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The Disguised Heiress And The Mafia Don Novel Cover

The Disguised Heiress And The Mafia Don

I was the Harrington family's only son, forced to play a deadly game of shadows in the brutal underworld of Chicago. After a meeting with the Falcones left me poisoned and broken, my car was run off the road in a calculated hit. I crawled from the wreckage, bloodied and desperate, only to find Damien Cobb, the city's untouchable Don, looming over me with a gun pressed to my temple. He didn't see a victim; he saw a pawn to be crushed. My jacket was ripped, my secret bindings nearly exposed, and my life hung by a thread. I managed to talk my way out of the execution, but the humiliation was absolute. When I returned home, the nightmare followed, haunting my sleep with the cold steel of a blade against my throat. The world saw Alessandro Harrington, a man, but the truth was a fragile secret I guarded with my life. I was surrounded by predators who smelled my fear and mistook my silence for weakness. Why was I the target of their cruelty, and how could I keep my family safe when my very existence was a lie waiting to be unraveled? Enough was enough. I wouldn't be the prey anymore. I stood in the mirror, adjusting my shirt, and made a choice: I would stop hiding and start hunting. The dockworkers' strike was my opening, and I would use it to bring the untouchable Don to his knees.
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Chapter 2

Alessia POV

Rain hammered the sludge around me, my broken arm throbbing in sync with the poison clawing my gut. Damien Cobb loomed like a shadowed reaper, Colt gleaming under the flickering gas lamp. His thumb flicked the safety—click. Those charming eyes held only death.

No begging. No truth about Falcone's poison. One desperate play.

"Your uncle, Clarence Cobb," I rasped, voice raw over the storm. "Killing a Caporegime here? Witnesses. Messy. You'll show up to him reeking of street blood, late for your cousin's screw-up. Waste of a Don's time, Mr. Cobb."

His grip tightened, eyes boring into my mud-streaked face. Seconds stretched eternal. Pride warred with urgency in that predatory stare. Finally, the barrel dipped. "Pray we don't meet again, Harrington." Venom dripped colder than rain. Not mercy—efficiency. I was trash for later.

He turned to his unscathed Cadillac, Luca hovering. "Boss—"

A glare silenced him. Engine roared. Tires spun, veering precise. Mud exploded from a puddle, icy filth drenching me head to toe. Laughter echoed faint from the car—mocking, aristocratic—before taillights vanished into the night.

Humiliation burned deeper than poison. John Harrington's son, reduced to a gutter rat. Vision blackened as toxin surged. Last thought: family.

...

Fevered darkness shattered. I jolted awake in my bedroom, Harrington manor creaking under relentless rain. Sweat soaked the sheets; left arm splinted by Mr. Peters, who'd dragged me from the wreck. Poison purged, but nightmare lingered.

Rain poured eternal. No Alessandro suit—flowing skirts clung to my skin. Damien strode from shadows, no gun. A blade kissed my throat, cold as his smile. "A woman playing at men's tables? Deceiving a Don, Principessa (Little Princess)? Vendetta demands your Harringtons erased from Chicago."

His whisper slithered like silk over steel, laughter echoing doom.

I gasped awake, heart slamming. Secret teetered eternal. Passive hiding was death. To shield Angela, Eden—family—I needed power. Even unveiled, untouchable. No more prey. Time to hunt.

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