The Don's Wedding Betrayal：The Real Heiress Strikes Back

My mother's hand cracked across her face. "The Moretti family has one daughter, and her name is Bianca. You think you're entitled to even dream about her dowry? You want a dowry? Go ask your retainer mother for one."

Moretti soldiers filed in, ready to haul everything away.

"Hold on!"

Damian stood up and planted himself in front of them. That smile came a fraction too early, before anyone else in the room had sided with him.

"Don Moretti, have you forgotten the pact both families signed at the engagement?"

"The only way you're entitled to reclaim the dowry is if I wronged a Moretti daughter. Otherwise, every last cent belongs to the Falcone family, and on top of that, the Morettis will have to surrender all their stakes in Moretti holdings."

Damian held up the pact, his voice ringing through the room. "Adriana is recorded in the Moretti bloodline ledger. That makes her a Moretti daughter, plain and simple. Everyone here is a witness. The Falcones honored our commitment. It's the Morettis who broke their word."

His argument was airtight. My father clutched his chest, gasping for air as fury overwhelmed him. The heavy signet ring on his right hand had gone completely still.

My mother's eyes were bloodshot. She wanted to fight for me, to demand justice, but she couldn't find a single word to counter him.

Adriana draped herself against Damian's chest, swaying her hips, her smile dripping with triumph. Her fingers drifted to the base of her throat, pressing there as if steadying herself before the performance.

"Don't take it personally, sis. So what if Mom and Dad don't claim me? What matters is who sits in the seat of the Falcone matriarch."

Her gaze slid down to me. "Tell you what. If you're willing to get on your knees right now, bark like a dog, and crawl between my legs, and if you manage to amuse me, I might honor the years the Morettis spent raising me. I'll put in a good word and get dear old Don Moretti a job as a gatehouse guard."

She inspected her nails. "As for your dowry? Consider it a tribute to the rightful Mrs. Falcone. Every penny goes into my account."

The Falcone men shoved me aside, hard. The crates of dowry were already being hauled through the doors.

My mother rushed forward to stop them, but the men, emboldened by their masters, pushed her to the ground.

Adriana raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Mom. This is Falcone family business. You insisted on sticking your nose in. These crates don't have eyes, you know. If you end up hurt or crippled, you'll only have yourself to blame."

I helped my mother to her feet and turned a cold stare on the two of them.

Damian curled his lip, wearing the expression of a man tossing scraps to a beggar. "Without that dowry, you can't even buy yourself a husband. But I'll tell you what. For old times' sake, since you used to follow me around like a lovesick puppy, come work as a maid for the Falcones for five years. I might consider giving you a son to secure your future."

I didn't move.

Damian seized my shoulder, wrenching me forward, then drove his foot into the back of my knee. My legs buckled, and I hit the floor. The marble was cold through the silk of my dress. The room went silent. Not the polite silence of a crowd watching a scene, but the held-breath silence of people who understood that a line was about to be crossed in front of witnesses.

He was about to force my head down into a bow when the sealed double doors of the suite burst open with a deafening crash.

"Stop! Federal agents!"