Too Late For The Mafia King's Regret

On our seventh anniversary, the Capo dei Capi lit up the New York skyline with drones spelling my name, swearing on his life that I was his only Queen.

Moments later, he abandoned me on the dock to rush to his mistress—my own sister, Sophia.

Sophia sent me a photo of him kissing her belly with the caption: "He finally has a real woman. It's a boy."

Lucien wanted an heir above all else. I was just the placeholder; she was the vessel.

I didn't scream. I didn't confront him.

I simply initiated Ghost Protocol.

I left the wedding ring, signed the divorce papers, and erased Eleonora Marino from existence.

By the time Lucien found the DNA test proving Sophia’s baby wasn't his—that he had betrayed his loyal wife for a lie—I was already gone.

He executed my sister in a rage and spent his fortune burning down the world to find me.

Six months later, he bought the high-security Swiss lab where I was hiding, forcing his way back into my life.

He stood before me, gaunt and desperate.

"I killed her, Nora. She paid for what she did to us. Come home."

I looked at the man I had once worshipped.

"Infidelity is a choice, Lucien. But murder? That is who you are."

"We are enemies now."

Chapter 1

Nora POV

I stood in the center of a ballroom that cost more than a small country, my fingers white-knuckled around a crystal-encrusted evening bag that held two secrets capable of destroying the most powerful crime syndicate in New York.

One was a pregnancy test with two pink lines-the heir my husband had demanded for seven years.

The other was a burner phone with a single draft message addressed to the FBI.

Happy Anniversary to me.

Seven years ago, my father sold me to Lucien Marino to prevent a turf war. I was the price of peace, a Vittori daughter traded to the Capo dei Capi, the Boss of Bosses. I expected a monster. Instead, I got a god. A dark, ruthless, beautiful god who made me forget I was a prisoner in a gilded cage.

Or so I had let myself believe. Until tonight.

I stood near the heavy velvet curtains, watching Lucien hold court. He was terrifyingly handsome in his tuxedo, the sharp lines of his jaw and the predatory grace of his movements drawing every eye in the room. He was the sun everyone orbited, burning anyone who got too close.

Marco, his Underboss, leaned in close to him. They thought the swelling crescendo of the orchestra drowned out their voices. They thought I was just the pretty, oblivious doctor wife who only knew how to smile and host galas.

They forgot my grandmother was Sicilian. I learned the dialect before I learned to say 'Daddy.'

"The little bird is getting impatient, Boss," Marco said, swirling his scotch. "She keeps asking when she gets her turn at the head of the table."

My heart stopped. I gripped my champagne flute so hard I feared the stem would snap and slice my palm open.

Lucien laughed. It was a low, dark sound that usually made my knees weak. Now, it tasted like bile.

"Sophia is an unripe peach," Lucien said, his voice dripping with arrogant entitlement. "Fresh. Delicate. But she is a distraction, Marco. Nothing more."

Sophia.

My sister.

The room tilted. The chandeliers blurred into streaks of crystal fire. My own sister. The one who borrowed my clothes, who cried on my shoulder about boy problems, who hugged me this morning and wished me a happy anniversary.

"She tastes sweet, though," Marco leaned closer, a lecherous grin on his face. "Better than the frigid doctor?"

Lucien's expression hardened, but not in defense of me. He looked like a man guarding a toy he wasn't done playing with yet.

"Watch your tongue," Lucien warned, but there was no heat in it. "Nora is the Queen. She is the image we need. Sophia is... an indulgence. Keep the men quiet. Omertà. If Nora finds out, it complicates things."

Complicates.

That was what I was to him. A complication to be managed. Seven years of devotion. Seven years of stitching up his wounds in the middle of the night with shaking hands. Seven years of loving a man who had just reduced me to a public relations necessity.

I took a sip of champagne. It tasted like ash.

I turned away, my movements mechanical. I had to get out of this room. I had to get out of this life.

I walked toward the terrace doors, nodding politely to the wives of the Capos. They looked at me with envy. They saw the diamonds around my neck, the powerful husband, the protection of the Marino name. They didn't see the knife buried in my back.

I stepped out into the cool night air. The noise of the party faded behind the glass. I walked to the stone railing and looked out over the estate. It was a fortress. Guards patrolled the perimeter with assault rifles. Cameras watched every shadow.

I opened my clutch. My hand trembled as I touched the cool plastic of the pregnancy test.

An heir. A son. It was what he wanted more than anything. If I told him now, he would be thrilled. He would spin me around, kiss me, and promise me the world. And then he would go back to my sister's bed.

I couldn't bring a child into this. Not to be raised by a father who viewed loyalty as a suggestion and family as a transaction.

I took out the burner phone.

I didn't send the message to the FBI. That was suicide; trading one cage for another. I had a better option. A cleaner one.

I dialed a number I had memorized years ago.

"It's me," I whispered.

"Dr. Marino," the voice on the other end was calm, sterile. The Professor. "I didn't expect to hear from you."

"The position in Zurich," I said, my voice steady despite the tears burning my eyes. "Is it still open?"

"For you? Always. But the security clearance requires a total ghost protocol. You know what that means."

"I know," I said. "I need extraction. High priority."

"Timeline?"

I looked back through the glass doors. Lucien was laughing at something a Senator said, his hand resting possessively on the back of a chair. He looked like a king.

"Three days," I said. "I need three days to liquidate and sanitize."

"Done. The window opens in seventy-two hours. Be ready. Once you step on that plane, Eleonora Marino ceases to exist."

"She ceased to exist ten minutes ago," I said.

I hung up and dropped the phone back into my clutch.

I took a deep breath, composing my face. I smoothed the silk of my gown. I was a doctor. I dealt with trauma. I dealt with blood. I could triage this.

I felt a presence behind me. The air shifted, charged with electricity.

"Nora."

Lucien's voice wrapped around me. Once, it felt like a warm blanket. Now it felt like a noose.

I turned around. He was standing close, too close. He smelled of expensive cologne, tobacco, and the faint, cloying scent of vanilla.

Sophia's perfume.

I almost gagged.

"You've been out here a long time," he said, his eyes scanning my face. He was perceptive. He was a predator who noticed the slightest limp in a gazelle. "Is something wrong?"

I forced a smile. It was the best performance of my life.

"Just a headache," I lied. "The music is loud."

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my neck. My skin crawled.

"You look tense," he murmured. "Who upset you? Tell me, and I will handle it."

The irony was suffocating.

"No one," I said. "Just tired."

He stepped closer, boxing me in against the railing. His possessiveness was a physical weight.

"We have a surprise later," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "For the anniversary."

"I can't wait," I said.

He frowned slightly, sensing the distance I couldn't quite hide. His eyes narrowed.

"You are mine, Nora," he said, the darkness bleeding into his tone. "Remember that."

"I know," I said.

He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head at the last second, so his lips brushed my cheek.

"I need some water," I said, slipping out from under his arm.

I walked back into the party, leaving him standing alone on the terrace.

The countdown had begun.