The Mafia Don's Runaway Heiress Wife
Three years ago, I used my family's tech empire to marry Damien Moretti, a ruthless mafia Underboss. I naively thought my devotion could melt his frozen heart.
But a year ago, he paraded his mistress at our family gala just because she had the face of his dead ex.
When my pathetic jealousy boiled over and I stabbed him with a letter opener, he didn't kill me.
Instead, he banished me to the freezing, decaying West Wing of his estate.
For a whole year, I was locked away like a ghost. He flaunted his mistress, orchestrated a hostile takeover of my family's company, and let his maids treat me like garbage.
When I knelt outside his door begging for a divorce, he just gripped my jaw and delivered a death sentence.
"The only way you leave this family is in a coffin."
The naive girl who begged for his love died in that cold room. I finally realized I was nothing but a profitable ledger entry to him.
When he finally opened my door again, expecting to see a broken prisoner, I slapped him across his bleeding face.
"The deal is done. I want a divorce."
I walked straight out into the freezing Chicago rain, secretly swallowed a bottle of emergency contraceptives to kill any chance of carrying his heir, and prepared to tear up his mafia rules myself.
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Chapter 4
Isabella POV
The deafening silence in my bedroom was suffocating. My brother, Julian, stared at me as if I had just held a loaded gun to his head. He lunged forward, slamming the heavy bedroom door shut.
"Have you lost your mind?" Julian’s voice trembled with a chilling terror I had never heard from him before. "You stabbed him with a letter opener, Isabella! He didn't send his Enforcers; he chose to decimate half our shipping routes as a warning. Now you want a divorce? That is a public betrayal to the Don and the entire Moretti family. What do you think he’ll do? Burn this estate to the ground, or put us all in coffins?"
The fire in my chest turned to ice. My brother's words were a brutal bucket of cold water. My defiance couldn't be bought with my family's blood. I forced my stiff hands to uncurl.
"I... I was just overwhelmed," I lied, my voice dropping to a low, calculated whisper. "Being locked in that wing... I lost my temper. I didn't mean it."
Julian exhaled a shaky breath, the immediate panic subsiding. He studied my pale face, his brow furrowed in deep confusion. "Bella, I've never seen you like this. Before, whenever you talked about him, there was hope. Or at least anger. Now... your eyes are just dead. It's just ice."
I stiffened. I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't expose him to the darkness of the Moretti estate. "This was a business deal, Julian," I said, my tone entirely detached. "And I'm terminating the contract."
Julian shook his head, frustrated by my coldness, and walked out, leaving a chasm between us.
*
Later that night, the scalding water of the shower did nothing to wash away the phantom weight of Damien's hands. I stepped out, wiping the thick steam from the mirror.
My breath hitched. There, blooming across my collarbone and shoulder, were the dark, possessive bruises from last night’s confrontation. A brand. Proof of his unyielding claim, binding me to the mafia's archaic laws.
Sofia stepped into the bathroom holding a plush towel. She froze, her eyes dropping to the marks. A soft gasp escaped her lips, her eyes flashing with sudden, heartbreaking realization.
"Not a word, Sofia," I commanded softly.
Staring at the bruises, a dangerous realization settled over me. I couldn't walk away. Julian was right; Damien's pride wouldn't allow it. But what if the ruthless, possessive Don was the one to break the bond? I had to make him despise me enough to throw me away.
*
Damien POV
The heavy oak doors of my penthouse office flew open. Julian Sterling marched in, his face flushed with misplaced righteous anger.
I didn't bother looking up from the shipping manifests on my desk.
"Whatever you did to her, it ends now," Julian demanded, slamming his hands on my desk. "Leave Bella alone. Let her go."
I finally raised my eyes, letting the cold, dead silence of the room press down on him until he shifted uncomfortably.
"'Let her go'?" I repeated, the corner of my mouth twitching with dark amusement. "Mr. Sterling, your sister leveraged your entire company just to become a Moretti. Are you entirely sure this sudden departure is her wish, or simply her newest trick?"
Julian’s jaw tightened. "You arrogant son of a—"
"Countess De Luca is hosting a charity gala next week," I interrupted, my voice dropping to a lethal, quiet register that made him freeze. "Tell Isabella that as my wife, I expect to see her there."
Julian glared at me, but he lacked the spine to push further. He turned and stormed out of my office.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the empty doorway. Isabella thought she could use her naive brother as a pawn to provoke me. She wanted my attention. I would give it to her, and remind everyone exactly who she belonged to.
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7.1
I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York.
To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen.
But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table.
It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test.
"Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture."
I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking.
He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago.
He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy.
He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go.
He was wrong.
I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don.
And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy.
I wanted to erase him.
I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built.
Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa."
It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul.
On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial.
When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth.
He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife.
Because the woman who loved him no longer existed.
8.5
"And that is the reason why I said those words. I like your fear, not because it is a normal thing. I love it because deep down you are a monster like me, schiava. You fear me on a primal level, you can feel my power and dominance, and you know you aren't the strongest here. So you don't fear Renzo Valentino the human, you fear the monster that lurks inside."
My life changed the night of my birthday. What started as a funny dare ended with blood and having a price on my head.
I thought Renzo was the hero who saved me that night, but he was the devil who owned me forever.
I, Misha Yakov, princess of the Russian mafia became Renzo Valentino's slave.
He broke me, tortured me, and molded me into something new, something I hated and craved at the same time.
I, Misha Yakov became my master's pet.
8.5
went to sleep a nobody. I woke up a Queen.
One night I was just a broke, exhausted college girl. The next, I opened my eyes in silk sheets, with strangers bowing and calling me Luna Queen. The face in the mirror is mine. The body is mine. But the life isn't. The bruises on my wrists tell a story I don't remember, and the King I'm bound to doesn't love me-he loathes me.
They whisper that his mistress rules the palace. They say the Queen was weak. Silent. Broken. But that was before me.
Now I must survive a palace that wants me dead, a King whose touch burns as much as it scars, and a kingdom waiting for me to fail. The old Luna Queen bowed to cruelty.
I am not her.
And if this King thinks I'll kneel, he's about to learn what a true Queen is made of.
8.7
My little brother's heart monitor was screaming its final warning. I called my husband, Dante Volkov, the ruthless underworld king whose life I'd saved years ago. He had promised to send his elite medical team.
"I'm handling an emergency," he snapped, then hung up. An hour later, my brother was dead.
I found out what Dante's "emergency" was from his mistress's social media. He had sent his team of world-class surgeons to deliver her cat's kittens. My brother died for a litter of cats.
When Dante finally called, he didn't even apologize. I could hear her voice in the background, asking him to come back to bed. He even forgot my brother was dead, offering to buy him a new toy to replace the one his mistress deliberately crushed.
This was the man who had promised to protect me, to make my high school tormentors pay. Now, he was holding that very tormentor, Seraphina, in his arms. Then came the final blow: a call from the clerk's office revealed our seven-year marriage was a sham. The certificate was a forgery.
I was never his wife. I was just a possession he was tired of. After he left me to die in a car crash for Seraphina, I made one call. I texted a rival mob heir I hadn't spoken to in years: "I need to disappear. I'm calling it in."
7.4
I was only fifteen when my venomous family orchestrated my doom by forcing me into an arranged marriage with mafia heir Javier Velasquez.
On our wedding night, Javier paraded strippers into our suite to show his absolute contempt, turning me into the ultimate joke of the underworld overnight.
But being a joke was a luxury compared to what came next.
Three years later, Javier needed to be a widower to marry into a heavily armed family and secure their backing for a coup.
He didn't grant me the mercy of a bullet.
Instead, he dragged me to an abandoned underground safehouse, locked me in the damp, rotting dark, and told the world I had been assassinated.
For six months, I starved in that dungeon, surviving only on the desperate hope that my family was safe.
Then, on the day of his lavish new wedding, a cruel maid kicked a plate of spoiled food onto my floor and delivered the final, fatal blow.
"Annabel is dead. Pined away and died of a broken heart two weeks ago."
My gentle mother was dead, all because she actually believed his lie about my tragic murder.
Driven by pure agony and an all-consuming hatred, I shattered crates of smuggled chemical solvents and struck a match, letting the roaring inferno turn their bloody wedding into my funeral pyre.
I thought the fire was the end.
But when I opened my eyes, the suffocating smoke vanished, replaced by the biting chill of a Long Island winter.
I was standing in the snow, back on the exact day my descent into hell began.
This time, the terrified girl was dead, and I would use their own ruthless rules to tear their empire apart.
7.3
While I was pregnant, my husband held a party downstairs for another woman's son.
Through a hidden mental link, I overheard my husband, Don Dante Rossi, tell his consigliere he was going to publicly reject me tomorrow. He planned to make his mistress, Serena, his new mate.
An act forbidden by ancient law while I carried his heir.
Later, Serena cornered me, her smile venomous. When Dante appeared, she shrieked, clawing her own arm and blaming me for the attack.
Dante didn't even look at me. He snarled a command that froze my body and stole my voice, ordering me from his sight as he cradled her.
He moved her and her son into our master suite. I was demoted to the guest room at the end of the hall.
Passing her open door, I saw him rocking her baby, humming the lullaby my own mother used to sing to me.
I heard him promise her, "Soon, my love. I'll sever the bond and give you the life you deserve."
The love I felt for him, the power I'd hidden for four years to protect his fragile ego, all turned to ice.
He thought I was a weak, powerless wife he could discard. He was about to find out that the woman he betrayed was Alessia De Luca, princess of the most powerful family on the continent.
And I was finally going home.