I Married You For Your Brother’s Face

I married the most ruthless Don in Chicago, but not for love, money, or power. I married Luca Falcone because he was the only man on earth who carried the same DNA as his dead identical twin, Dante—the love of my life. For three years, I played the role of the submissive, obsessed wife. I endured his coldness. I cooked for his mistress, Sofia. I even stayed silent when Sofia pushed me down a flight of stairs in a jealous rage, nearly killing me. Luca thought I stayed because I was weak. He thought the way I stared at his face was adoration. He never realized I was looking right through him, seeing the ghost of the brother he could never live up to. But the moment the second pink line appeared on the pregnancy test, my mission was complete. I had secured the heir. I had brought a piece of Dante back to the world. The vessel was no longer needed. I signed the divorce papers, packed my bags, and vanished into the night while Luca was busy with his mistress. When he finally tracked me down months later, broken and begging on his knees for me to come home, I didn't feel a thing. I looked down at the man who thought he was a King and delivered the final blow. "I never loved you, Luca. I married you for the sperm."

Chapters

Chapter 11

Luca POV

I slammed the SUV into the front gate of the estate.

I didn't mean to. My hands were shaking too hard to grip the wheel, and my vision was blurred by a panic I hadn't felt since the night Dante died.

Metal screeched against stone, a horrific, grinding sound. The airbag didn't deploy, but the impact jarred my teeth to the roots.

I didn't check the damage. I left the engine running, the door hanging open, and I ran.

The gravel crunched under my dress shoes as I took the steps two at a time, bursting through the heavy oak doors.

"Elena!"

My voice echoed in the foyer.

It bounced off the marble floors and the high ceilings, mocking me. It was the only sound in the house.

Usually, there was a rhythm to this place. The sound of her heels clicking. The faint scent of the lilies she insisted on keeping in the vases. The quiet hum of her existence.

Now, it was a tomb.

"Elena!"

I sprinted up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I threw open the door to the master bedroom.

The bed was made. Perfectly smooth. Not a single wrinkle.

I strode to the walk-in closet.

I ripped the doors open.

My breath hitched.

Her clothes were still there. The designer dresses I had lavished upon her. The furs. The silk blouses. The rows of Louboutins she rarely wore because they hurt her feet.

She hadn't left. She couldn't have left. Her things were all here.

I let out a laugh, a jagged, hysterical sound that scraped my throat.

"She's here," I whispered to myself. "She's just... she's just hiding."

Then I saw the gaps.

The wooden hangers where her simple cotton shirts used to hang were empty. They swung slightly, clinking together.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

I went to the shelf where she kept her jewelry.

The diamond necklace I gave her for our first anniversary? Here.

The emerald earrings from the Christmas gala? Here.

The sapphire bracelet I bought to apologize for missing dinner last month? Here.

Everything I had ever given her was here.

I yanked open the drawer where she kept the sentimental things. The things she brought with her when we married.

Empty.

The old silver locket with her grandmother's picture. Gone.

The leather journal she wrote in every night. Gone.

The crude wooden bird Dante had carved. Gone.

She hadn't taken my wife's things. She had taken Elena's things.

She had stripped herself of everything that made her Mrs. Falcone and took only the parts of herself that belonged to the past. That belonged to him.

I staggered back, hitting the island in the center of the closet.

I slid down to the floor, my expensive suit rubbing against the carpet as my legs gave out.

I pulled my phone out. The screen was cracked from when I had dropped it at the hospital.

I dialed her number again.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

"Pick up," I begged the robotic voice. "Please, just pick up and tell me you're punishing me. Tell me you want me to beg."

Silence.

She wasn't punishing me. Punishment requires engagement. Punishment requires caring enough to want the other person to hurt.

This was indifference.

She didn't care enough to fight. She just erased me.

My phone buzzed.

A name flashed on the screen. Sofia.

I stared at it.

A wave of nausea rolled over me. The sight of her name, the memory of her voice whining about a headache while my wife-my pregnant wife-was fleeing the country, made me want to vomit.

I didn't answer.

I threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crunch and shattered into jagged pieces.

I sat in the dark closet, surrounded by millions of dollars of clothes that belonged to a ghost.

"Elena," I whispered.

But the house didn't answer. It just held its breath, waiting for a queen who was never coming back.

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For ten years, I disguised myself as my dead twin brother, fighting bloody mob wars to build the Falcone family's bootlegging empire. When the war ended, I thought I could finally take off the men's suits and be Anya again. Instead, my parents stole my victories to secure my father's power, demanding I disappear forever. When I tried to expose the truth, my family dragged me into a soundproof basement. My younger brother forced a metal funnel past my teeth and poured corrosive chemicals down my throat, dissolving my vocal cords into a blistered ruin. They chained me to a freezing pier, whipped me bloody, and let the men I used to lead spit on me as a jealous traitor. Then, under the guise of a family reconciliation dinner, my mother drugged my wine. While I lay paralyzed but fully conscious on my bed, my brother took heavy iron pliers and crushed all ten of my fingers, bone by bone. They wanted to ensure I could never hold a gun or write the truth again. I had slaughtered for them, bled for them, and craved only their love. In return, they pulverized my body and painted me as a hysterical madwoman just to keep the crown I had won for them. The foolish girl who wanted a family died in that agonizing pain, leaving behind only a ghost. Dragging my mangled, bandaged body into the rival Romano family's charity gala, I collapsed at the feet of their ruthless matriarch. "I invoke the sacred code," I rasped through my chemically burned throat. "I demand a Vendetta."

Action Mafia Modern

9.3

Blooming Under His Shadow

9.3

He is power, control, and consequence. She is everything he never planned for. Lucien Blackwell rules his world through silence and precision, dismantling threats before they speak his name. When betrayal from his own family forces him to tighten his grip, the last thing he expects is her-a florist whose calm presence unsettles him more than any enemy ever has. As unseen eyes close in and his shadow stretches across her life, she refuses to be protected through ignorance or distance. Instead, she chooses awareness, agency, and a place beside the danger. Because some things don't survive darkness. They bloom within it. Blooming Under His Shadow is a slow-burn romantic suspense about power, choice, and the risk of loving a man whose world was never built for light.

Mafia Modern Romance

9.6

Desired By Two Mafias

9.6

Elena is trapped in a dangerous world where two powerful mafia leaders compete for her heart. Torn between a ruthless kingpin and his equally lethal rival, she must navigate a landscape of violence and betrayal. As their obsession intensifies, Elena becomes the prize in a deadly game of dominance. With bullets flying and loyalty tested, she struggles to survive while discovering that being desired by such men comes with a lethal price for everyone.

Action Mafia Romance

8.2

El padre de mis hijos

8.2

After a night of passion with a dangerous stranger, Elena’s life changes forever when she discovers she is pregnant. Years later, her past resurfaces as the powerful mafia leader returns to claim what is his. Caught in a world of violence and betrayal, Elena must protect her children from the shadows of their father's empire. As secrets emerge and enemies close in, she struggles to survive the lethal consequences of their shared history.

Action Mafia Romance

9.2

From Mafia Pawn To The Don's Queen

9.2

It wasn't a gun, but the pen in my hand was going to end my life just the same. Liam, the man I was supposed to marry in a month, pointed to the tablet on his desk. It showed a live feed of my mother’s hospital room. "Sign the confession, Ava," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Take the fall for the embezzlement. Or the funding for her ventilator stops in ten seconds." My heart hammered against my ribs. The crimes weren't mine. They belonged to Chloe, his mistress. But Liam Valenti, the Underboss of New York, was sacrificing me to save her. "She's fragile," he said casually, adjusting his silk cuffs. "She can't handle prison. You're strong. You'll survive." With tears blurring my vision, I signed the document. I signed away my career as a lawyer and my freedom to save my mother. Liam snatched the paper like a prize. He didn't offer comfort. He just smirked. "Good girl. The wedding is still on, of course. You'll look beautiful in the ankle monitor." He walked out to celebrate with his mistress, thinking he had won. Thinking he owned me. But he forgot one crucial detail. I wasn't just his fiancée. I was the one who laundered his money. I knew where every body was buried—literally and financially. The moment the door clicked shut, I stopped crying. I pulled out a burner phone and opened an encrypted app. I wasn't going to jail. I was going to war. I typed three words to the one man Liam feared most. "Execute Protocol Zero."

Mafia Modern Romance

9.7

He Broke Her Heart, She Broke His Bank

9.7

I was the architect of my husband's legitimate empire, the queen to his throne as the Don of a powerful crime family. Our home was our sanctuary, our bed the one sacred place he always returned to. But in the middle of the night, I woke to a woman's moan coming from a guest room that was supposed to be empty. The space beside me was cold; my husband, Brendan, was gone. The woman's voice belonged to Kiya, my protégée—a girl I’d mentored like a sister. Through the door, I heard him call me "a piece of furniture that sleeps soundly." I heard him tell her she possessed something I didn't. Then, a video confirmed the ultimate betrayal: a four-year affair, a pregnancy, and his casual dismissal of me as a business arrangement. He called me a title, but he called another woman's child his heir. He had broken the one rule that held our world together, turning my life's work into ash. He thought I was just a fixture in his grand design, a brilliant mind he could control and discard. He was wrong. There was only one way to escape this agony. I would have every memory of him surgically cut from my mind, erase him from my soul like a cancer, and disappear so completely that not even a ghost of me remained.

Mafia Modern Romance

I Married You For Your Brother’s Face

Chapter 11

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