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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
Isabella POV
The Sterling Estate's solarium was supposed to be my sanctuary. Sunlight poured through the soaring glass dome, warming the humid air that was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming orchids. For the first time in days, a genuine smile graced my lips as I guided seven-year-old Chloe Hayes's small hands around a brass watering can.
"Like this, Bella?" Chloe asked, her bright eyes looking up at me.
"Perfect," I murmured. Nate Hayes stood beside us, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the suffocating tension I'd left behind at the Moretti estate. Julian and his friend, Gio Rossi, lounged on the rattan sofas nearby. I needed this. I needed to project to the world—and to any of Damien's watching eyes—that I was unbothered, that his archaic mafia rules couldn't break me.
Then, the temperature in the room plummeted.
Damien Moretti stepped into the glass conservatory like a storm cloud swallowing the sun. Rocco Gallo, his massive Enforcer, flanked him like a lethal shadow. Silence instantly strangled the room.
Gio, ever the oblivious fool trying to impress a Don, let out a low whistle. "Careful, Nate. If you look at another man's wife like that, you might lose a hand. Though for a beauty like Bella, maybe it's worth the risk."
Nate paled instantly, his jaw clenching. I didn't look at Damien. Instead, I fixed Gio with a dead, icy stare. "Don't mistake a functioning circulatory system for genuine emotion, Gio. It's a common mistake for men like you."
Gio choked on his next breath, his face flushing a deep, humiliated red.
Damien didn't say a word. His eyes, cold as a Siberian winter, were locked onto Nate. The unspoken threat radiating from my husband was so thick it was hard to breathe. He despised the intimacy of Nate calling me 'Bella'. Julian, finally reading the lethal shift in the room, abruptly stood.
"Nate, why don't you and Chloe come see the new horses? Gio, you too," Julian ordered, his voice tight. Within seconds, they practically fled the solarium, leaving me alone with the devil.
Damien stalked toward me, his presence a suffocating weight. I tried to step back, but he boxed me in against the wrought-iron plant stands. His dark gaze dropped to the V-neck of my cashmere sweater, locking onto the fading, purple bruises marring my collarbone.
"Still wearing my mark, I see," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in my chest. "Or have you been careless enough to let some other man touch what's mine?"
The sheer arrogance of his words ignited a blinding fury within me. "You mean the brand you left the night you dragged me out of the West Wing?" I spat back, lifting my chin to meet his lethal glare. "Don't pretend it meant anything more."
A muscle feathered in his jaw. His eyes darkened with a rage so absolute it made my pulse hammer against my ribs. This was my chance. I had to push him over the edge.
"If my presence disgusts you so much, Damien, then end it," I said, my voice ringing with a desperate finality. "The contract died with my father. Break it. I will sign anything."
Instead of the disgust I hoped for, a terrifying, possessive fire flared in his eyes. He didn't believe me. He thought this was just another move on a chessboard. He lunged, his large hand wrapping around my wrist like a steel vice.
"You started this game, Isabella," he whispered, his breath brushing my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine. "And a Moretti always finishes what they start. The only way you leave this family is in a coffin."
He released me so abruptly I stumbled, turning on his heel and striding out of the solarium without looking back.
I stood trembling among the orchids, my wrist burning from his grip. *In a coffin.* The words echoed in my mind, a definitive death sentence. I pressed a shaking hand to my flat stomach. If I were to carry his heir, that coffin would be sealed forever, binding my blood to his darkness. I had to make sure that never happened, no matter the cost.
You may also like
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.