Married to the Billionaire Mafia Don

“Thanks,” Ivy said as she accepted the wrinkled dollar bills from the woman standing at the doorway.“Do you need me to come over tomorrow?” she asked hopefully.“I’ll let you know,” the woman said sourly before stepping back into her apartment and slamming the door shut.“Weirdo,” Ivy mumbled and walked away.Ivy Wesley had learned three things the hard way: trust no one, smile only when necessary, and always sleep with one eye open.She moved like a shadow through the cracked sidewalks of South Haven, the dim glow of the streetlamps casting her silhouette in uneven shapes against the graffitied brick walls. She folded the cash in her hand and shoved it into her coat. It was her payment for the half-day gig of babysitting. The mother hadn’t smiled once and had paid her in crumpled fives as usual.Ivy didn’t mind. It was money, and money was freedom. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.She tucked the money deep inside the pocket of her threadbare denim jacket and picked up

Inside, the mansion was even more opulent than she’d imagined; massive chandeliers, floors so polished she could see her reflection, and walls lined with classic paintings that looked centuries old.A line of chairs had been arranged in the grand salon, and the women were called in one by one for their interviews.Ivy waited. She eavesdropped as the others returned; some looking smug, others confused. One girl was even crying.“Next, Ivy Wesley,” called an assistant with icy blonde hair and perfectly sculpted brows.Ivy stood up, shook out her jacket, and followed the woman through a set of carved wooden doors into a smaller room: an office with a glass desk, leather chairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the estate.Victor sat behind the desk. Beside him was another woman, a curvy blonde, with a clipboard and a steely expression.“This is Chloe,” Victor said. “She’s Mr. Martinelli’s personal assistant.”Ivy nodded. “Nice to meet you.”Chloe said nothing, just assessed h

After the meal, Salvatore Martinelli, the family patriarch, made his appearance. Wheeled in by his nurse, the old man was a commanding presence despite his frailty. His eyes were sharp, missing nothing."Ah," he said, his voice a gravelly whisper, "the bride."Ivy stood and offered a polite nod. "Sir.""Call me Nonno,” he said jovially. “That’s what my grandchildren call me. You’re family now, aren’t you?""Yes, Nonno,” Ivy responded dutifully."Welcome to the family, Ivy," Salvatore said after taking his place at the head of the table. "You carry our name now,” he continued in his raspy voice. “That comes with privileges and responsibilities."Ivy nodded, unsure if she was expected to reply.Salvatore continued. "I have a gift for you, my dear. A small incentive, if you will.”Silence descended on the room. You could hear a pin drop.Salvatore continued, “If within a year you give this family an heir, you will receive my late wife’s jewelry box.”There was a sharp intake of breath.

Ivy’s heart pounded in her chest as she knocked on Lorenzo’s door.No response.She knocked again, this time with more resolve.The door opened a crack, and then Lorenzo appeared, wearing a black tee and joggers. His hair was tousled, his eyes slightly red."Ivy," he said flatly. "It’s late."She looked up at him, hands curled into fists at her sides. "I know. But I need to talk to you," she replied.Lorenzo didn’t move aside. He just stared at her, as if calculating the inconvenience. Then he opened the door wider.His suite was a contrast of sharp edges and warm lighting. Clean lines, dark woods, leather, and steel. A glass of bourbon sat on the table beside an open laptop."Talk," he said, walking back inside and leaving the door open.Ivy stepped in slowly, arms crossed. "You've been avoiding me," she declared."I’ve been working," Lorenzo countered."You could've checked in,” said Ivy. “You could've said something. Anything."Lorenzo turned to her, arms crossed now. "Ivy, this is

Ivy had never felt more like a stranger in her own life. Each day in the Martinelli mansion felt like a punishment. The luxury, the sprawling rooms, the army of staff ready to cater to her every whim — all of it felt like a cruel joke when the man she had married acted as if she didn’t exist.She had made up her mind. Tonight, she would try to change things. She wouldn’t beg, she wouldn’t whine, but she would remind Lorenzo that she was not just a business arrangement. She was flesh and blood. A woman. His wife.Anna helped her prepare that evening, unaware of her mistress’s true intentions. Ivy wore a deep crimson silk negligee that clung to her curves. She brushed her auburn hair until it shimmered, added a touch of red to her lips, and dabbed perfume onto her neck and wrists. Her heart pounded as she walked barefoot down the hallway toward Lorenzo's suite.She knocked gently. When there was no answer, she turned the knob and let herself in. The room was dimly lit by the flickering