The Mafia Wife's Wicked Payback

"Don't be dramatic, Viola. It's just a different mode of transport."Dante, my husband, the Don of the Bellini famiglia, said the words with the weary dismissal he usually reserved for a botched shipment or a low-ranking Soldato's screw-up.He was talking about my life.It was unprecedented for Dante to leave New York during a territorial dispute, which was why I’d planned this strategic retreat to Sicily. I was the famiglia's legitimate front—owner of six high-end boutique hotels—and I could easily afford it. My businesses cleared three hundred thousand dollars monthly, a clean sum he often needed to cover his volatile “operations” payroll.I spent six months negotiating ceasefires with rival families, securing safe passage through their territories. Sicily was a minefield of old vendettas. Each district required separate tributes, some demanding fifty thousand dollars just for a thirty-minute drive.Everyone else—Dante's parents, Carla and Emilio, and his sister, Gina—just stood back

Monaco was everything New York wasn't: clean, blindingly sunny, and quiet—a dangerous kind of quiet.The penthouse suite at the Fairmont was already furnished with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the azure water, but what interested me more was the security detail. The Giordano famiglia didn't do anything by halves. Two Soldato in impeccably tailored suits stood sentry outside my door, courtesy of their Donna.I set up my mobile office, three monitors humming with financial data. The Bellini accounts were still frozen, sending ripples through Dante's operations. His Capos were scrambling to cover costs, and the Soldati were getting restless. Debt was a tool; panic was a weapon.My laptop chimed. It was an encrypted message from the Giordano Donna, Seraphina.: A pleasure to host you, Viola. Dinner tonight? We have much to discuss about 'tributes' and 'safe passage'.I smiled. Seraphina Giordano was not a sentimental woman. She saw an opportunity, and I was givi

Dante called back in five minutes. No preamble, just fury."You manipulative bitch! You did this!""I did what, Dante? I made sure the laws of Italy were respected. That you were respected, by the way. I’m doing your job for you.""Get your ass to Palermo! The whole family is freezing! Chiara is ill!""My private jet is on its way, but it's not picking me up," I said calmly. "It's bringing the legal papers for you to sign. I’m not traveling to a hostile environment you created. And I'm not doing a thing until you fulfill my conditions.""Never! Chiara is family!""And I'm not?" I countered, my voice laced with venom. "You chose her safety over mine. Now choose the famiglia's survival over her comfort. The safe house stays sealed until you send her home and sign the financial papers."The line went dead. Dante's internal struggle was visible even across the Mediterranean. He was the Don—he couldn't be seen capitulating to his wife. But his power was dissolving in a Sicilian street, and

The action wasn't mine to execute, but the planning was all me. I provided Silas and Seraphina with every detail: the security shifts, the dockside crane schedule, even the name of the lone customs agent who could be bribed with a one-way ticket to Buenos Aires.I watched the operation unfold from my penthouse, streaming the live satellite footage Silas had secured. The shipment—priceless Renaissance-era statues and paintings—was loaded onto a freighter in the dark port of Naples.The ambush was textbook Giordano: quick, clean, and terrifying.Two speedboats, manned by masked commandos, swarmed the freighter. The brief, desperate firefight lasted less than five minutes. The captain and his few Soldati were swiftly neutralized. The antiques were transferred to the Giordano boats.The Calabrese Capo, the one who betrayed Dante, was the key. He was sitting in a safe house, sweating, waiting for my signal.My phone vibrated with a text from Seraphina: Mission Complete. Goods Secured. Packa

Held under house arrest in a luxurious villa on the Riviera, Dante and Emilio were running out of time and options. I, however, was thriving.I was meeting with Seraphina daily, strategizing the next steps to cement my independence. This time, our discussion was interrupted by an unexpected arrival: Carla Bellini.She strode into Seraphina's office, defiant in an expensive suit, followed by a single, nervous-looking bodyguard."Where is my son, Viola?" she demanded, bypassing Seraphina entirely."He's safe, Carla," I said calmly. "Just negotiating the terms of his surrender.""This is madness! We gave you everything! You took his money, his safe house, his antiques—what more do you want?""I want the respect you never gave me," I said, standing up. "I want the safety I earned. I want to be Donna."Carla's composure cracked. "You think a title will protect you? This life isn't about paperwork. It's about blood. You're not one of us. You're a banker. A socialite. Chiara is the only one w