Forgive the Killer

On my wedding day, my fiancé, Ryder Conti, cast me aside at the church for his mistress and the bastard in her belly.

Three years later, I returned to the States with my husband. At a private airstrip, I ran into Ryder, who had the gall to offer me a job as a cook for his mistress's son.

He had no idea that the woman he dismissed as a nobody was the most respected Donna in the entire underworld.

A strong wind whipped across the private airstrip.

In the distance, a group of men stood beside a few black SUVs. The man at the front was holding a sign.

The Italian word "Tesoro" was written on it.

It was Zayn's pet name for me, a word he loved to whisper in my ear during our nights in Sicily.

As I got closer, I saw that the person holding the sign was none other than my ex-fiancé, the Conti family's Capo, Ryder.

He and a few of his men, their arms covered in tattoos, were craning their necks to look toward the jet's stairs.

"Boss, isn't that Emilia? The one who cried and begged you not to leave her back then?"

Ryder was stunned for a moment when he saw me, but he quickly composed himself, a smug look spreading across his face.

"I knew it. Sooner or later she'd hit rock bottom and come crawling back."

"This time she held out for quite a while!"

The men erupted in a chorus of jeers. "I thought she had some pride! Turns out she's just come crawling back to kiss the boss's feet, hasn't she?"

"Look at that black dress, not even a brand logo on it. Probably some cheap crap from an outlet mall!"

"I wonder how she even got onto this private airstrip. Maybe she's on the cleaning crew?"

It was no wonder they thought that. In the past, to please Ryder, I would wear short skirts and squeeze my feet into ill-fitting high heels, no matter how cold it was.

But I had no need for that anymore.

Because of my pregnancy, Zayn forbade me from wearing anything restrictive.

This seemingly simple black silk gown was custom-made by a master artisan in Italy.

These clueless goons wouldn't know quality if it slapped them in the face.

But I understood from their words. They had no idea I was the one they were sent to collect.

Seeing me stand still, one of the men, who had once received a favor from me, tried to smooth things over.

"Emilia, good to see you back. To be honest, the boss hasn't completely forgotten you all these years…"

The smile on Ryder's face froze for a second before he cut the man off. "You're back just in time. Carmela's son has been a picky eater lately. He needs a personal cook."

"I know you've always been good in the kitchen, and you should be able to take good care of the boy. The job's yours."

The same condescending look, as if he were bestowing some great charity upon me.

Too bad I was no longer the spineless woman who swallowed every insult and compromised for his sake.

Just as I was about to tell them to get lost, Ryder's phone rang. It was Carmela.

When she heard I was going to be their family cook, she couldn't hide her excitement.

"Emilia, don't you dare blame Ryder. He's only arranging this to take care of you. After all, you disappeared for three years. Who knows what kind of life you've been living?"

"It's better to stay by our side, to have a roof over your head."

"Don't worry, no one will look down on you for taking care of the heir to the Conti and Rossi families."

Three years, and Carmela was still the same spiteful, vicious woman, just as capable of making my stomach turn.

Neither of them had changed one bit. A match made in heaven, truly.

The goons around them immediately started chiming in.

"Emilia, what are you waiting for? Thank the boss! This is a sweet gig with room and board!"

"A chance to walk through the Conti family's door is a damn sight better than living on the streets!"

I touched the family ring hidden beneath my sleeve, about to reveal my identity when Ryder stepped closer.

"Emilia, don't be ungrateful. I made a necessary sacrifice for the Family, and you just abandoned me. Now you come crawling back after hitting rock bottom..."

"You won't grow up if you don't learn the hard way."

My heart clenched at his words.

He still thought I would be overcome with shame, that I would finally bow my head and admit I was wrong.

So, in his mind, promoting his pregnant mistress and kicking me to the curb was just a "necessary sacrifice."

The boy who had once carried me five blocks through a storm to find a pharmacy was long dead.

The Ryder who swore to make me the happiest woman in the world was nothing but a joke.

Fine. Let all those foolish memories die right here.

After all, I was carrying Zayn's second child. Our children were the true legacy.