Unmasking My Mafia Fiancé
My fiancé, a mafia Capo, promised the painkillers would help after the "car crash." It was a lie. The real accident was his temper, and I was his favorite punching bag.
In a medicated haze, I overheard the truth. He was on the phone with his consigliere, boasting about stealing my billion-dollar casino blueprint. He was going to use it to become Underboss.
He planned to propose, then use our world's code of silence to legally gag me from ever claiming my own work. His mistress, Olivia, would be the public face of the project.
The worst part was the truth about my miscarriage. It wasn't an accident. He and Olivia had orchestrated it, calling our baby a "complication" that would kill his ambition.
At a party, he proved it all. After shoving me to the ground in front of everyone, he walked away with her, leaving me in a heap of humiliation.
The love I had for him didn't just die; it turned into a cold, hard certainty. He had taken my work, my child, and my dignity.
So I sent him one last email: a file containing proof of every lie, every betrayal, and a video of his abuse. The subject line read: "My Wedding Gift." Then I boarded a one-way flight to New York to partner with the one man he truly feared. This wasn't a breakup. It was war.
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Chapter 3
Serafina POV:
Back in the apartment that no longer felt like mine, I started packing. I was ruthless. Every photo, every gift, every memory of the man I thought I loved went into a black trash bag. I was not just packing a suitcase; I was erasing our life.
The next day, I went to my part-time job. It was a small, independent production company, a civilian job that kept me sane and connected to a world outside the Family. My boss, Maria, listened with a look of sad, weary understanding as I resigned. My coworkers, David and Chloe, hugged me, telling me they always thought Ethan was a manipulative asshole. Their simple, honest support was a balm on my raw nerves.
My phone buzzed incessantly. Ethan. I ignored it until the tenth call.
"Hey, baby," he said, his voice breezy, as if nothing had happened. "About last night, sorry about that. Olivia's just so dramatic. Anyway, I've been talking to a wedding planner. I'm thinking a spring wedding at the estate..."
The sheer, staggering arrogance of it. He genuinely thought I was still his.
In the background, I heard her voice, sharp and demanding. "Ethan, get off the phone. We need to talk about my press coverage."
"Gotta go," he said abruptly, and the line went dead.
A few hours later, my phone buzzed again. Not a call, but a news alert from a gossip site. The headline read: "The New Power Couple: Ethan Cole and Olivia Monroe Celebrate Their New Project." The photo was of them, clinking champagne glasses, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.
A cold, clean rage washed through me, crystalizing into a single, diamond-hard certainty. This was not a breakup. This was a war.
Then, an unknown number called. I almost sent it to voicemail, but some instinct made me answer.
"Serafina?" The voice was heavy with a familiar concern. It was Noah.
"Ethan... he had some kind of breakdown. Something with Olivia. He's at St. Vincent's. He's calling your name."
"Is Olivia with him?" I asked, my voice chillingly steady.
A pause. "She dropped him at the emergency room and left."
Of course she did. And a treacherous part of me—the old, foolish caretaker—felt an unwelcome flicker of something. Not pity. The ghost of a duty I had long shouldered. I had been his rock for so long that the instinct to steady him was carved into my bones.
"Please, Serafina," Noah's voice was frayed. "He's a wreck."
I closed my eyes. One last time. This wasn't an act of caretaking. It was the final severance. I had to see him broken to finally break free myself.
"I'll go," I said.
As I started my car and pulled out onto the street, heading toward the hospital, I made a silent vow. This would be the last sacrifice, the final act of a life I was leaving in ashes, and the very last thing I would ever do for Ethan Cole.