Leaving The Underworld For True Love

For five years, I was the undisputed Mafia Queen, the only exception to the ruthless Don's lethal boundaries.

That was until I was locked out of my husband's encrypted tablet.

His new, ambitious associate answered his most guarded phone line.

"The new passcode is my birthdate. He lets me play games on it."

When I handed Dante the divorce papers, he violently tore them to shreds, coldly reprimanding me for throwing a tantrum over a young girl.

My own parents refused to offer sanctuary, demanding I turn a blind eye to his mistress just to maintain our family's syndicate power.

Serena even showed up at my estate, flaunting the custom clothes Dante bought her and bragging that they had already slept together.

When I told her to get out, Dante protectively pulled her behind him.

"You are a hysterical lunatic. Be magnanimous to the young associate."

I had foolishly loved a man who could so easily replace me, treating my five years of devotion like dirt.

He was so busy defending his mistress that he never knew I was already carrying his long-awaited heir.

I stopped crying and calmly booked a one-way international flight.

I went to an underground clinic to terminate the pregnancy, leaving the blood-stained receipt and the ultrasound photo as his anniversary gift before vanishing from his world forever.

Chapter 1

Evelina POV

I was formally, and irrevocably, locked out of my husband's encrypted syndicate tablet. The sentence was passed, however, when his young associate answered his most guarded line and whispered, "The new passcode is my birthdate."

If I did not serve the most dangerous man in New York his divorce papers this very night, I would be signing the warrant for my own slow execution.

The heavy device sat on the mahogany desk, its polished surface reflecting the dim lamplight with a placid indifference, yet within its circuits lay the blood-soaked ledgers of the Cosa Nostra.

My husband, Dante, was the Don-a man who commanded an empire of violence and wealth.

His name alone was a currency of fear, capable of making rival bosses bleed and beg for mercy.

He was a predator who operated on strict, lethal boundaries.

It was an ironclad rule that no one was to touch his personal effects.

A maid's daughter had once had the bones in her hands methodically broken by his soldiers for the transgression of brushing dust from his coat.

I was supposed to be his only exception.

For five years, I had been granted passage to his safehouses and his secure communication logs.

I had mistaken this access for a form of devotion, a delusion I had carefully nurtured.

I entered our wedding anniversary date on the screen, its cold light illuminating my fingertips, for the third time.

"Access Denied."

The fluorescent green pixels of the denial message seemed to burn themselves onto my retinas. In that instant, the low hum of the central air conditioning retreated, as if miles away, and the room fell into a sudden, leaden vacuum.

The phone's polished edge kept slipping in my cold-sweated palm; its plastic casing made a small, sharp clatter against my wedding band as I fumbled for the keypad and dialed Dante's private number.

He was supposed to be at a sit-down with the Capos.

The line clicked open.

"The Don is occupied. To whom am I speaking?" a sugared, high-pitched voice answered.

It was Serena-a new, ambitious associate in the syndicate.

A second later, she gasped, a sharp, theatrical intake of breath.

"Oh, Evelina. I am so sorry. I did not register the caller ID."

A metallic taste filled my mouth from where my teeth had broken the skin of my inner cheek.

"Put Dante on the phone," I said, the words scraping my throat.

"The Don is occupied," Serena's voice lifted with a light, dismissive air. There was a faint, wet pop as she chewed on her gum. "But if you need to get into the tablet, just use my birthday. He lets me play games on it."

The air in the study grew thick, heavy with the scent of old leather and my husband's cigar smoke. Each breath felt like I was swallowing dust.

My thumb descended on the end-call icon, the small click of the disconnection echoing in the profound quiet.

My exclusive sanctuary in his dark world had been a meticulously constructed falsehood.

Hours later, the heavy front doors of the estate groaned open.

Dante strode into the grand living room, his presence displacing the very air, carrying with it the chill of the winter night and his customary, impatient authority.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket, his dark eyes sweeping the room before settling on me with an unnerving stillness.

I rose without a word of greeting, picked up the divorce papers I had printed, and cast them onto his desk.

The white sheets scattered across the dark mahogany wood.

Dante's motion ceased entirely. He looked down at the papers, his gaze lingering on the stark black type, then slowly lifted his head to meet my eyes.

"What is this?" His voice was not loud, but a low resonance that vibrated through the floorboards.

"I want a divorce," I stated, my hands clenched into fists at my sides to still their shaking.

Dante let out a harsh breath and dragged a hand through his dark hair, his fingers digging into his scalp.

"You are being completely unreasonable, Evelina."

He snatched up the papers.

His large, calloused hands tore them to shreds in one swift, violent motion.

He tossed the tattered pieces into the trash can.

"You are throwing a tantrum over a young girl," he reprimanded me, his tone flat and devoid of any warmth.

"Go live with your understanding subordinate, then," I retorted, the words leaving a bitter film on my tongue.

"Stop it," Dante warned, stepping closer until his shadow fell over me-a physical reminder of his absolute power.

"Ours is an arranged union," I said, my voice remarkably steady. "There is no foundation of love here. A clean break is the only way out."

As I spoke, a strange sensation took hold, as if the floor beneath my feet had lost its solidity. I remained upright, but felt my insides plummeting toward the earth.

I had foolishly fallen in love with a man who could, in the space between sips of espresso, lightly decide on the ending of a life, and never allow the blood to spatter his custom-made cuffs.

A memory of our wedding night flickered behind my eyes.

I had told him I would step aside if he ever found a woman he truly loved.

He, in turn, had held me, claiming we were a perfect match.

He had sworn we could grow old together as the underworld's most envied power couple.

Just three months ago, on his birthday, I had confessed that I wanted to give him an heir.

He had caressed my tear-stained face as I hooked my arms around his neck.

I had seen a rare, vulnerable light in his dark eyes.

He had pulled me into his embrace before falling asleep, a single tear of his landing onto my bare skin.

He had whispered, "Eve, thank you."

But now, he was looking at me like I was a disagreeable piece of furniture.

"You know my boundaries," I said, pointing a rigid finger at the tablet. "Once a boundary is crossed, it will happen again."

I refused to live my life as a humiliated Mafia wife.

Dante simply stared down at me, his jaw clenched, as the silence in the room congealed around us, thick and unbreathable.