The Jilted Ex-Wife Is A Mafia Boss

For five long years, I hid the truth about my mother in our basement, pretending she was just locked in the safehouse.

My father, a ruthless mafia Capo, thought she was just throwing a bitter tantrum.

To protect his mistress's illegitimate daughter, he decided to marry me off as collateral to a rival cartel.

When I refused, the mistress framed me, crying that my mother and I were doing dark magic in the basement to curse her unborn twins.

My father flew into a blind rage.

"Strip her and give her fifty lashes in the snow. Let's see how long her mother can hold out!"

He ordered his men to beat me with a salt-soaked leather whip. I was twelve years old.

My skin was shredded, my fever spiked to 104 degrees, and I was pronounced dead before the cartel's convoy even reached the hospital.

Until my last breath, my father kept staring at the safehouse door, waiting for my mother to come out and save me.

He didn't know the woman he was trying to punish had been forced to drink poison by his precious mistress five years ago.

He didn't know I had endured his brutal abuse just to guard my mother's secret.

What he never imagined was that my mother didn't die that night.

She escaped. She rebuilt herself from nothing. And while my father was still screaming at a ghost, she had already conquered an empire of her own.

When I opened my eyes again, the biting winter cold was gone. I was lying in a warm bed, bandaged and alive.

And standing right in front of me, wearing a sharp suit and ruling the city's underworld as a Mafia Queen, was my mother.

Chapter 1

Violetta POV

In the unlit passage of the safehouse, where my own breath turned to mist before my eyes, my father—the most ruthless Capo of the Romano syndicate—hurled a box of pastries against the heavy oak door.

The impact split the cardboard. Pink cream bled through the cracks and dripped onto the porch like a wound.

He was bellowing that I would be married off as collateral to a rival cartel. And he had no idea he was screaming at a ghost.

I was twelve years old. I had been guarding that ghost for five years.

His voice shook the floorboards beneath my stockinged feet. Gabriel Romano was a man who ordered entire bloodlines erased with a subtle turn of his wrist. His authority was a thing of iron. His cruelty was legendary.

But standing outside that impenetrable door, he sounded like a man whose wits were beginning to fray.

He hammered on the wood again, demanding my mother open the door. He cried out that Serena had made a costly mistake. As he told it, his precious Serena had signed a bad guarantee with the Lucchese cartel, and the rival syndicate was demanding a Romano daughter as collateral for a forced marriage.

His pacing grew frantic, the scuff of his leather shoes a restless rhythm on the wood. He swore that Bianca, Serena's daughter, had only been in the family for two years. He argued to the silent house that he could not trust Bianca with the Lucchese men. And so, like settling a bad debt, he wanted me to be entered into the ledger in her place.

I sat on the cold floor, drawing my knees up until my chin rested upon them, listening to him beg a ghost.

The safehouse remained as silent as a tomb, hoarding its grim secret.

Gabriel cursed, a low, guttural sound. He kicked the door, the impact cracking through the stillness like a gunshot. He screamed that my mother was nursing a worthless grudge. He screamed that she was a vindictive bitch.

At last, his footsteps receded. He stormed off, leaving the crushed pastry bleeding sweet cream onto the porch.

He didn't know that my mother could not answer him. Five years ago, I had watched her body disappear. And I had made sure the entire Romano syndicate believed she was still alive.

Because as long as they believed that, they were afraid.

And I needed them afraid. Because I was seven years old when I learned the truth: fear was the only shield I would ever have.