In The Wrong Mafia Don's Bed
When our family empire crumbled, my sister and I were sold off as collateral to the Chicago Outfit.
My fierce sister Frankie was forced to marry Damien Moretti, the terrifying Don. I was shackled to his brother Leo, a notorious, degenerate playboy.
I thought my life was over, but the real nightmare began on our wedding night. A terrified maid handed me the wrong room key. Exhausted and numb, I crawled into a dark honeymoon suite, praying my new husband would be too drunk to find me.
Instead, the heavy door opened, and a man fueled by a drug-laced drink stepped in. He was ruthless, punishing, and entirely stripped away my dignity in the pitch black.
When the morning light finally broke, I turned my head, expecting to see Leo's boyish face. Instead, I saw a profile carved from ice.
Damien Moretti. The Don. My sister's husband.
The very man who had previously called me a "liability" and ruined my life. When he realized who I was, his eyes filled with absolute, chilling disgust. He dragged me out of the ruined sheets, threw me onto the floor of a freezing shower, and demanded to know why I had sneaked into his suite.
"You ruined me. How am I supposed to look at Frankie? You should have just killed me. Kill me now, Damien. It would be a mercy compared to this."
I sobbed, the freezing water mingling with my tears. He just stared down at me with cold, unreadable intent. I was now trapped in a house of monsters, carrying the Don's darkest secret, and I had to figure out how to survive without destroying my sister.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 7
Isabella POV
"You think I can't perform?"
The icy hiss sent a violent shudder down my spine. His hand was a steel vice around my wrist, crushing my delicate bones.
The heavy clouds outside the window finally parted, allowing a sliver of pale moonlight to slice through the suffocating darkness of the honeymoon suite. It illuminated the sharp, cruel angles of the man hovering above me.
My breath caught in my throat, turning into a silent scream. It wasn't Leo. It was Damien Moretti. The Don. The monster I feared more than death itself.
"No," I choked out, pure terror overriding the lingering haze of the first assault. I scrambled backward, tangling in the Egyptian cotton sheets, but he yanked me back with terrifying, effortless strength.
He didn't care that I was the wrong sister. He only cared that I had bruised his massive, fragile ego. Driven by a terrifying, unnatural rage that burned in his dark eyes, he descended upon me again. There was no mercy, no hesitation. It was a brutal, calculated conquest meant to shatter me and erase the insult I had unknowingly hurled at him.
I sobbed, begging him to stop, but my pleas were swallowed by the darkness. He pinned me down, his voice a lethal, freezing whisper against my ear.
"Now, do you think the Moretti legacy is in trouble?"
The sheer agony and humiliation finally dragged me under. My vision went black, the last thing I felt being his massive weight collapsing beside me, as if his body had suddenly given out.
When I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in cold morning light. I was alone, but the air still smelled of him. My body throbbed with a vicious ache, the ruined sheets a glaring testament to the nightmare I had survived. He had done this to me deliberately. A calculated, personal destruction just to prove his dominance.
I tried to move, but a heavy thud echoed in the room. Damien had returned. He was a terrifying picture of composed authority, his dark hair slicked back, a white towel wrapped low around his waist. His eyes swept over the chaotic room, landing on me with absolute disdain.
"Get up and wash," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
"Don't touch me," I choked out, shrinking back against the carved mahogany headboard. "Stay away from me!"
Damien’s eyes narrowed. In three long strides, he was at the edge of the bed. I screamed as he ripped the sheet away, scooping me up into his arms as easily as if I weighed nothing. He carried me into the freezing, black marble bathroom and unceremoniously dropped me onto the floor of the massive walk-in shower.
Before I could scramble away, he twisted the gold dial. Ice-cold water blasted down from the rainfall showerhead, stealing the breath from my lungs. I gasped, wrapping my arms around my knees as the freezing spray hit my bare skin, washing away the dried blood and the terrifying scent of him.
Damien stood just outside the spray, towering over me like a wrathful god. "Explain to me," he demanded, "how exactly you ended up in my suite, Isabella."
"I didn't know!" I sobbed, my teeth chattering violently. "The maid—she was so nervous. She opened the door for me!"
Damien froze. I saw the exact moment the pieces clicked together in his cold, calculating mind. A stupid, catastrophic human error. He didn't apologize. He simply looked at me with a mixture of disgust and something I couldn't name, before turning and walking out of the bathroom, leaving me shivering on the cold marble.
Dragging my battered body out of the shower, I pulled a thick robe tightly around myself and slipped out of the suite. I had to find Francesca.
The corridor of the main wing was a silent, oppressive tunnel. A few yards away, I saw her. Frankie. Her posture was rigid, her expression a mask of cold fury.
"Frankie," I breathed, my voice cracking.
Before she could reach me, the door to another suite swung open. Leo Moretti stumbled out, clutching a torn silk robe around himself. He didn't look like an arrogant playboy anymore; he looked like a terrified, broken boy.
He spotted Frankie and visibly flinched, the color draining from his face.
Leo’s gaze shifted, landing on my disheveled, broken state. A flicker of confusion crossed his face as he took a hesitant step toward me.
Instantly, Frankie moved. She stepped directly in front of me, becoming a lethal shield. She leaned in close to Leo, her voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register that only the three of us could hear.
"I told you to stay on the bed. Get back to your kennel, or I'll make sure you never leave a wheelchair for the rest of your life."
Leo swallowed hard, genuine terror in his eyes. He didn't dare speak. He took a slow, hesitant step back.
Frankie glanced over her shoulder at me. In that single, silent look, an unbreakable alliance was forged. We were trapped in a house of monsters, but we would not break.
She turned her attention back to her husband, her eyes narrowing as she stepped toward him, forcing him to retreat backward into his suite.
You may also like
7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.
7.4
I thought my life was over when my sister died, leaving me to raise her two babies in a world that wanted to swallow us whole. Then I made the mistake of a lifetime: I left a bold, humiliating voicemail for the one man I should have feared most.
Anton Oryolov.
The ruthless king of the Oryolov Bratva. A billionaire monster who rules the city with ice in his veins and blood on his hands.
I expected him to fire me. I expected him to destroy me. Instead, he gave me a choice that felt like a death sentence: sign a contract and become his.
The rules were simple. I belong to him. I live in his shadows. In exchange, he protects the children. But as the doors of his mansion locked behind me, I realized the "forced proximity" wasn't just a business arrangement. It was a cage.
He thinks he can use me as a pawn in his dark mafia games. He thinks the children are just leverage to keep me in line. But he's starting to look at me with a hunger that isn't in the contract, and I'm seeing a man beneath the monster that I never expected to find.
In the Cruel Paradise of the Bratva, loyalty is a lie and love is a weakness. Our deal is signed in ink, but it's going to end in blood.
He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now, he wants my soul.
7.2
Elena stood flawless in her bridal gown. Five years of molding herself for Dante Moretti and a powerful mafia treaty culminated now. This dress was her only solace.
Then her phone buzzed. A text from Dante: "Wedding canceled." Two cold words, no explanation. Her world shattered, heart a sledgehammer blow.
Dante answered her call from a hospital, commanding her to leave, no apology. Her father and 500 mafia guests outside whispered of "humiliation." Marco then cleared Dante's things, revealing he was moving his long-comatose 'white swan,' Sofia, into their intended home. Her father's ultimatum: win Dante back in thirty days, or be married to a sadistic Russian boss.
Discarded, betrayed, and trapped, Elena felt absolute humiliation. She despised five years wasted, facing a fate worse than death. But as tears blurred her vision, a dangerous thought ignited: Dante wasn't the only Moretti. She wouldn't cry or beg. Instead, she'd choose the most terrifying Moretti of all, and make Dante pay for his arrogance.
7.4
I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago.
But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime.
"Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore."
That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash.
Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me.
Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia.
I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live.
But my little boy died in my arms.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood.
The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest.
I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room.
Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing.
This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun.
8.0
My sister Rosalie always played the role of my gentle protector. On the night of my engagement, she insisted I take a secluded canyon road for my own safety.
In my past life, I didn't know it was a deadly trap. I fell for the staged ambush and the rival mobster, Julian, who took a fake bullet to "save" me.
Because of my blind trust, my entire Falcone bloodline was annihilated overnight. My father was beheaded, my brothers were gunned down, and my sweet little sister was left to die in a filthy alley. I was even brainwashed into betraying my new husband, Damien Moretti. I shot the only man who truly protected me right through the heart, just before Rosalie drowned me in a freezing lake, laughing as she confessed she was just a bastard child stealing my life.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very night my nightmare began. I was trapped in a penthouse, a lethal drug melting my sanity, pinned beneath Damien. But after he brutally sweat the poison out of my veins, he didn't look at me with love. He handed me a Plan B pill with a gaze full of ancient, chilling hatred.
"Swallow it," he commanded, his voice a sheet of ice.
He remembers. The Dark Don remembers the past life where I murdered him. But this time, I won't be a pawn. I wiped the blood of my traitorous maid from my hands, ready to drag my fake sister straight to hell.
9.1
I woke up strapped to a freezing operating table, a gaping hole crudely sutured over my heart.
Joi Rocha, my supposed guardian, stood nearby holding a glowing vial that contained my freshly extracted Phoenix gene sequence.
"Don't blame me, sweetheart. Gayla's body is just too weak. She needs this sequence more than you do."
In my past life, I endured years of illegal biological harvests for this family. My fiancé Brennon watched with cold eyes as they ripped the gene from my chest, while the elite academy students filmed and mocked my bleeding, broken body. They stripped me of my status, drained every drop of my worth, and left me to die in a freezing tomb just so their precious fake daughter could thrive.
Until my dying breath, I didn't understand. I had given them my absolute loyalty, so why was I treated like disposable medical waste? Why did my life mean absolutely nothing to them?
But opening my eyes again, I realized I had returned to the exact day they stole my core.
This time, I didn't cry or beg. I stared dead into Joi's eyes and smiled.
I detonated the residual energy in my chest to incinerate Gayla's stolen sequence, faked my own flatline, and injected myself with a hidden dark matter drive to completely rewrite my DNA.
If they wanted to play God with my life, I was going to burn their entire world to ash.