My Fiancé’s Mistress Called Me A Bitch

I came here to buy a gift for the fiancé I’d never met. Instead, his mistress stole it right out from under me, and they both tried to grind me into the dirt. So I declared war.

The second my plane touched down in Chicago, I headed straight for the city’s most expensive jeweler.

“Box up that ring. I’m taking it.”

It was the Valenti family sapphire.

It had been lost for three years during our family’s internal war. Today was the day I got it back.

It was my engagement gift to Marco Ricci. A message from the sole heir of the Valenti family.

But the manager’s eyes slid over my simple, no-logo cashmere coat, then landed on the brilliant sapphire on the counter. His lip curled.

“Miss,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain, “this ring is ten million dollars. I think you’ve wandered into the wrong shop. The places that sell cheap trinkets are down the street.”

I didn’t get angry. I just pulled a black card from my pocket.

No point wasting my breath on the help.

But just then, a flashy woman next to me snatched the ring box.

“Oh my god! The blue is divine! It’s practically made for my new Jimmy Choos!”

The ring that belonged to me was now on the hand of a woman drowning in a cloud of cheap perfume.

She turned, looking me up and down.

“Is security on a coffee break? Why are you letting street trash like her in here?”

The manager’s face instantly broke into a groveling smile.

“Miss Bianca! Is this a gift from Mr. Ricci? Only someone with your class could pull off a gem like this.”

I watched their little performance, my expression unreadable.

“Put the ring down,” I said, my voice cold as steel, my eyes locked on Bianca. “That doesn't belong to you.”

Bianca laughed, a shrill, ugly sound.

“I can’t touch it? Do you know who I am? I’m Marco Ricci’s future wife! All of Chicago is the Ricci family’s backyard. If I see something I like, it’s mine.”

Marco? The fiancé I’d never met?

She took a step closer, her finger nearly poking my nose.

“Look at you. Pathetic. Your whole outfit costs less than my manicure. Did you wander in from the strip club down the street? Looking for a sugar daddy? Keep dreaming, sweetheart.”

I didn’t have time to argue with an idiot.

I pulled out the family phone—the one issued only to the inner circle—and dialed Marco's direct line.

One word from him and this farce would be over.

This was our engagement ring, after all.

He answered after two rings.

I put him on speaker. I wanted this bitch to hear every word.

“Marco,” I began, my voice calm. “I’m in the VIP room at Cartier. Your mistress has something of mine. You have three minutes.”

The room went dead silent.

Bianca’s face paled. The manager held his breath.

But what came through the phone wasn’t an apology. It was a sneer, thick with disgust.

“Who the hell is this?” Marco’s voice was rough with a hangover and irritation. “Another crazy bitch trying to get into my bed? How the hell did you get this number?”

I frowned. “I am Seraphina Valenti. Your fiancée.”

“Valenti?” Marco barked out a laugh, a raw, ugly sound full of contempt. “You mean the family whose little heir is hiding in Europe like a coward? Listen, I don’t care who you are. Stop bothering me with this pathetic bullshit. I’m not interested in some washed-up princess with nothing but a name. You want money? Call my accountant.”

Beep—beep—

He hung up.

The silence was deafening.

Bianca stared for a second, then erupted in a fit of wild, mocking laughter.

“‘Fiancée’? Hahahaha! You hear that? Marco doesn’t even know who the hell you are!”

Drunk on her victory, she flaunted the ring, her eyes turning vicious.

“Get her out of here!” Bianca shrieked at the manager. “If you don’t throw this psycho out, I’ll tell Marco you let any stray dog wander in!”

The manager didn’t hesitate this time.

He hit the security button, and two massive guys rushed in.

“Miss, please leave on your own. Don’t make us get physical,” the manager ordered, his face cold.

Finally, the anger broke through my control.

I pulled the family signet ring from my pocket. Solid gold, with the crest engraved in onyx—a two-headed eagle clutching a bleeding rose.

In the Chicago underworld, that ring is as good as a death warrant. Or a royal decree.

I slammed the ring down on the glass counter. The crack echoed in the silence.

“This is the Valenti family crest,” I snarled. “Open your goddamn eyes. Now, lock this sapphire ring in the highest-security vault. Without my express permission, no one touches it!”

The moment the manager saw the crest, his eyes widened in terror.

He’d been in this city long enough. He knew that symbol.

His hands started shaking as he looked from me to Bianca and back again.

He feared the Valenti legend.

But he feared the Ricci family—the power that ruled the city now—even more.

“Put your fake pin away, you fraud,” Bianca scoffed. She had no idea what it was. She only saw the manager’s hesitation, and it enraged her. “The Valenti family is dead and gone! Chicago belongs to the Riccis now!”

She shoved the manager aside and roared at the two security guards. “What are you waiting for? Get this imposter out of my sight. Now!”

A crowd of shoppers was gathering, but no one dared to step in.

In this city, you don’t mess with a Ricci’s woman.

The guards moved toward me.

I didn’t back down. I just stared daggers at Bianca.

My glare seemed to push her over the edge.

She stalked toward me on her four-inch heels, looking down at me with a cruel smile.

“What? You got a problem?”

She lifted her foot, pointing to the tip of her shoe, now smudged with dust.

“You ruined my day. And you're going to pay for it.”

Bianca leaned in, her voice a vicious whisper in my ear.

“Listen up, gutter rat. You want to be part of this world so bad? I’ll give you a chance. Get on your knees, right now. You're going to lick my shoe clean. Then crawl out of here like the dog you are. Maybe if Marco’s in a good mood tonight, I’ll ask him to spare your pathetic life.”