I Left the Mafia King and Took His Empire

In the second year of our renewed blood-bound alliance, I caught Riccardo Barone with another woman for the third time.

He expected me to throw a fit, maybe even demand severance papers.

What he didn't expect was for me to do the opposite. No hysterics. No interrogation. Instead, I personally bought him a hundred condoms and a hundred sets of lingerie.

Afterward, Riccardo came to me on his own. "She threw herself at me that time..."

"I know." I cut him off, all understanding. "I didn't see anything. Didn't hear anything. Don't worry about me."

My indifference made him frown.

He studied me for a long moment before letting out a cold laugh. "Bianca Bellandi, what game are you playing now? Playing hard to get?"

"I'm telling you, that trick doesn't work on me."

I looked at him, face blank, and said nothing.

Then his phone rang. Whatever he heard drained the color from his face. He stormed past me, shoulder clipping mine hard enough to knock me sideways. He didn't even notice. His signet ring caught the light as he pulled the door open, and then he was gone.

I stumbled, barely catching my balance.

Once I was sure he was gone, I pulled out my phone and called the private investigator.

When the line connected, I made myself clear: "The photos need to be high-resolution. Ideally, I want video of the affair and clear shots of their faces. Ten million dollars will be wired to your account when it's done."

No hesitation on the other end. He agreed immediately.

I hung up and let out a slow breath.

I'd been with Riccardo since high school. Ten years, from hallway crushes to wedding vows spoken before a priest the Barone Dr. kept on retainer. And in the end, he'd beaten me black and blue over a social club bookkeeper, until I had no choice but to file for dissolution.

All I'd wanted was to end that wreck of a marriage. I never noticed I'd been maneuvered into walking away with nothing. Not the Bellandi holdings. Not the front businesses my father had built. Nothing.

Two years of scraping by later, Riccardo came looking for me again, demanding I donate blood for his precious little bookkeeper. I agreed to remarry him without a second thought.

Not for love. Only to reclaim the shares and rackets that were rightfully mine.

I turned and headed upstairs to clear out the villa.

After I'd left, Riccardo never set foot in this place again, so nearly everything I owned was still here. The compound's security cameras blinked red in the hallway, recording nothing that mattered.

I threw every piece of couple's merchandise and clothing into the trash. When I looked up and saw the wedding portrait above the headboard, I froze.

Six years ago, Riccardo had thrown me a wedding so lavish it made every Dr. from here to the coast send tribute.

Under a thousand spotlights, he'd dropped to one knee, his gaze burning with sincerity, and made me a promise: "Bianca, from the moment I first saw you in high school, I knew you were the only one for me. From this day forward, I will treasure you above all else. I will never betray you."

But beautiful things never last. Four years into the marriage, I walked in on him and his bookkeeper in a compromising situation. I stormed into his office at the social club demanding answers, and she accused me of assaulting her.

Riccardo slapped me across the face without a word. Ten years together, and that was the first time he'd ever raised a hand to me. Over another woman.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the memory. I steadied myself and answered.

"Bianca, I underestimated you. I thought you genuinely didn't care, but it was all an act. You have fifteen minutes to get to the hospital and apologize to Serafina DeLuca. Otherwise... you won't like the consequences."

He hung up before I could get a single word in.

Not half a sentence. He wouldn't hear it.

I assumed Riccardo was just running his mouth. I was wrong. Fifteen minutes later, his soldiers dragged me to the hospital entrance and forced me to my knees.

I tried to stand. Two of them pinned me down, their jacket hems tugged straight over their holster lines before they gripped my shoulders.

My kneecaps cracked against the concrete. The pain was sharp enough to steal my breath.

"Riccardo said he wanted to see me," I ground out. "What the hell is this?"

One of the soldiers sneered. "The boss says you have zero manners. Seeing as you're the girl who got both her parents killed, and nobody ever taught you how to behave, he figured he'd teach you himself."

The words "got both her parents killed" hit me like a fist to the chest.

Of course. My parents died young. My father's car hit on the coast road, my mother gone before I could understand what gone meant. It was the deepest wound I carried, and he knew exactly where to press.

I knelt in the blazing sun for six full hours before Riccardo finally granted me permission to enter the hospital room.

He noticed my cracked, bloodless lips. Not a flicker of pity crossed his eyes.

"Have you learned your lesson?" he asked, voice like ice.

My lips moved twice. I thought of the unsigned severance papers and forced the words out. "I've learned my lesson."

Riccardo scoffed. "Good. Now go apologize to Serafina."

Every muscle in my body locked. My fingers curled into fists.

"Apologize for what?" I couldn't stop myself. "What exactly did I do wrong?"

Riccardo's eyes went wide. "You hired a driver to run Serafina down, and you're going to stand there and play dumb? The driver already gave you up. What's left to argue?"

Attempted murder. That was a charge I could never accept. A stain like that would destroy any future I had left, in this world or outside it.

Before I could open my mouth, Serafina let out a pitiful whimper. "Mr. Barone, please don't put yourself through this. After all, no one ever admits to the crimes they've committed." One lacquered nail tapped the rim of her water glass, soft as a metronome.

"Stubborn, are we?" Riccardo's lips curled. "I have plenty of ways to deal with stubborn."

He ordered the soldiers to haul me to the police station, and right in front of me, he told them to give me "special treatment." The cops on the Barone payroll didn't ask a single question.

That night, I was shoved into a cramped, pitch-black room. Several heavyset women filed in after me.

They didn't say a word. Fists knotted in my hair, nails raked across my skin, hands tore my clothes to shreds. The moment I tried to fight back, a storm of blows rained down.

After three hours of beating, I heard a voice ask: "Are you ready to confess?"