Mafia Wife's Revenge: Unleashing My Fury

Aliana POV:

I was no longer a wife. I was a ghost, haunting the edges of a life that was never truly mine. And ghosts have nothing to lose.

Debi's contact in the city's underbelly was expensive, but efficient. A well-placed bribe to the Reese Gallery's admin manager and a fabricated resume were all it took. My new title: Temporary Cleaner.

I stood in the staff locker room, pulling on a drab janitor's uniform. A cheap, scratchy wig covered my hair, and a disposable face mask hid the lower half of my face. I was invisible.

My assignment: Kiera's private office.

The office was a shrine to her triumph. The architecture had my mother's ostentatious taste written all over it; the curated art on the walls was my father's preference. This place wasn't just a gallery. It was a monument to their betrayal, built with my money and my future.

On her desk, nestled between stacks of art catalogs, was a small, silver frame. I picked it up. It was a "wedding" picture. Kiera in a simple white dress, Ivan in a dark suit, standing on a beach. A secret ceremony. Vows whispered over the wreckage of the ones he'd sworn to me.

I moved through the gallery, my cleaning cart a shield. In the employee breakroom, a young gallery assistant named Anna was gossiping freely with another girl.

"Mr. Hughes is here all the time," Anna said, oblivious to the ghost listening from the doorway. "Practically runs the business side. And the Don himself-Mr. Donovan-visits often. Very quiet, very private."

She leaned in conspiratorially. "And Mrs. Donovan? She brings Hollywood producers by every week. I heard her tell one of them that Kiera is 'the vibrant, strong daughter she always wanted.'"

The words should have stung. Instead, they landed like data points, cold facts in a long list of grievances.

I heard the familiar purr of Ivan's car pulling up outside. I grabbed a mop and began cleaning the main hall, keeping my head down, my movements slow and methodical.

Kiera's voice, sharp and annoyed, cut through the quiet. "I'm so tired of this, Ivan. Her ghost is becoming tiresome. When are you finally going to get rid of her for good?"

"I betrayed her the moment you told me you were pregnant, Kiera," Ivan's voice was low, rough. "That was the choice. We just have to see it through."

His gaze landed on me. The new cleaner. His eyes narrowed.

"You," he commanded, his voice laced with the authority he used on his soldiers. "Turn around. Take off that mask."

Ice flooded my veins. My heart didn't just hammer; it thrashed against my ribs, a frantic, trapped thing.

Just as I began to turn, the admin manager appeared at my side, a blur of forced cheerfulness.

"So sorry, Mr. Hughes!" she said, her voice a little too bright. "She's new. And she has a terrible flu. We shouldn't expose you or Ms. Reese."

She grabbed my arm, her grip tight, and hustled me toward the back exit. "My apologies. We'll get someone else for the main floor."

I didn't stop until I was in my car, blocks away. I ripped the wig from my head, my breath coming in ragged gasps. It wasn't just adrenaline fueling the ragged gasps for air. It was the chilling, absolute certainty of my mission.

I had seen their world. Now I would burn it to the ground.