My Husband's Brother Owns My Secret
My marriage to Joshua Caldwell was a prison sentence. I was a Hartman trophy, sold to the powerful family who had destroyed mine.
Then I discovered he was cheating. His mistress was pregnant with the child he denied me, and he was stealing my secret song lyrics to build her career. When I confronted him, he called me a spineless liability and threatened to destroy what was left of my family.
To make matters worse, a one-night stand with a stranger turned out to be with my husband's brother, Anthony Caldwell-the Don of the city. He knew all of Joshua's secrets and used them to trap me in a twisted game, seeing me as nothing more than an asset.
They both thought I was a broken doll they could control.
I wrote a song for his mistress, a beautiful execution with a single, impossible note I knew would destroy her voice.
She sang it, and now her career is over.
Now the Don has summoned me to Chicago, not knowing the woman he thinks is his asset is the one who just burned his brother's world to the ground.
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Chapter 4
Faye Hartman POV
The drive to the Lakefront Estate was a funeral procession in motion. Rain lashed against the tinted windows of the armored sedan, blurring the Chicago skyline into streaks of gray and gold, but inside, the air was stagnant, thick with the scent of expensive leather and Joshua's nervous sweat.
In the privacy of the partition that separated us from the driver, Joshua's composure finally cracked. His hand shot out, fingers clamping around my wrist like a vice.
"You're hurting me," I whispered, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened.
"Listen to me, Faye," he hissed, his face pale in the passing streetlights. "When we walk through those doors, you smile. You nod. You play the part of the devoted Caldwell wife. Do not give me that look—that look like you're walking to the gallows."
"I'm trying," I said, my voice trembling.
"Try harder," he snapped, releasing me with a shove. He adjusted his cuffs, his hands shaking. "Anthony... he isn't like us. He sees everything. He smells weakness. He smells lies like a shark smells blood in the water."
He didn't finish the threat, but the terror in his eyes was enough. It wasn't me he was going to hurt; he was afraid of what he would suffer.
The car crunched over gravel and came to a halt. The Lakefront Estate loomed out of the darkness, a Tudor-style fortress of stone and shadow, guarded by men with assault rifles slung over their chests.
We were ushered into the Great Hall. It was a cavernous space, the black-and-white marble floor reflecting the light of a massive crystal chandelier. The room was filled with the murmur of Capos and Soldiers, the air heavy with cigar smoke and the sharp tang of whiskey. But the moment we stepped further in, the noise died.
Silence swept through the room like a cold wind.
At the top of the grand mahogany staircase, a man appeared.
He didn't walk; he descended with the predatory grace of a panther stalking its territory. He wore a black suit tailored to perfection, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. His hair was dark, swept back, revealing a face that was devastatingly handsome but marred by a faint, jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow.
My breath hitched, lodging painfully in my throat.
Those eyes. Storm-gray. Cold. Dangerous.
The world tilted on its axis. My stomach lurched violently, bile rising to burn my throat.
It was him.
The stranger from the penthouse. The man with the scars on his back. The man I had thrown three hundred dollars at before fleeing into the night.
I had slept with Anthony Caldwell. The Don. My husband's brother.
I wanted to run. I wanted to vomit. But my feet were rooted to the marble as he reached the bottom of the stairs. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea, heads bowing in deference.
Joshua stepped forward, a plastic smile plastered on his face. "Anthony. Welcome home. It's been too long."
Anthony stopped a few feet from us. He didn't smile. He didn't even look at Joshua's extended hand. His gaze swept over his brother with chilling indifference.
"The books for The Onyx Club are a disaster, Joshua," Anthony said. His voice was a deep baritone, smooth but carrying the weight of a judge's gavel. "Sloppy. Inconsistent."
Joshua's smile faltered. "I—I can explain. The transition has been—"
"Incompetence needs no explanation," Anthony cut him off, his eyes bored. "Shut your mouth. I'll deal with you later."
Joshua shrank back, humiliated in front of the entire hierarchy of the Chicago Outfit. He looked like a kicked puppy, stripped of all dignity. Desperate to deflect the attention, he grabbed my elbow and pulled me forward, using me as a human shield.
"You haven't met Faye," Joshua stammered, his voice high and thin. "My wife."
I forced myself to look up, meeting the gaze of the monster I had unknowingly bedded. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I extended a trembling hand, adhering to the social script because it was the only thing keeping me from screaming.
"It's a pleasure, Don Caldwell," I managed to choke out.
Anthony looked down at my hand. He didn't take it. He let it hang there in the empty air, a public rejection that sent a ripple of unease through the room.
"I don't shake hands," he said simply.
Heat flooded my cheeks. I slowly lowered my hand, humiliated, feeling the weight of a hundred eyes on me. Joshua shifted uncomfortably beside me, but he didn't dare speak.
Anthony took a step closer, invading my personal space. He towered over me, his scent—rain, expensive cologne, and danger—enveloping me, triggering a visceral memory of his skin against mine.
He tilted his head, his eyes locking onto the modest pearl earrings I had swapped for the diamonds.
"Lovely pearls," he murmured, his voice dropping so low that only I could hear him over the ambient noise of the room returning to life.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, a lover's proximity for an executioner's message.
"You owe me three hundred dollars."
My blood turned to ice. He pulled back, his face an impassive mask, leaving me standing in the wreckage of my life, knowing that the most dangerous man in the city held my darkest secret in his hands.
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7.4
I woke up to find that I had lost five years of my memory.
I was told that I had been married to Caspian, the ruthless Godfather of the New York Mafia, for five years.
I had harbored a crush on him for a long time, so marrying him should have been good news.
But the terrible truth was, he didn't seem to love me.
After losing my five years of memory, he felt like nothing more than a stranger to me.
"Break the blood oath, Caspian," I said. "We're getting a divorce."
Yet later, he would pace outside my door late at night, refusing to leave: "Darling, just look at me one more time, please?"
7.1
One look was all it took for the Golden Wolf to mark his prey.
To the glittering elite of Milan, Dante Moretti is a god among men, a billionaire mogul whose Midas touch turns every gold future into an empire. But beneath the bespoke Italian suits and the cold, amber eyes lies a monster. Sworn in as the new Capo of the Moretti Syndicate over his father's open casket, Dante is a man who rules with an iron grip and a heart of stone. He doesn't ask for what he wants. He takes it.
Then he saw Bianca.
Bianca Rossi is a creature of light, an innocent art student who finds beauty in the shadows of Milan's back alleys. She lives for her canvas and her dreams, unaware that a chance encounter in a midnight storm has placed her in the sights of the city's most dangerous predator.
Dante doesn't just want her. He is obsessed.
Using his billions like a silken web, Dante orchestrates a "gilded cage" for Bianca. From anonymous scholarships to lavish "chance" encounters, he draws her into a world of blood-stained gold and lethal power plays. But Bianca is no porcelain doll. Behind her soft beauty lies a fierce, indomitable spirit that refuses to be bought-or broken.
As a brutal war with the Ricci family threatens to burn Milan to the ground, Bianca must choose: flee the man who stalks her dreams, or stand beside the Wolf and become his Queen.
In a world where loyalty is paid in blood and love is a lethal weakness, will Dante's possessiveness be their salvation... or their ultimate destruction?
8.2
He wanted freedom after breaking me. So I hired a stranger for one reckless night.
But he's not a call boy. He's a mafia king who owns this city. Now he decided I'm his. No negotiations. No escape.
7.4
MAFIA DESIRE
7.4
In the city where power was inherited through bloodshed and silence, love was the most dangerous liability of all.
She emerged from the shadows like a secret the underworld had failed to bury-elegant, unreadable, and far more lethal than she appeared. Every step she took echoed with intention. Every smile concealed a calculation. Men underestimated her. They always did. And they always paid for it.
He was young, brilliant, and already feared. A rising king in a world that devoured the weak, carrying ambition like a loaded weapon. He didn't trust easily, didn't hesitate, and didn't believe in fate-until her presence began to unravel everything he thought he controlled.
Their connection wasn't born of innocence or chance. It was forged in danger, sealed by secrets, and fueled by a hunger neither of them dared to name. In a world ruled by betrayal, they found something far more terrifying than enemies-each other.
Because when desire collides with power, and love becomes a threat, survival is no longer guaranteed.
And in the mafia, nothing is more deadly than wanting what you're not supposed to have.
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.
8.6
She entered his world as prey. Now, she's learning to bite back.
After her mother's death, Annabelle Gracia seeks fragile solace in the flower shop-until her father trades her to Antonioni D'Angélo, the ruthless mafia billionaire known as The Shadow King. Nights with him burn with pain, pleasure, and control. His coldness shields a heart hunted by a dangerous fraternity, one that will not forgive tenderness-love is a risk he cannot afford. Yet desire refuses to be silenced. In their world, love is weakness, and weakness could destroy them both.
Antonioni is not just another mafia heir; he is a force who commands the world's shadows. Beyond the empire most will never see: high-stakes deals in European marketplaces, clandestine arms trades, and the quiet power of a man who moves money, influence, and danger across continents.
Once fragile, she rises. No longer a pawn, she becomes his fiercest ally and mafia queen, his quiet hope. But betrayal is never far, and enemies wait in the shadows. When Nora, the daughter of one of their deadliest rivals, enters their world, alliances shatter, and danger multiplies.
In a world ruled by secrets and scars, can love save them... or destroy them?