Jilted Mistress? I Am The Mafia Queen

Lily POV

I woke up to the harsh glare of a bare bulb swinging in a slow, hypnotic arc in a dingy underground mob clinic. The acrid smell of cheap antiseptic and stale iron filled my nose, a foul vapor that made my stomach clench with every shallow breath.

Ryan was sitting in a plastic chair near the foot of the narrow cot. A tiny muscle twitched beneath his left eye, the only sign of life in a face that had turned to stone.

He sarcastically remarked that he had just saved my life again. "Looks like I pulled you out of the fire one more time. You're welcome," he sneered. He accused me of being an ungrateful bitch. "Not that I expect a single word of thanks from you."

I weakly turned my head on the stiff, stained pillow and asked him how I could possibly be ungrateful after what he just did to me.

"How..." I rasped, my throat raw. "How can you call me that after this?"

Ryan ignored the question. He stood up with a sudden, jarring motion and interrupted the mob doctor who was trying to check my vitals, swatting the man's stethoscope away as if it were a fly.

Ryan grabbed me by the bruised arm and roughly dragged me out of the hospital bed, the IV line tearing from the back of my hand with a sharp, searing pain. My legs gave out, and I stumbled against his side, a gasp escaping my lips from the sudden agony that shot up my spine.

I weakly asked him where we were going. "Where... where are you taking me?" I breathed, my vision blurring at the edges.

He shoved me through the back door of the clinic and forced me into the back seat of a waiting black car, the door shutting with a heavy, final thud.

The car drove through the rain-slicked streets of the city and eventually pulled up to The Phoenix Room. It was an exclusive, illicit club strictly reserved for syndicate members, a place where the rules of the world above didn't apply.

I was confused and terrified as to why Ryan would bring me to a hostile underworld territory in this broken condition.

Ryan gripped the back of my neck with a bruising pressure and dragged me through the service entrance like a captured animal. He pulled me into a lavish private VIP room filled with a haze of cigar smoke and the sweet, heavy scent of expensive perfume.

He announced to the room that he had delivered me. "Special delivery, right on time," his voice boomed over the low jazz music.

Victoria Holt was sitting on a deep crimson velvet sofa, surrounded by a clique of syndicate wives and daughters. Seeing me, Victoria recoiled in mock disgust, pressing a manicured hand to her breastbone as if physically offended.

She ordered Ryan to get the filthy rat away from her expensive shoes. "Ugh. Get that filthy rat away from my heels, Ryan," she spat, her lip curling in a flawless display of disdain.

Ryan grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back, exposing the vulnerable line of my throat to the room. He interrogated me about an anonymous tip leaked to the underworld claiming Victoria was the actual homewrecker in our relationship.

"Did you really think you could frame my wife?" he demanded, his grip tightening until hot tears pricked my eyes.

I weakly shook my head and denied the accusation. "I didn't... I don't know anything about a tip," I whimpered.

Ryan sneered at me, the disgust in his eyes cutting deeper than any physical blow. He reached into his dark suit jacket and pulled out their marriage certificate. He held it up in front of the syndicate elites, publicly declaring his legitimate union with Victoria for all to witness. He loudly branded me as nothing more than a delusional, disposable mistress, a liar trying to ruin a respectable woman.

He let go of my hair, bent down, and struck me across the face with the back of his hand. The force of the blow sent me crashing to the carpeted floor, my ears ringing with a high, piercing whine.

I tasted fresh copper pooling in my mouth, warm and metallic against my tongue.

I lay on the floor and silently accepted the blow as the final repayment for the protection he gave me in our youth. The debt was paid; the boy who had once saved me was truly dead.

Victoria stepped forward and wiped away fabricated tears, playing the part of the perfect, wounded victim. She accused me of spreading malicious lies to ruin her pristine reputation among the ruling Families.

"How could you be so cruel?" she sobbed softly. "Trying to destroy my name in front of the Families... you're a monster."

I quietly denied it again, too broken to fight the performance.

Victoria crouched down, her designer dress pooling around my battered body like a shroud of dark silk. She leaned in and whispered directly into my ear, her tone suddenly shedding its innocent facade.

She confessed she leaked the rumor herself just to force Ryan to hate me.

"I planted that tip myself, you know," she whispered, her breath a warm tickle against my ear. "I needed him to finally despise you. I needed this public humiliation. Now, the Families will see you as a liability. And liabilities get permanently erased."

I stared up at Victoria, my eyes wide with shock at her calculated malice.

Suddenly, Victoria screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound slicing through the quiet intimacy of her confession. She jumped back and cried out, asking why I just attacked her. "Ahhh! Oh my god, why did you just scratch me?!" she shrieked, clutching her perfectly unmarred wrist.

Ryan flew into a blind rage at the sound of his wife's manufactured scream. He stepped forward and drove his foot into my stomach, the impact stealing all the air from my lungs. He unleashed a savage beating, blow after blow landing on my ribs and back, plunging me into a blackness punctuated by sharp, white-hot flashes of pain.

I didn't know it yet, but my father was already in the building.