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Shattered Vows: The Mafia Queen's Revenge Novel Cover

Shattered Vows: The Mafia Queen's Revenge

For eight years, I was Dante's most lethal enforcer and the undisputed Queen of the Cosa Nostra—until he brought home a civilian girl who mocked my murdered parents and paraded through my penthouse. He bought back my mother's stolen diamond bracelet and my father's signet ring, gifting them to her as apology. When I drew my blade, the man who swore to protect me pinned me down and aimed a loaded gun at my head to shield his pregnant bride. He poured millions into a cathedral to wash his sins clean, then sent me a gilded wedding invitation. On his wedding day, I kicked open those doors in blood-red silk and drove the silver dagger he gave me straight into his chest.
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Chapter 2

Elena POV

The morning sun broke against the floor-to-ceiling windows, throwing splintered shafts of light through the saltwater of the tank in my living room.

With a small net, I began the patient work of scooping out Dante's prized, iridescent exotic fish.

He had once told me, his voice a low murmur against my hair, that they were the only beautiful things in this city of stone and shadow besides me.

I carried the net to the adjacent shark enclosure. With a single motion, I inverted it over the dark water.

I raised my phone to record the ensuing flurry-a brief, silvered turbulence that ended as quickly as it began.

The recording was sent before the last ripple had vanished.

My phone vibrated against my palm, almost immediate, but it was a video call from an unknown number.

I answered it.

Serena's face appeared, bisected by a thick, sterile bandage. With a smile that was all venom, she angled the phone, catching the light on a collar of diamonds-a priceless heirloom from Dante's private vault, one meant for the Don's wife.

"Dante stayed up all night taking care of me," she gloated, her eyes shining with malice.

"He is planning your punishment right now. You are just a filthy, blood-stained whore who makes him sick."

I leaned against the glass of the tank, feeling the cold condensation seep through my shirt.

"Clean girls do not survive long in the Cosa Nostra, Serena," I replied, the words leaving my mouth with no more inflection than stones dropping into a well. "Enjoy the air while you can still breathe it."

I ended the call before her mouth could form a reply.

Enzo's entrance broke the quiet. His usually stoic expression was grim.

"I have critical intel, Boss," he said, handing me a heavily encrypted tablet.

"The heirlooms from the night your parents' estate was burned have surfaced. They are listed in tomorrow's black-market syndicate auction."

It was not a pain in my chest, but a sudden, violent contraction, as if a fist had closed around my lungs. For a moment, I could not draw a breath.

My parents were the former Don and his wife.

Their bodies had been desecrated and turned into rotting displays by rival cartels, leaving me with nothing but the memory of fire and a ledger of debts to be paid in blood.

The tablet's screen glowed in the dim light. The names of the lots were like voices from a tomb.

"Liquidate my personal cartel accounts," I ordered, and the warmth had gone entirely from my voice. "Secure fifty billion dollars. I am bringing my bloodline's legacy home."

The following evening, the underground auction was held in a heavily fortified, deconsecrated cathedral that had been stripped of its pews and filled with velvet chairs.

The air, thick with the smoke of imported cigars, held a faint, metallic tang beneath the incense-stained stone.

The auctioneer's gavel was suspended in mid-air. I ignored the silence and walked down the center aisle. Each strike of my heels against the flagstones was a hammer blow against the spines of every man present. Enzo was a silent shadow right behind me.

I stopped when I saw Dante and Serena holding court in the front row.

Serena spotted me and immediately leaned into Dante's shoulder, a smug smile playing on her lips.

"Dante promised to buy out the entire catalog for me," she announced loudly, her voice pitched to carry, so the surrounding mob bosses heard her claim. "As an apology for what you did to my face."

Dante turned his head slowly. His single eye fixed on me, not with anger, but with the detached curiosity of a collector examining a flawed specimen.

"You need to learn your place, Elena," he warned, his tone like polished stone. "Stop acting out."

I crossed my arms.

"Did you enjoy the video of your fish?"

Dante's jaw tightened. He reached for his pocket, clearly unaware of what I was talking about.

Beside him, the color drained from Serena's face. Her fingers dug into his arm.

"I... I spilled water on your phone this morning when a message came through," she admitted, a tremor in her voice betraying a sudden fear. "It was just her trying to upset you, Dante. I panicked. The screen went black. I was protecting you."

Dante's pupil contracted to a pinprick. A vein pulsed, blue and alive, on the side of his neck. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound that came out was a choked exhalation of fury.

Tampering with the Don's personal phone was a direct, unforgivable violation of his absolute control.

He opened his mouth to reprimand her, but Serena immediately let out a soft sob and buried her bandaged face in his chest.

Dante exhaled sharply, the rigid tension in his shoulders dissolving as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

At that moment, the auctioneer stepped up to the mahogany podium.

Dante did not even wait for the first item to be announced.

He stood up, pulled a pre-signed blank check from his jacket, and tossed it onto the stage.

The slip of paper turned over and over in the still air before settling on the boards-a quiet, absolute declaration of his power to claim every lot before the bidding began. The auctioneer bowed, his voice trembling as he invoked the Don’s exclusive buyout clause, a rule that permitted any sitting Boss to seize an entire catalog by right of supreme authority. No one else would be allowed to raise a paddle.

I looked down at the glossy catalog in my hand.

The final three lots were all that mattered: my mother's diamond bracelet, my father's Don signet ring, and my grandfather's antique cross.

I took a step toward the stage. “I invoke blood claim on those three lots,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “They are not property. They are my family’s bones.”

The auctioneer's throat worked. A sheen of perspiration appeared on his upper lip as his eyes darted to Dante.

"I am sorry, Elena," he stammered, terrified. "The Don’s buyout supersedes all claims in this house. His word is absolute."

My hands curled into fists, the nails biting into my palms until I felt the sting of broken skin.

I turned from the stage and walked toward the guarded door of the VIP box, where Dante had taken his trembling prize.

He had made my family’s legacy a gift for his whore. Tonight, I would make him choke on it.

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I stood behind the velvet curtain, clutching a positive pregnancy test, waiting for the perfect moment to tell Dante our family was growing. Instead, I heard him laugh. "She is not the bride," Dante told his Consigliere, swirling his fifty-year-old scotch. "She is the bulletproof vest I wear until it is safe for Sofia to enter the city. When the bullets stop flying, we throw the vest in the trash." My world shattered. When Sofia arrived that night, she didn't just take my place; she boiled my beloved cat for dinner. Dante didn't defend me. He told me to clean up the mess or face punishment. To prove his devotion to her, he had his men drag me to "The Pit"—an underground fight club. I was thrown into a cage with a starving Doberman. I looked up at the VIP box, begging the man I loved to save me. Instead, Dante pressed the intercom button, his voice booming over the speakers. "One million dollars on the dog," he said. "She won't last three minutes." He covered Sofia's eyes to protect her innocence while the beast tore the flesh from my arm. That night, Elena Vance died in the dirt. One year later, the grieving Dante Moretti attended a gala for a mysterious new artist in New York. He dropped his champagne glass when he saw me on stage, alive, wearing a dress that revealed my ruined, scarred arm. "I didn't leave you, Dante," I said into the microphone, my voice cold as ice. "You killed me. And now, I'm here to collect my winnings."