Revenge for Mom: Destroying His Mafia World
My fiancé, the Underboss of the DeLuca Crime Family, promised he would burn the world down for me.
But when my mother was dying in the hospital, he chose a ski trip with another woman.
It was that woman's dog that attacked my mother, but when I called him, shaking, he was annoyed. He was in Aspen with Isabella, and I could hear her laughing in the background. He dismissed my mother's injuries as a "minor scrape" and told me not to "make a big deal out of this."
While my mother's fever spiked, he ignored my desperate pleas. Instead, my phone lit up with an Instagram post of him and Isabella smiling by a fireplace, sipping hot chocolate.
My mother slipped into septic shock. That picture was a public declaration, a judgment on my mother's worth, and my own. A cold fury burned away every last bit of love I had for him.
She died at 3:17 a.m. I held her hand until it was cold, then walked out of the hospital and called the one number I was never supposed to use—the number for my father.
"She's dead," I said. "I'm coming to Chicago. I'm leaving this life, and I'm going to burn his world to the ground."
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Chapter 2
Alessia POV:
Back inside my mother's house, the silence was a physical weight. I went to the bathroom and stared at my reflection. The girl in the mirror was a stranger, her eyes hollow, her face a pale, tight mask. My fingers were swollen from clenching my fists, from the tears I'd refused to shed in that hospital.
I tried to pull off my engagement ring. The three-carat diamond Caden had used to brand me as his. It wouldn't budge. I ran my hand under cold water, the icy shock a welcome, grounding sting, until the band finally slid over my knuckle.
I walked into the living room and placed the ring on the mantelpiece, right next to a faded wedding photo of my mother and the father I barely knew. It wasn't a symbol of love anymore. It was the price. The cost of a life. A price Caden had paid, and now a debt I was leaving behind.
I started on her clothes. The closet smelled of lavender and her, a scent that brought a sudden, sharp wave of grief that almost buckled my knees. I forced it down. Emotion was a luxury I couldn't afford. I sorted everything into three piles: keep, donate, discard.
I packed the few things I would take: a worn floral apron, a dog-eared copy of her favorite book, a small silver locket with a picture of me as a baby inside. I placed them in an empty cardboard box, scrawling a single word on the side in black marker: "Memories."
Then I found the photo albums. I flipped through them until I found a picture from last summer. Me, my mother, and Caden, all smiling on a boat in the Hamptons. My mother looked so happy. I looked... devoted.
With a pair of sewing scissors from my mother's drawer, I carefully, with surgical precision, cut Caden out of the picture. His smiling face, the arm draped possessively around my shoulder-gone. I was left with just me and my mother, a jagged white space where he used to be.
I tucked the trimmed photo into my wallet and tossed the scrap of Caden's face into the trash.
Just then, my phone buzzed. An Instagram notification. It was a video, posted by one of Isabella's sycophantic friends. A video of her and Caden, kissing on a ski lift, the snow-covered mountains a perfect backdrop. The caption was another heart emoji.
I watched it, a cold certainty settling in my chest, confirming what I already knew. The betrayal wasn't a single act. It was a pattern. A lifestyle.
A strange calm settled over me. The pain was no longer just pain. It was a compass. It was pointing me north, away from this life, away from him.
I walked back to the mantelpiece, picked up the heavy diamond ring, and went to the back door. My mother's small property backed onto the East River. I stood on the damp grass at the water's edge, the cold night air biting at my skin.
I drew my arm back and hurled the ring into the darkness.
It disappeared into the black, churning water. I didn't even hear it land.