Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don
"You're leaving," Lorenzo said softly.
Ivy straightened her spine and raised her chin. "I am. I'm getting out of this place even if it means climbing over the front gates. I can't stay here anymore. I'm leaving!"
"You can't," Lorenzo said flatly. "Not now."
"Watch me," Ivy hissed, brushing past him.
Lorenzo stepped in her way and grabbed her by the arms-not roughly, but firmly.
"I mean it, Ivy. You can't leave," he said tightly.
She struggled against his grip, her bag falling to the floor with a thud.
"Let me go, Lorenzo! I don't belong here. This place is insane. Your family is insane!"
"You belong to me," he said sharply, eyes burning into hers. "And it's my job to protect what's mine."
"I don't want to be yours," Ivy cried. "I want to be free! I want to live!"
Something shifted in Lorenzo's face. He looked at her then, not as an obligation, not as a pawn, but as a person. A frightened, strong, beautiful woman who had been caught in a storm she never asked for. And something in him cracked.
Lorenzo reached down and cupped her face with both hands. Ivy flinched at first but didn't pull away. His thumbs wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly.
Her lower lip trembled. "Then let me go..."
"I can't," he whispered.
And then, without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her.
***************
Ivy Wesley believed that marrying a wealthy stranger would be her golden escape from a life of struggle. Lorenzo Martinelli was supposed to be her way out: her fresh start, her answer to every prayer whispered in the dark.
But the moment the mansion doors shut behind her, Ivy understood the truth. She hadn't stepped into a fairy tale. She had walked straight into the lion's den.
The whispers about the Martinelli family's ties to the Mafia aren't just rumors; they're real, and now Ivy is bound to them by a ring on her finger and secrets she can never unlearn. There is no undoing this choice. No clean exit. Not after what she's seen. Not after what she knows.
Surrounded by dangerous alliances, ruthless power plays, and truths sharp enough to draw blood, Ivy finds herself caught in a world where trust is a luxury and loyalty can be lethal. Yet in the middle of the chaos, something even more unexpected takes root: a love she never planned for, never prepared for, and may not survive.
Now Ivy faces an impossible choice: run while she still can, or stand her ground beside the man who could destroy her as easily as he protects her. In a world where betrayal lurks behind every polished smile and devotion can cost a life, can their love endure... or will it be the very thing that brings everything crashing down?
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Chapter 3
The cathedral loomed ahead, regal and ancient, nestled on a manicured hill at the far end of the Martinelli family estate. Its ivory stone walls were kissed by creeping ivy, and stained-glass windows glimmered like hidden jewels under the morning sun.
The air held a crisp stillness, like the world itself was holding its breath for what was about to unfold.
Ivy stood just inside the arched wooden doors, her fingers trembling slightly as they clutched the delicate lace veil attached to the elegant ivory gown she'd been dressed in. The dress, selected by one of Lorenzo's personal stylists, fit her like a glove, its bodice snug and flattering, the mermaid silhouette cascading around her legs in waves of silk and lace.
"Ready, signorina?" Victor asked softly, his voice carrying the same calm professionalism she'd come to expect from him.
Dressed in a tailored gray suit, he looked more like a groomsman than an assistant. Yet, his watchful gaze never missed a thing.
Ivy swallowed, then nodded.
"As ready as I'll ever be," she said bravely.
Victor gave a small smile and stepped aside. The massive doors opened with a low creak, revealing the grand interior of the cathedral.
The pews were filled sparsely with family and associates, most of whom Ivy had not been introduced to. Yet she could feel their stares, a thousand judgments laced in silken suits and expensive perfume.
She began her walk down the aisle, accompanied by the swell of a single violin. There were no bridesmaids or flower girls. This was not a traditional wedding. It was business. A transaction sealed with vows and a signature. Still, Ivy held her head high.
At the altar stood Lorenzo, immaculate in a black tuxedo, his dark hair slicked back, his expression unreadable. He looked like something out of a fashion editorial: handsome, poised, and distant. He didn't smile when he saw her, but neither did he frown. Ivy decided to take that as a win.
As she approached, a priest in crimson vestments motioned her into place beside Lorenzo. The ceremony began immediately. Latin prayers echoed beneath the high ceilings, the scent of incense thick in the air. Ivy barely heard the words. Her mind flitted between panic and disbelief.
You're marrying a man you barely know, Ivy thought to herself. You're marrying into the Mafia. This is your life now.
When it was time for the vows, Lorenzo's voice was steady and cold.
"I, Lorenzo Antonio Martinelli, take you, Ivy Giselle Wesley, to be my wife. To honor and protect, as long as we both shall live."
Ivy hesitated for a breath before responding.
"I, Ivy Giselle Wesley, take you, Lorenzo Antonio Martinelli, to be my husband. To stand by you, through better or worse, till death do us part."
The priest blessed the rings, and with mechanical precision, they exchanged them. When he announced them husband and wife, Lorenzo leaned in and pressed a polite kiss to her cheek. No lips. No warmth. Just duty.
The guests applauded, soft and controlled. It felt more like the closing of a business merger than the beginning of a marriage.
After the ceremony, Victor led Ivy into a small room at the back of the cathedral where a marriage certificate lay waiting on a heavy mahogany desk. Lorenzo was already there, signing the final document with an engraved fountain pen.
He handed the pen to Ivy without a word. She took it and signed her name with careful strokes: Ivy Wesley-Martinelli.
"Congratulations," Victor said as he collected the papers. "It's official."
Ivy managed a nod, though her stomach twisted into knots. She turned to Lorenzo and asked, "So... now what?"
He looked at her, eyes cool and unreadable. "Now we face my family."
---------------
Lorenzo had disappeared with Victor to take a phone call shortly after the wedding photos. She was left to navigate her way to the formal sitting room, where the rest of the Martinelli family waited to welcome the new bride.
Or judge her.
"This way, signora," one of the housekeepers said in a thick Italian accent, motioning down a corridor lined with oil paintings of Martinelli ancestors who all looked equally intimidating.
Ivy straightened the hem of her cream dress and followed, silently rehearsing her smile. She stepped into the grand salon, an elegant room drenched in warm golds and rich mahogany, the kind of place where secrets whispered against velvet cushions.
Olivia Martinelli sat in a throne-like chair at the center of the room, her silver-streaked hair pulled back tightly. Her hawk-like eyes took in Ivy's every move.
"So," Olivia began, her voice as crisp as the wine that bore her family name, "this is the woman my son married."
Beside her, Isabella and Giulia lounged like cats preparing to pounce. Isabella wore a forest green gown that clashed intentionally with Brenda's understated cream ensemble, while Giulia twirled a piece of her bleach-blonde hair between long, manicured fingers, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"Welcome to the family," Giulia drawled.
"Thank you," Ivy said, forcing warmth into her voice. "It's an honor to be here."
Olivia didn't respond immediately. Her eyes narrowed, studying Ivy as if she were a fine wine that hadn't been properly aged.
"Where are your people, Ivy?" Olivia asked, the words laced with subtle condescension.
Ivy's smile tightened. "I came alone. I don't have any family who could attend."
"How convenient," Isabella murmured, lifting a crystal flute to her lips.
"Some people are better off without the weight of the past," Ivy said evenly, locking eyes with her new mother-in-law.
Olivia leaned back, clearly intrigued. "You're not intimidated easily. That's good. This family devours the weak."
"I've had worse than a cold welcome and prettier women throwing shade," Ivy replied, earning a quiet snort from Giulia, who didn't expect the bride to have a bite.
Just then, Lorenzo entered the room with Victor trailing behind him. His eyes scanned the gathering and landed on Ivy, softening slightly. "Hope I didn't miss the warm welcome."
Olivia stood. "A word, Lorenzo," she said crisply.
He nodded, placing a hand gently on Ivy's lower back before following his mother into a side room. The door shut behind them with an ominous click.
Giulia moved closer to Ivy, still smiling sweetly. "Do you know how many women tried to marry my brother?"
"Enough to host your own reality show, I imagine," Ivy replied, deadpan.
Isabella snorted, and for a brief second, the tension cracked. But Giulia quickly recovered.
"You won't last," she threatened.
"Maybe not, but I'll enjoy the ride," Ivy replied boldly.
The door opened again, and Olivia swept out, her expression unreadable. Lorenzo followed, his features carefully composed.
"We're having dinner in the east dining room," Olivia announced for Ivy's benefit. "Let's see how well you handle a proper Martinelli family meal."
The family dining hall was a cavernous space inside the main mansion. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings. A long oak table stretched across the room, already set with gold-rimmed china and shining silverware. Servants in white jackets stood silently at intervals.
Dinner was a symphony of passive aggression. Between the veal medallions and the tiramisu, Olivia made several pointed remarks about loyalty, legacy, and the importance of knowing one's place. Ivy responded with grace and veiled wit, never letting her guard down.
It was a game of mental chess, and she was beginning to understand just how high the stakes were.
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9.7
Luna Elena Frost was never chosen, only assigned.
Bound to Alpha Alaric Ashbourne through a cold contractual marriage, she endures three years as a Luna in name only. He never comes home, never defends her, and never looks at her, while his heart belongs to another woman.
At his grandmother's funeral, Alaric publicly dissolves their marriage, humiliating Elena before the entire pack. In that moment, she finally understands the truth. She was never wanted.
But the Moon has not abandoned her.
A forgotten night resurfaces. Her long-silent wolf begins to awaken. And secrets buried within her bloodline start to surface, drawing danger from every direction.
Cast out by the pack that once used her, Elena must flee, survive, and uncover her true power.
Only then does the Alpha realize his mistake.
By the time he turns back in regret, the Luna he rejected may already be gone forever.
8.3
Ayleen Ramirez sat in the sterile Hope Hill Fertility Clinic, her heart shattering as Dr. Finch delivered the crushing news: her third IVF cycle had failed.
Eavesdropping outside a supply closet, she overheard her husband Don on the phone, laughing cruelly. "She's a defective incubator," he sneered to his mistress Alessandra. "I never used my sperm—just cheap bank donation. No trailer trash carries a Bradley heir."
Betrayed, Ayleen confronted him, but her adoptive family ambushed her at home. Her parents and brother sided with Alessandra, now pregnant by Don, demanding Ayleen sign divorce papers to secure family investments. "You're an embarrassment," her mother snapped, threatening to cut her trust fund. Ayleen tossed back their heirloom necklace and walked out.
She stormed the Bradley mansion, slapped divorce papers on Don, packed her bags amid his aunt's insults, and fled into the night.
Drunk in a trendy bar, she stumbled into a powerful stranger—Burdette Guerrero—spilling whiskey on his crotch, then accidentally grabbed a napkin to his trousers. He shoved her away in rage.
Worse, she mistook his penthouse suite for her hotel room, bursting in on his shower, smashing a mirror in panic. He pinned her to the wall, snarling accusations.
How did this arrogant man know her name? Why demand she sign a mysterious contract at 9 a.m.? Devastated and clueless she's actually pregnant—with his stolen heir—Ayleen sobbed alone, the world crumbling.
The next morning, she straightened her spine in the Grand Guerrero lobby, ready to face him and demand answers—no matter the cost.
8.5
After four years of marriage, my wealthy husband Brad handed me a $50,000 severance check outside the Manhattan Family Court.
He linked arms with his mistress, Jenna, who flaunted the diamond ring that used to be mine.
"Just take it, Hayley. Take the money and get out of our lives," he sneered, looking at me with absolute disgust.
I tore the check into pieces, but my nightmare was just beginning.
To access my grandfather's trust fund, I had exactly seventy-two hours to get legally married, so I desperately proposed a one-year contract marriage to a poor insurance salesman I met in a dive bar.
When Brad found out, he and his arrogant family cornered me at their estate.
Brad mocked my new husband for being a penniless, money-grubbing parasite, while my former mother-in-law slapped me hard across the face, knocking me to the ground.
"You are trash, just like your mother," she spat, watching my knee bleed onto the sharp gravel.
Jenna gleefully kicked my phone away, shattering the screen and cutting off my only lifeline.
Lying there in the dirt, I stared at the broken glass in absolute despair.
I didn't understand why four years of quiet devotion had earned me nothing but cruel betrayal and endless humiliation from the people I once called family.
Just as I thought I had completely lost, a black Lincoln Navigator slammed to a halt at the gates.
My "penniless" new husband stepped out, radiating a terrifying, righteous fury that made the entire Patton family freeze in horror.
8.6
For years, Elvera lived as the despised charity case in the cramped Wright household.
When she caught her foster sister Donita straddling her fiancé, they didn't even panic. Instead, they loudly framed Elvera for stealing a diamond necklace to justify kicking her out.
Her foster parents immediately sided with the cheaters, screaming at her to pack her trash and starve in the gutters. Only her dying foster brother tried to sneak her his medical savings, but the family violently shoved him away, mocking him as a walking corpse.
Standing in the freezing Brooklyn wind, Donita and Crockett followed her outside just to laugh. They waved a crisp twenty-dollar bill in her face, mocking her biological family as a bunch of unemployed street thugs.
They really thought she was going to freeze to death on the pavement with nothing but a faded backpack.
But then a roaring, matte-black supercar pulled up.
The man who stepped out wasn't a street thug; he was her real brother, an FBI task force commander.
He effortlessly snapped Crockett's shoulder out of its socket, put Elvera in the passenger seat, and drove her straight to a sprawling billionaire estate in the Hamptons.
Sitting by the fire in her biological parents' palace, watching them casually display an eight-million-dollar sculpture she had secretly designed, the head butler suddenly walked in.
"Sir, the fake heiress has returned from Europe."
Elvera took a slow sip of her coffee. The real game was finally about to begin.
8.9
I sold three years of my life to a billionaire to save my mother. I was his pretend fiancée, a stand-in for his ex, counting down the days until the contract ended and we could finally be free.
But just as we were about to escape, his real girlfriend returned and publicly accused me of faking a pregnancy to trap him.
My fiancé, Drake, didn't hesitate. He called me a disgusting gold-digger and threatened to pull my mother's medical funding to force me into an abortion.
The shock of his cruelty sent my mother into cardiac arrest. She died right there in the hospital.
They demanded I abort a child that could never exist, a lie built to destroy me.
But they didn't know my secret. After my mother' s death, I finally told him the truth that shattered his world: I was born without a uterus. And with her last letter in my hand, I walked away from him forever.
7.5
To survive a lethal genetic breakdown, Holden, a legendary mercenary known as "Ghost," was forced into an arranged marriage with the wealthy heiress Julia Ramsey.
But the moment he stepped into the lavish estate wearing an oil-stained jacket, he was treated like absolute garbage.
Julia accused him of being a perverted stalker, pulling a gun on him and demanding he be thrown out. Even after Holden used a forbidden kinetic strike to save her grandfather from a fatal heart attack, the family still looked at him with pure disgust. Julia confined him to a cramped guest room, warning him to stay out of her life. To make matters worse, his other estranged fiancée, an elite military commander, barged into the penthouse just to throw an annulment in his face.
"You are a pathetic, bottom-feeding parasite! You have no ambition. You hide in this woman's apartment like a stray dog. You are entirely beneath me."
She mocked him in front of Julia, completely blind to the fact that Holden had just effortlessly incapacitated her Tier-1 operative with a single strike. They all thought he was just a greedy, low-class thug clinging to their wealth. They had no idea they were mocking an apex predator who commanded the city's underground and hunted mutant monsters for sport.
When Julia forced him to attend a high-society yacht party as part of a trap to publicly humiliate him, Holden just smirked and took a sip of his cheap beer.
He was more than happy to play along, already calculating exactly how he was going to tear their arrogant little world apart.