and poured herself a glass of champagne. "He says you don't even know how to please a man. That he can't even get hard looking at you."

I felt my blood boil.

"Shut up."

"Oh, the nun gets angry?" Sophia raised her glass. "To your marriage, darling. What's left of it."

I snatched the other glass from the table and threw the wine in her face.

"You bitch!" Sophia shrieked.

Then, everything happened at once.

Sophia shrieked, staggering backward as if I'd shot her. She tripped, crashing into the glass liquor cabinet behind her.

The sound of shattering glass ripped through the air.

And then there was blood. So. Much. Blood.

Sophia lay in a pile of broken glass, her arms sliced open.

The blood soaked her red dress. She curled into a ball, clutching her stomach.

"Oh my god!" I rushed forward. "Are you insane? I just threw wine on you!"

"Help!" Sophia shrieked, clutching her stomach. "She pushed me! My baby! She's trying to kill my baby!"

The carpet was instantly soaked in blood. She writhed on the floor in agony.

The sudden chaos froze me. Then his voice ripped through the chaos.

"Isabella, are you insane?"