LOGINThere's an unwritten rule in the Chicago Outfit. The Don never keeps a mistress for more than a hundred days. When the hundred days are up, the women he’s finished with always take the money and leave quietly. Once, someone asked him, unwilling to accept it: “Why?” Santino Falcone smiled softly.“Because I love my wife.” Everyone knew that his wife of seven years was his weak spot. But this new mistress wouldn’t behave.Emboldened by his favor, she sent me a taunting text message. “Arabella, isn’t your husband cute when he’s asleep in my arms?I’ve got plenty more photos. I can send them to you if you want.” “I’m his one true love. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll step down and give me your place as his wife.” I didn’t argue with her.Instead, I generously gave her my wedding ring. Because what she didn't know was that I had gotten my memory back. I was never the orphan Santino saved. I am the long-lost princess of New York’s most powerful family, missing for seven years. In three days, my brother Matteo’s armored motorcade will arrive in Chicago to take me home.
View MoreARABELLA'S POVTwo weeks later, our business in Chicago was finished.I sat at my desk, looking over the final report from my assistant."Miss, this is the update you requested on Fiora and Santino."I took the file and scanned it.Fiora had tried to steal Santino's last emergency funds and flee to Mexico. She was caught at the border by some of Santino's old enemies.They remembered her, parading around with the Falcone family ring.Her fate was worse than death.As for Santino... the man who craved absolute control had lost it completely. He was a slave to opioids, chasing a high to escape the migraines that now ruled his life.The report said he was barely coherent, lost in hallucinations most of the time.From the King of Chicago to a junkie on the street. It took less than a month."Get the car ready," I said, closing the file. "We're going to the airport.""Yes, Miss."I took one last look around the temporary office.Chicago. The city that had been my prison for seven years. I c
ARABELLA'S POVThe day after the Commission dinner, my brother Matteo issued a full sanction against the Falcone family.I sat in the penthouse suite of the Four Seasons, sipping coffee and looking out over the Chicago skyline.Half of this city once belonged to Santino Falcone.Now, it was all crumbling."Miss, the latest update," my assistant said, knocking and entering with a file. "Falcone family stock has been in freefall for twelve straight days. All banks have refused to extend them any credit."I opened the file and scanned the shocking numbers.Assets down ninety-five percent.Partners had pulled all their investments.Former allies had turned on him."Also, the FBI has issued a warrant for Santino Falcone's arrest," my assistant continued. "Though it seems he has no intention of running."I put the file down and walked to the window.On the street below, I saw a familiar figure.Santino.He had been standing there for seven days straight.Ever since the night of the dinner, h
SANTINO'S POVAt eight o'clock sharp, the ballroom lights dimmed.A single spotlight hit the top of the grand marble staircase.Everyone fell silent. All eyes turned.And then I saw him.Matteo Moretti.The head of New York's Five Families, dressed in a custom-tailored black tuxedo, descending the stairs.And on his arm was a woman.My heart stopped.She wore a Schiaparelli couture gown. The deep blue silk shimmered under the light.On her head was a diamond tiara—the legendary "Star of Moretti," a priceless family heirloom.Her every move radiated a chilling elegance. The kind of grace that's born, not made. A true princess.But that face...It was Arabella's face.No, that wasn't right.This woman looked exactly like Arabella, but her entire presence was different.She was cold, confident. Her eyes held an innate nobility, as if she were born to be worshipped under a spotlight.This wasn't the Arabella I knew."Ladies and gentlemen," Matteo's voice boomed through the ballroom. "Tonig
SANTINO'S POVI clutched my stomach, my face turning pale in an instant.Over these seven years, Arabella's special herbal tea had spoiled my stomach completely.Nothing else I ate or drank ever agreed with me—I felt nauseated at everything except the tea she brewed.I muttered, rubbing my temples. I grabbed my phone and dialed her number."The number you have dialed is no longer in service."No longer in service?I dialed again."The number you have dialed is no longer in service."I threw the phone against the wall. The screen exploded."Marco!Run a check on Arabella," I snarled. "Every cent she's ever spent. Every place she's ever stayed. Then find her. "Marco nodded frantically. "Yes, Boss."Half an hour later, Marco returned, the blood drained from his face. He was holding a stack of papers as if they were venomous snakes."Boss..." he whispered. "You need to see this."I snatched the files and flipped through them.The first was bank records.The Swiss accounts I had opened for A
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