Betrayed, Then Claimed by the Mafia King (18+)

Lyla Rose

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I blink, my throat tight. "How... do you know what I like?" I repeat, my voice quiet, almost questioning. "You're my ex-husband's uncle. You shouldn't know about me... And what should I call you now?" I shrug my tiny shoulders.

His expression hardens, and his hand drops from my face. His jaw clenches as he takes a moment to process my words. "Call me Carter," he says firmly, his voice laced with a quiet intensity. "And don't fucking remind me that you were married to that piece of shit." His eyes narrow, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "I want to kill him every time I think about it."

I fall silent at his words, unsure what to say. The quiet that falls between us feels heavy, but his words... they almost make me feel like someone sees me, like someone feels the same fury I do. Still, the weight of everything, the betrayal, my loneliness sits in my chest like a stone.

"Vincent never deserved you," he says bluntly, his voice low and dangerous. He presses a soft kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin. "You know that, right?"

I stay silent, unsure how to respond. My heart is still raw and his words, though comforting, feel distant. The pain of what I lost is too overwhelming. I don't have anything left to say, not when I'm still hurting this much.

__________

Carter Ricci

__________

I respect her silence and do not push for a response. Her quietness speaks volumes, and I'm not one to disturb that. Instead, I pick up her empty plate and set it aside, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders, wrapping her in a softness she hasn't known in far too long.

Then, I notice it, the ring still on her finger. Vincent's ring.

"You're still wearing his ring," I say quietly, trying not to sound accusatory.

She doesn't respond, her fingers tense as I gently slide it off her hand. Without hesitation, I throw it onto the floor.

The sound of the diamond wedding band hitting the floor is sharp, final. A satisfying clatter. I stare at it for a moment, my jaw clenching as I look at the symbol of betrayal. I bring my foot down hard, crushing it under the heel of my expensive dress shoe.

"Good fucking riddance," I mutter under my breath, my gaze flicking back to her finger, the skin raw from where that damn thing had bound it.

She stays silent. I can see it in her eyes; she finds me strange, but there's something in her that holds her back from saying anything.

After a long moment, she shifts uncomfortably, breaking the silence. "Uhh... Can I have a shower?" Her voice is awkward and uncertain.

I pause, my gaze snapping up to meet hers. "Shower?" I repeat, my tone controlled, the weight of the moment heavier than it should be.

I stand, moving toward the en-suite bathroom without waiting for a response, my steps deliberate. "You can have whatever you want, tesoro," I call over my shoulder, turning the water on, letting the steam fill the room.

_________

Lyla Rose

________

"What should I wear?" I ask, rising slowly, my body still weighed down. I walk toward the walk-in closet and pull the door open. My eyes widen as I look in the closet; lingerie, dresses, shorts, gowns, every piece in my size, stacked and hanging, filling the space. I frown, unsure what to make of it. These can't be for me, can they?

Carter's always been single. Vincent used to joke about his "virgin uncle" Carter. So whose clothes are these?

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat when I hear his footsteps behind me.

He leans against the doorframe, watching my confusion with amusement.

"Those are all for you," he says, circling his arms over his chest. "I might be single, but I'm not a fucking idiot. I knew you'd need clothes eventually."

My eyes widen and I turn slowly to face him. "You... bought it?" I ask in disbelief.

He laughs lightly, walking into the closet with me. His presence is commanding as he looks around, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

"I bought it for you. It was delivered this morning. And I have excellent taste in women's clothing. You'll find everything you need in here, lingerie, dresses, jeans, swimwear..." His voice trails off as he stops in front of a rack of expensive lingerie sets.

I feel my face flush slightly, my mind racing. How does he know my size? Why would he even care?

He smirks at my blush, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he reaches out to touch a delicate sapphire blue lingerie set. The lace is soft and inviting, and I can't help but feel embarrassed.

"I have my ways," he says cryptically, his voice low and teasing. He looks back at me, his expression shifting to something more serious. "You can wear whatever you want, tesoro."

I swallow hard, suddenly self-conscious about choosing lingerie in front of him.

He notices my discomfort and chuckles darkly, stepping closer until he's towering over me, his presence overpowering.

"You're embarrassed to pick out underwear in front of me?" His voice drops to a low murmur. "Yet you just spent the last hour sitting on my cock."

I freeze, my heart racing as I process his words. The blush on my face deepens, and I feel the weight of his gaze on me, making my skin burn with heat. He's right. He made me sit on his lap earlier, and I was too weak to protest.

Before I can respond, he grabs a simple black silk set with delicate lace trim and hands it to me.

"Here. This one."

I can't help but almost snatch the lingerie from his hand. I hide it behind my back, trying to shield myself from his gaze.

He watches me hide the lingerie, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Go shower before I decide to join you and wash your back myself." His tone is teasing, but the underlying seriousness in his voice makes me blush even deeper. "And don't lock the bathroom door."

I stand there for a moment, unsure what to say. I just want to be alone, to clear my head. "Uh... a dress?" I ask softly, reaching for a tiny white spaghetti-strap dress hanging on a nearby rack.

He steps closer, his eyes fixed on me. "You can wear that," he growls. "It's fucking tiny."

The comment makes me feel self-conscious. I grab the dress and spin away, hurrying to the en-suite bathroom.

Inside, the warm water from the shower soothes my skin but does nothing for the ache in my chest. I close my eyes, trying to shut everything else out, but my thoughts are consumed by Vincent, how easily he discarded me, as if our six-month marriage meant nothing.

The pain is suffocating. How quickly he moved on, how easily he found someone new. How easily a woman can be thrown away just for being infertile. I can't stop the tears from falling, even as I try to push the thoughts away. The weight of it all; his betrayal, his lies, presses down on me, threatening to crush me completely.