The Don's Pawn, A Queen's Revenge
My family sent me to marry into the enemy, a ruthless Don in Chicago. From the moment I arrived, I was treated like a common whore, a pawn to be humiliated and discarded. But they made one fatal mistake: they thought I was a lamb, when I was really a wolf in disguise.
Sent to Chicago for an arranged marriage with Don Vincenzo Moretti, Isabella Falcone arrived at his hostile estate, instantly an unwelcome outsider.
Hostility turned personal. Publicly shamed and trapped in Vincenzo's bed by his cousin, the Don accused me of whoring for family favor.
I faced constant humiliation. Family insulted me, staff trapped me. Vincenzo was cold. A rival framed me with a planted diamond, and the Consigliere declared me a thief, ordering soldiers to drag me away.
Branded a criminal by a rigged game, injustice fueled a cold, clear rage. I was a pawn, but I would show them a queen.
My fear hardened into lethal resolve. Alida Savage thought she'd destroyed me, but only declared war on the wrong woman. I would tear down all who dared to underestimate me.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
Isabella POV
The silence that followed Frankie's declaration was heavier than the velvet curtains hanging around us. The Moretti soldiers, men trained to smell fear, looked utterly confused. They had expected a diva's tantrum, not a scene of worship.
Frankie scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting from the armed men to me with frantic desperation. The reverence in his gaze hardened into protective fury.
"We are leaving," Frankie announced, his voice trembling not with fear, but with adrenaline. He grabbed my hand, his grip tight. "I'm taking you out of here, Angelo Mio (My Angel). Away from these savages."
The soldiers' hands flew to their holsters. The air in the room turned brittle, ready to snap.
"Frankie, stop," I said, my voice low and urgent. I stepped closer, forcing him to look at me, and switched to the rough Sicilian dialect we had spoken in that damp cellar two years ago—a language of survival. "Non è il momento. Ho un piano. Fidati di me." (It is not the time. I have a plan. Trust me.)
He hesitated, searching my face for the terrified girl he remembered, but finding only the woman who had learned to wear a mask of ice. "They are monsters, Izzy. You don't know what they do to women in this city."
"I know exactly who they are," I replied in English, my tone sharp enough to cut through his panic.
Frankie turned to the lead Capo, his chest heaving. "If she does not walk out of here free and safe tonight, I don't sing. Not tonight. Not ever. Tell your boss his club can rot."
A slow, mocking clap echoed from the entrance of the lounge.
Vincenzo Moretti descended the short staircase, buttoning his suit jacket with lethal precision. His presence sucked the oxygen out of the room. He didn't look at Frankie; his dark, predatory eyes were fixed solely on me, burning with a mixture of curiosity and cold rage.
"An ultimatum," Vincenzo said, his voice smooth like aged whiskey laced with arsenic. "Brave. Or incredibly stupid."
He stopped inches from us. The scent of him—sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and danger—invaded my senses. He reached out, his fingers brushing my arm to pull me away from Frankie. It was a claim of ownership, stark and undeniable.
Frankie stepped forward, his fists clenched, ready to fight a war he couldn't win. Vincenzo's hand drifted toward the gun beneath his jacket.
Suddenly, Vincenzo's phone buzzed.
He ignored it, his eyes locked on Frankie's throat. It buzzed again. And again. With a growl of annoyance, he pulled it out. He glanced at the screen, and his jaw tightened.
"Gustavo," he muttered.
He answered, turning his back to us slightly. I couldn't hear the words on the other end, but I saw Vincenzo's spine stiffen. The Consigliere—his grandfather—was pulling the strings even from the shadows.
"Fine," Vincenzo snapped, hanging up. He turned back to us, the violence in his eyes replaced by a cold, calculated mask. "Change of plans. We are going to dinner. Nonno (Grandfather) wants the city to see us. Together."
He looked at me, issuing a silent command. "Let's go."
"She goes nowhere without me," Frankie interjected, stepping between us like a human shield.
Vincenzo's lip curled. "You are testing my patience, singer."
"And you are testing my resolve," Frankie shot back.
Before the first punch could be thrown, I stepped into the breach. "We will all go," I said calmly. "Frankie is hungry. You are hungry. And I am tired of standing in a room that smells of stale scotch."
Vincenzo stared at me, a muscle feathering in his jaw. For a second, I thought he would refuse. Then, he gave a sharp nod. "Fine. But if he speaks out of turn, I cut out his tongue."
The restaurant was one of Moretti's crown jewels—a place of white tablecloths, dim lighting, and hushed conversations that stopped the moment we walked in.
The dinner was a torture session disguised as a meal. Vincenzo sat at the head of the table, radiating hostility. Frankie sat to my right, glaring at Vincenzo over his wine glass.
To keep Frankie from lunging across the table, I had whispered the truth of my engagement—that it was a temporary truce, a three-month sham. It had calmed him, but it had also emboldened him.
"You know," Frankie said, slicing his veal with aggressive force. "Some men have all the gold in the world and are still paupers."
Vincenzo didn't look up from his steak. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Frankie continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "Because they are blind. A man who cannot see the Queen sitting beside him does not deserve a kingdom."
The clatter of silverware stopped.
Vincenzo slowly placed his knife and fork on his plate. He picked up his napkin, dabbed his mouth, and then lifted his gaze. His eyes were voids, empty of humanity.
"Your family lives in the North Side, yes? On Clark Street?" Vincenzo asked softly.
Frankie froze.
"My city breathes, Frankie," Vincenzo said, leaning forward. "And I decide who gets oxygen. Your mother, your sister... they sleep soundly because I allow it. Remember who keeps the wolves from your door before you decide to insult the man holding the leash."
Frankie's face drained of color. He looked at me, fear warring with his pride. He swallowed hard and looked down at his plate. The message was received.
The ride back to the estate was suffocating.
The armored Cadillac felt like a coffin. Vincenzo sat in the corner, staring out at the blurring city lights, nursing a glass of scotch he had poured from the car's bar. He hadn't spoken a word since we left the restaurant.
But the silence wasn't empty. It was charged, vibrating with a tension that made the hair on my arms stand up. He was angry, yes. But it was something else. Something darker.
"I saw him kiss your hand," Vincenzo said suddenly. His voice was rough, stripping away the polished veneer of the Don.
I turned to look at him. "He was saying goodbye."
"He called you Angelo Mio." Vincenzo turned his head, his eyes locking onto mine in the dim light. They were swirling with a storm I hadn't anticipated. Possessiveness. And a raw, ugly jealousy.
"He is an old friend, Vincenzo. I saved his life once. He is dramatic."
"No," Vincenzo growled. He set the glass down with a heavy thud and shifted closer, invading my space. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming. "I saw the way he looked at you. Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered."
He reached out, his fingers gripping my chin, tilting my face up to his. His thumb brushed my lower lip, not gently, but with a demanding pressure.
"I finally understand," he whispered, his voice laced with venom and a strange, twisted pain. "I understand why you are so cold. Why you look at me with nothing but defiance."
His grip tightened slightly.
"It is because your heart," he hissed, "has already been given to someone else."
You may also like
8.0
My father gave me an ultimatum: marry a man I despise or lose my entire inheritance. I chose to run, boarding a private jet with no intention of looking back.
But his reach is absolute. The phone buzzed before we even left New York airspace.
"Send me a picture with Sterling now," his voice barked, "or I'm calling your pilot to turn that jet around."
I faked the photo and fled to Las Vegas, my last resort. My mission was simple: find my father's illegitimate son, the one secret that could break his hold over me.
My only lead was a grainy picture of a ruthless fixer, a man who cleaned up my father's messes. I found him in a desolate diner, a giant of a man surrounded by a wall of guards.
I gambled everything on a single coin toss for the information I needed. He saw right through my desperate bluff.
He leaned in close, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
"In my city, the house always wins."
I was left standing there, humiliated and defeated. But as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder.
"But you're lucky. Today, I'm just curious what Howard Bright's daughter is doing so far from home."
He had seen me not as a threat, but as a curiosity. I had lost the battle, but I wasn't done yet. I was no longer running. I was hunting.
7.2
Aria was born with a fire in her soul a mysterious ember that hums with a power even she cannot control. Ordinary life was never meant for her, but when shadowed creatures rise from the Veiled Realm, kingdoms teeter on the edge of war, and an ancient prophecy stirs from the depths of forgotten magic, Aria discovers that her gift may be the only thing standing between life and annihilation.
As she struggles to master her abilities, Aria is thrust into a world of ruthless warlords, cunning sorcerers, and dark beasts that hunt from the shadows. Every ally she meets could be a traitor, every enemy may hold a secret, and every choice she makes carries the weight of a realm cloaked in mystery and danger.
Amid the chaos, a forbidden bond ignites with a warrior whose strength matches her own, a connection that could either become her greatest strength or her deadliest weakness. As love, betrayal, and destiny collide, Aria must confront the shadows of her past, embrace the power within her, and decide whether she will rise as the savior of the Veiled Realm or fall and let it burn.
Embers will flare. Secrets will awaken. And one girl's courage will shape the fate of a hidden world forever.
7.4
Clara Davis was trained to seduce, deceive, and destroy.
Her mission is simple: infiltrate billionaire Jeffery Rothwell's life, gain his trust, and help seize his empire in exchange for the freedom she has always craved.
But the deeper she slips into his dangerous world, the more the lines between mission and desire begin to blur. Falling for him was never part of the plan and neither was discovering that the man she was sent to manipulate may not be the real Jeffery at all.
Now trapped in a deadly web of obsession, power, and hidden identities. Clara is caught between the organization that owns her, the monster who remade her, and a love that has turned into vengeance. Clara must survive a man who sees everything, controls everything, and may be far more dangerous than the organization that created her.
Because in this game of seduction and revenge, love might be the deadliest trap of all.
8.8
Scarlet's world shattered the night she discovered her husband in her bed with her own sister.
The betrayal was brutal. The humiliation, unforgivable. And what hurt the most? Neither of them felt a single ounce of remorse.
Within months, her husband divorced her and married the very woman who helped destroy her life, her sister.
They thought she would break. They thought she would disappear quietly.
They were wrong.
Ryan Marchetti-cold, calculating, and dangerously powerful, has spent years waiting for the perfect chance to destroy his business rival. Marrying that rival's ex-wife is the ultimate move. Strategic.
For Scarlet, marrying Ryan isn't about love. It's about revenge.
A calculated alliance. A public statement. A promise that she will rise from the ashes they left her in. Together, they become the scandal that shakes empires.
But revenge is never simple.
Because behind Ryan's icy control lies a secret, one tied to her past, to her ex-husband, to the very marriage that ruined her life. A truth so explosive it could unravel everything she thought she knew.
Was she just a pawn in Ryan's war from the very beginning?
Or is the man she's slowly falling for capable of betraying her too?
In a game fueled by vengeance, power, and buried truths, Scarlet must decide:
Will she let betrayal destroy her again...
Or will she risk her heart for the one man who might truly love her?
9.4
I married Alistair Montgomery out of duty, enduring five years of his coldness and his mother stealing my son, hoping my love would eventually warm his heart.
Then, his "dead" first love, Cordelia, returned.
The second he heard her voice on the phone, he ordered me out of his car on a deserted dirt road and left me in the dust to rush to her side.
She faked a suicide attempt and framed me. Alistair didn't even give me a chance to explain.
"If she doesn't survive this, I will destroy you."
He roared those words over the phone, openly declaring he would spend the night guarding her hospital bed.
The very next day, Cordelia's secret son publicly attacked me and my child at the kindergarten gates, pointing at me and screaming that I was a thief who stole his father.
For five years, I swallowed my pride and let his family strip me of my dignity, only to realize I was nothing but a temporary placeholder for a ghost.
He actually thought he could just toss me the empty title of "wife" while giving his heart and his nights to another woman.
I finally woke up from this pathetic joke.
I didn't shed another tear or beg him to look at me.
Instead, I calmly opened my tablet and searched for the most ruthless divorce lawyer in New York.
The war was about to begin.
9.4
I was standing in the center of the gallery, holding a glass of expensive champagne, when the screens behind me flickered and my life ended.
It was supposed to be an art unveiling, but the monitors shifted to fake footage of me handing evidence to the FBI.
My fiancé, Ethan, looked at me like I was a sick dog that needed to be put down.
My father slapped me across the face in front of everyone, disowning me to save his own skin.
That was when Luca Vitti, the city’s most dangerous man, stepped in.
He cleared the room and took my hand.
I thought he was saving me.
I didn't realize he was just collecting a new pet.
I was locked in his estate, isolated and terrified.
Then, my healthy mother suddenly "died" of pneumonia in a Vitti clinic.
Days later, I saw Luca’s frail stepsister, Clara, breathing easily for the first time in her life.
She had my mother’s lungs.
I became nothing more than a breeding vessel.
When I fell pregnant, I overheard Luca and Ethan planning my death.
"Once the kid is cut out, she's a loose end," Luca had said.
They were going to kill me and give my son to the woman who stole my mother's breath.
I couldn't let that happen.
So, I staged a tragedy.
I induced labor in secret, hid my living son, and placed a fake corpse in the crib with a note: The Vitti Legacy.
I escaped while they mourned.
Five years later, Luca finally found the doctor’s confession.
He learned that Clara had orchestrated everything.
He opened the velvet box I left behind and realized it was empty.
Now, he knows I didn't kill his son.
I saved him from becoming a monster like his father.