Revenge On My Ex-husband With His Ruthless Mafia Brother

Delilah's POV

Again, he was here.

He left a blood rose and a paper with my name on it. My stalker. My brother-in-law.

But unfortunately for him, I don't cheat on my husband.

I can never…

I snatched the rose off the window sill before its thorns could bite deeper into my skin. A single petal fluttered to the floor like a whisper of temptation. My hands trembled, not from fear—but fury. I crushed the note in my fist before I dared read it, before his words could crawl under my skin again.

Thorne.

The man who used to shove me into lockers. Who sneered at my thrift-store sweaters. Who disappeared like a curse years ago only to return now, slithering back into my life despite the fact I'm married to his brother.

I hurled the rose into the trash, its velvet red crushed against coffee grounds and eggshells. Then I wiped the sill clean, scrubbing until the wood looked untouched, unbothered, unloved. "Disgusting," I muttered, flinching at how breathless I sounded.

The knock at the door sliced through my thoughts.

I turned, heart sinking, belly aching under the weight of my third trimester. I was supposed to rest. Caleb had told his mother that. Repeatedly.

But I already knew who it was– my mother-in-law who can't seem to stop bothering me. I opened the door steeling myself for her tantrums.

"Still in your nightgown, I see," she said, eyes scanning me like I was a stain on her white rug. "What would the neighbors think?"

"Good morning to you too," I said tightly.

She walked past me, her heels clicking like accusations. “Is that… dirt I see on the floor? Or did you spill something again?”

I shut the door and turned. "It’s clean. I was just—"

“Not clean enough.” Estelle’s gaze drifted toward the kitchen, nose wrinkling. “Honestly, Delilah, you live here like an untrained stray. No decorum, no pride.”

I gripped the hem of my robe tighter. "I'm heavily pregnant, Estelle. Caleb said I should rest today."

“And yet here I am, finding dust on the furniture and god knows what filth on the window sill,” she snapped. “Rest? Oh, sweet girl, you’ve been resting all your life. You think because you bagged a Weston you’ve earned a crown?”

I bristled. “I married your son. That’s not a crime.”

She gave a cruel little laugh. “No, marrying up isn’t a crime, darling. It’s survival. You wouldn’t know anything about pride—orphans rarely do.”

I stiffened. That word always landed like a brick. She used it like a curse.

She came closer, her perfume thick, choking. “Do you know what real women do? They work through their pain. Their swelling feet. Their pathetic tears. They don't sulk like abandoned puppies because a man didn't kiss their forehead this morning.”

“I’m not sulking—”

“Oh, you're wilting, dear. Right in front of my eyes.”

I swallowed the scream forming in my throat. “If you came here to insult me, I suggest you save your energy. Caleb will be back tonight .Maybe you should wait until then.”

She tilted her head, mock pity clouding her expression. “Oh, Delilah. You really think he’ll fix this? You think he’ll protect you from me?” Her tone shifted, like poison sweetened with honey. “You have no family. No name. Just a womb carrying the Weston heir. And if I have to drag your lifeless body through this house to make sure you earn your keep, I will.”

“I don’t need protection,” I whispered. “And I don’t need your approval.”

She stepped back and gave a sarcastic clap. “That’s the spirit. Now prove it. Mop the floors. Clean the curtains. And get that mildew off the guest bathroom tiles.”

I stared at her, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Now?” I asked.

Estelle leaned in with a grin. “Unless you'd rather be outed for what you really are. An ungrateful parasite who doesn’t even know how to keep her windows secure.”

My blood ran cold.

She knows. Or she suspects?? Oh fuck…

“I’ll clean,” I said stiffly, “as soon as I sit down for a moment. My back—”

“Now, Delilah.” She smiled like a blade. “You’re not dying. Just incubating.”

I bit down on my tongue so hard it stung. She turned on her heels and disappeared down the hall, already barking orders to the housekeeper that Caleb had specifically told to give me space.

I leaned against the wall, staring at the window again.

The rose was gone—but the scent of him still clung to the glass.

Thorne.

Why now?

Why today?

And why the hell did the smell of that damn flower make my stomach twist with something that wasn’t just nausea?

***

It was late yet I couldn't sleep

I sat on the bed, drawing faint lines on my heavy belly. I had endured so much from everyone because I loved him but this is to much! It was our anniversary and I'm sure as hell he doesn't remember.

He's out there in business meetings, always. He's always gone when I needed him the most. What if he's not here when I give birth?? Why can't he just create time for me??

I'm dying for his attention. Checking the time, which showed ten pm, I was sure he'd just pass the night at the office, but when he door clicked… I stiffened, stunned.

I could hear the soft thud of shoes being kicked off.

Was…was he back?? Was that Caleb??

I could hear the familiar jingle of keys on the hallway table. Then the faint scent of sandalwood… mixed with something else.

Something floral. Sweet. Wrong.

Perfume.

Not mine.

Not anything I owned.

The bedroom door creaked open, and mu husband walked in.

Golden, towering, exhausted—but sinfully beautiful in his black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair tousled like fingers had run through it.

"You're awake," he said softly, like it surprised him.

I stared at him. “It’s our anniversary.”

He winced, then smiled weakly. “I know. I got caught up in meetings. Last-minute issues at the firm.”

“You smell like roses and… desire.”

He walked toward me slowly, as if I were a startled doe he didn’t want to spook. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

“I’m eight months pregnant and wearing slippers shaped like pandas.”

“And I want to take them off with my teeth.”

His voice dipped, molten and sinful, as he came closer and sank to his knees in front of me. His hands slid over my thighs with reverence, fingers spreading the silk apart as he pressed a kiss to my knee.

I should push him away.

I should scream about the perfume.

But my body betrayed me. “You missed dinner,” I whispered, swallowing a sweet moan.

“Let me make it up to you.”

His lips followed a slow trail upward. “I missed you, mi dulce esposa,” he murmured, slipping into Spanish the way he always did when he was trying to disarm me. “Every second I wasn’t with you, I was imagining your skin.”

He slid the robe off one shoulder, kissing the exposed curve.

I trembled. “You smell like someone else.”

“I’ve only wanted you.”

His voice was silk over steel. And his kisses—

Sweet. Gentle. Seductive.

Too seductive.

Because I forgot everything else for a moment. The rose. The perfume. His mother’s cruelty. The nagging ache in my belly. I forgot that every time he comes home he smells different… because he would do this and I'd melt under his charm.

He carried me to the bed like I was weightless “I still dream of your moans…”

My thighs parted for him without a thought. My fingers gripped his hair as his lips painted devotion across my belly, whispering to the child inside like nothing was wrong.

But it was.

Because when he slid into me, it was rushed.

He moved like a man chasing an image,something he’d already spent. His rhythm was off and his breaths too shallow. He came too quickly, barely stifling the grunt against my neck before collapsing beside me.

What the fuck?

I laid there in silence…we just fucked for how many seconds? I don't think it was up to thirty.

And then I could hear snoring.

My body still tingled as I got up slowly to see him sleeping deeply as he had just done something exhausting. This isn't the first time he's too exhausted or weak to have sex with me. He's always at work and when we finally get the chance, when he's back, he can't do it.

I slid out of bed, legs trembling, and padded toward his suit jacket draped carelessly over the chair.

I hesitated.

Then I reached in and grabbed his phone. Something red awfully wrong. Pulling out his wallet I opened to see a crumpled slip of paper.

No.

A thank you card.

I opened it and my throat closed instantly.

> Thank you for the sex. You were amazing today, Caleb. Maxwell misses you.

—Cheryse(with a heart emoji)

I stood there frozen, the paper fluttering between my fingers like a silent bullet to the chest.

Maxwell.

The name shot through my veins like lightning.

That baby. That little boy.

That was his child?

And Cheryse—his secretary—was thanking him for the sex? On our anniversary?

My knees buckled. I fell into the chair, the weight of my belly and betrayal crushing me all at once.

This can't be happening!.