Chapter 1

The second I got back to our Brooklyn apartment, I stripped off the wedding dress.

The lace slipped through my fingers.

I grabbed the fabric and shoved it straight into the fireplace.

The flames instantly swallowed the expensive silk. The firelight danced across my face.

Ten years.

I bled with Joren as he fought his way from a street thug to a newly crowned Don. All my love and youth just turned to ash, right along with this dress.

I grabbed my phone and dialed my family’s lawyer.

"It's Aria," I said, my voice ice-cold. "Transfer the Beverly Hills safe house. Have it done today."

The lawyer agreed without missing a beat.

Back when Joren first started making a play for the Don’s seat, he had a massive target on his back. To keep him safe, I dropped a fortune to build that fortress.

And what did he say?

"Aria, I'm a man. I can't live in a house bought by a woman. People will call me a leech!"

Back then, I just thought he had a fragile ego.

So, I never told him I was the Newman family heiress. He just thought I was a rich girl coasting on a trust fund.

To protect his pride, I huddled with him in this crappy Brooklyn apartment where the heater barely worked. We survived on cheap frozen pizza and wore discounted clothes.

I gave up every single privilege I had as a mafia princess.

Looking back, I was an absolute idiot.

"Also, pay out double severance to all the guards at the estate," I continued. "Cut all ties between that house and me."

"Understood, Miss."

I hung up, and a massive bank deduction text popped onto my screen. Staring at that long string of zeros, I didn't feel bad at all. I actually felt a dark sense of satisfaction.

Trading my untouchable life as a mafia princess to be his anxious, hidden lover... I had been out of my mind for ten whole years.

I pivoted to the closet and yanked out a heavy black trash bag.

Joren’s leather jackets, watches, razors, I swept it all into the bag. I tied it up tight and dragged it to the door.

Bang.

The door was kicked open from the outside.

Joren stood there, reeking of cheap perfume and top-shelf liquor. He glanced down at the trash bag, his brow furrowing instantly.

"Aria, what the hell is wrong with you now?" He stepped inside, clearly annoyed. "It was bad enough you tried to force my hand by wearing that dress to the party. Now you’re throwing a tantrum and kicking me out?"

Forcing his hand?

I let out a harsh, cold laugh.

"Joren, you were the one who promised to marry me when you took the Don's seat." I stared dead into his eyes. "What, now that you have a young, pretty secretary warming your bed, I’m just in the way?"

"What kind of bullshit is that?" He impatiently tugged at his tie.

"Bullshit?" I pointed at the door. "At the banquet, you had your arm wrapped around Chloe. The whole room was asking if she was your woman. Did you even try to deny it?"

He avoided my eyes, stayed silent for a moment, then sighed and looked down. "Aria, I'm sorry."

He stepped forward, reaching for my hand, but I pulled away.

"In that situation, I couldn't deny it," his voice was hoarse, eyes tired and helpless. "You know how it is. I just took the seat. My foundation is weak, and the West Side crew is breathing down my neck. I need a smokescreen. I need everyone to think Chloe is my weakness, so I can keep you safe."

He looked at me, his tone earnest. "She's just a prop for the show. You're the only one in my heart."

Saying that, he pulled a velvet box from his suit pocket and slowly opened it in front of me.

Inside lay the diamond wedding ring I had stared at in the window for a long time.

"It's the one you liked. I've had it ready for a while," his eyes softened. "Once I deal with the West Side, we'll get married, okay? Then, I'll tell the whole world that you are my only wife."

I looked at the sparkling ring, then at his affectionate eyes, feeling a sharp prick in my chest.

I didn't believe him, but I didn't call him out on it either.

Ten years. I knew him too well. He always knew how to break down my defenses with the sweetest words and just the right amount of vulnerability.

But this time, my heart was already cold.

I just wanted to leave quietly.

"I know," I replied softly, lowering my eyes, not looking at the ring.

Joren seemed to think I had forgiven him, just like before.

"You still have that private island in Miami, right? I'm taking a few of my most trusted men there for a vacation next month."

"Everyone's been working hard, so it's a reward for them. We'll stay at your beach house that's been empty for ten years. Let them see what it's like."

I clenched my fists.

That private island in Miami was the place I had saved for our honeymoon.

Now, he was using it to reward his men.

And I didn't even need to guess who was included in his "trusted men."

Just then, the news came on the TV.

In the footage, Joren was shielding Chloe, who wore a low-cut evening gown, as they both slipped into the back of a Maybach after the banquet.

The headline read: The New Godfather and His Mystery Woman Share a Night Together.

Staring at the screen, my chest felt like it was stuffed with ice.

Joren followed my gaze to the screen, a flash of awkwardness crossing his face.