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 9

Elena POV

The lawyer's text came at 9:00 AM, vibrating against the marble countertop like a countdown ending.

Filings complete. The cooling-off period is waived due to the 'extenuating circumstances' clause you provided. You are legally single.

I stared at the screen, reading the words until they blurred.

Single.

The word felt lighter than air. It felt like the first breath after drowning.

I rested a hand over my lower abdomen, a protective, instinctive weight.

"We did it, little one," I whispered into the empty kitchen. "We're free."

I walked downstairs. The house was quiet, a mausoleum of bad memories. The maids were in the west wing, likely avoiding the aftermath of last night.

I had one box. Just one.

Luca walked in through the front door.

He looked like a man haunted. His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes rumpled and stale. He had spent the night guarding Sofia's apartment from an imaginary gunman.

He stopped dead when he saw me standing by the door with my luggage.

"I told you not to leave," he rasped, his voice rough with exhaustion.

"And I told you I'm going to Paris."

He walked over, rubbing his face hard, as if trying to scrub away the night. The volatile aggression from last night had faded into a dull, throbbing sort of guilt.

"I'll drive you," he said.

"I called a car."

"Cancel it," he commanded, though the bite was gone from his tone. "I'll drive you to the airport."

He wanted to assuage his guilt. He wanted to be the good husband for thirty minutes to make up for three years of hell.

I didn't have the energy to fight him. Not when I was so close to the finish line.

"Fine," I said.

The drive was silent, heavy with things unsaid.

He drove the black SUV with a strange carefulness, keeping his eyes locked on the road, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

"How long will you be gone?" he asked when we hit the highway.

"As long as it takes," I said.

"Buy whatever you want," he said, falling back on the only language he knew. "Put it on the Black Card."

"I intend to."

"Sofia was... shaken up last night," he muttered, testing the waters. "False alarm. Probably just a paparazzi."

"Probably."

He glanced at me, his brow furrowed. "You're quiet."

"I have nothing left to say, Luca."

We pulled up to the departure terminal.

He put the car in park and got out to get my luggage.

He lifted the single box. He frowned, confused by the lack of weight.

"This is it? For a week in Paris?"

"I travel light."

He set the box down on the curb. People were rushing past us, dragging rolling suitcases, hugging loved ones, a chaotic symphony of departures.

Luca stood there, awkward in the morning light, out of place among normal people.

"Call me when you land," he said.

"Okay."

He waited. He expected a kiss. A hug. A clingy goodbye.

I just looked at him.

I committed every line of his face to memory. Not because I loved him, but because I needed to remember the face of the man who almost broke me, so I would never let anyone like him near my child.

"Take care of yourself, Luca," I said.

It was the most honest thing I had ever said to him.

He smirked, that arrogant, Falcone smirk that used to make my heart race but now only made my stomach turn.

"I'm the King, Elena. I'm always fine."

He got back in the car.

He didn't look back as he drove away.

I watched the taillights disappear into the traffic, swallowed by the sea of cars.

Once he was gone, the mask dropped.

I reached into my purse, pulled out my phone, and popped the SIM card tray.

I snapped the small plastic chip in half with a satisfying crack and dropped it into the trash can next to a half-eaten bagel.

I picked up my box.

I didn't go to the check-in counter for Paris.

I turned on my heel and walked toward the private charter terminal, where a plane was waiting to take me to a place Luca Falcone couldn't find on a map.

I didn't look back.

Continue to next part

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 9

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