LOGINShe married him for revenge. They say grief makes you fragile. They're wrong. Six months ago, Carmela Ferrara’s sister Elena died under the protection of the one man that was supposed to keep her safe—Don Gabriele Conti. Her husband. Now Carmela has one goal: revenge. But nothing in the mafia is ever as simple as it seems. Gabriele is dangerous, damaged, and hiding deadly secrets about the night Elena died. And the closer Carmela gets to destroying him, the more she realizes her sister's death wasn't what everyone believes. In a world built on blood and betrayal, where every vow is a weapon and trust is fatal, Carmela must choose: continue her revenge or uncover the truth. Because the real killer is closer than she thinks. And in the mafia, that mistake could cost her everything. Some vows are made to be kept. Others are made to ruin. 'Til vengeance do us part. An enemies-to-lovers, dark, morally gray romance novel built on revenge, betrayal, self-destruction and revenge.
View MoreCARMELA'S POV Over the week, I silently took notes, memorizing Marco's schedule. How long his daily meetings lasted, when he left for port supervisions, the number of his guards and their rotations.Today, he had a meeting with the port supervisors that was going to last for an hour. One hour was enough time to search his office properly, and find the financial records Gabriele had mentioned in his notes. Today, I would get real proof and not just baseless suspicions.I was getting ready for the break-in when Gabriele entered the room.“Good. You're up.” He barely glanced at me, already moving to the closet. “We leave in twenty minutes.”I stopped. “Where are we going?”“The Castellano exhibition. It's a gallery opening.” He checked his wristwatch. “We need to be there by seven.”“I have plans—”“Cancel them.”“I wasn't asking for permission—”“Neither was I.” He finally looked at me with the same look he wore in meetings. His Don look. The look that expected obedience without questi
CARMELA'S POV “That was quite the performance, Carmela. ” Gabriele said when everyone left after the meeting, leaving just the two of us in the room. “I wasn't performing.” “Are you satisfied?” “With what?” “ Did I? I thought you weren't listening.” “I listened.” He moved closer to me. “I listened to you question my authority, my decisions, and insult my cousin in front of my men.” “I pointed out concerns—” “That whole display of yours was to make me look weak. To show everyone that my wife doesn't respect me.” “You want my respect? That's funny.” I stood to face him. “These men are comfortable, they're not seeing the threat. I'm not comfortable. I see everything you're all too comfortable to notice.” “Like what?” “Like Marco. He questioned your assessment of the Russians. Said you might be overreacting. Why would he do that unless he wanted you to lower your guard?” Gabriele's expression didn't change but something flickered in his eyes. “You think Marco's involved wit
CARMELA'S POV I woke up alone. Gabriele's side of the bed was empty. Last night conversation replayed in my mind as I showered and got dressed. He claimed that Elena was murdered. He had been investigating the murder and he had evidence. He was going to show me “proof” today.This was a manipulation. It had to be.I chose a black dress that exuded a professional vibe, pulled my hair back in a sleek bun, and applied little mascara and powder. The image in the mirror looked like someone who commanded respect. Someone who was not to be underestimated.Perfect. That's who I am.I made my way through the mansion, noting the guards rotations, cameras and their angles, all the things Papa had taught me to observe.I heard male voices coming from Gabriele's office down the hall. I moved closer, trying to get what they were saying.“–The Russians have been quiet for three weeks now. Too quiet.” That was Gabriele's voice. Authoritative and cold. Nothing like the broken man from last night.“M
CARMELA'S POV Gabriele’s body jerked beside me.A sharp breath tore out of him, rough and unguarded, followed by a sound that didn’t belong to a Don—broken, desperate.“Please,” he whispered into the dark. “I tried. I swear I did—”Elena’s name slipped from his mouth like a wound splitting open.I opened my eyes and sat up slowly, studying him in the dark. The great Don, reduced to this—pleading with ghosts, begging forgiveness from a woman who was already dead.He looked weak. Broken. Pathetic."Elena." Her name came out strangled. "I'm sorry. Perdonami, amore mio."There were tears on his face.I felt nothing. This display of grief meant nothing—he'd had six months to mourn. Six months while I planned how to make him pay for failing her.One nightmare didn't absolve him.Before I could process anything, his hand shot out and caught my wrist in an iron grip.I gasped, tried to pull back, but his fingers tightened.Even unconscious, he reacted to threats like the predator he was."Ga






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