Wrong Mom to Mess With

Camilla Sinclair hung up, her laughter dripping with sick satisfaction.

I didn’t waste a second.

I ordered my driver to floor it in the armored car and dialed Cassian Vitiello.

He answered after two rings.

Thumping electronic music blared in the background, mixed with the roar of his enforcers popping champagne.

The great Boss was already at our engagement party.

“Cassian, your mother is in the manor’s cellar. Camilla is torturing her. You need to get down there now—”

“Shut up. I know what bullshit you’re about to spew.”

His cold voice cut me off.

I froze. “What?”

He clicked his tongue, his voice laced with annoyance.

“Serafina, we’re getting engaged tonight, but your poor family needs to learn the rules. Your mother doesn’t get to sneak into my vault and steal black diamonds just because you’re about to climb into my bed.”

My grip on the phone tightened.

“You’re mistaken. She’s your—”

“I don’t care if she’s my future mother-in-law. I’m not obligated to tolerate her cheap greed just because she gave birth to you.”

His voice turned cold as ice.

“Today she sneaks into the vault. What about tomorrow? Does she crawl into my office to steal the family ledgers? Camilla taught her a lesson. A little pain, a little blood—it teaches the poor some respect. You should be grateful.”

Grateful?

His secretary was torturing my future mother-in-law into a bloody mess, and he expected me to thank him?

I clenched my jaw.

Just minutes ago, my mother was talking about using our family’s network to save his failing empire.

And he let his underling act this recklessly.

Not to mention, my mother’s personal assets could buy ten of his vaults.

If I ever got into a war with his secretary, whose side would he take?

If this mafia boss was this stupid, tonight’s alliance was a fucking joke.

When I spoke again, my voice was dangerously low.

“Cassian, she’s badly hurt. She’s dying. You’d better get your family doctor down there to save her. After all, she’s the woman who raised you.”

A dead silence.

Then, a cruel, cold laugh.

“Serafina, are you on drugs?” Cassian snapped. “Your mother has no right to claim she raised me. Stop trying to give your pathetic family credit they don’t deserve. Camilla should have cut your mother's tongue out.”

“My mother is on her way. If you don’t want to end up dead in a ditch with this engagement canceled, stop targeting my secretary.”

He hung up.

I pulled up the live feed from the engagement party on my tablet.

Cassian stood at the head table. He raised his glass to his men.

“To my mother,” his voice echoed through the speakers. “Every gun I own, every inch of turf, every power of life and death I hold—it all comes from the woman who gave me life. Even my future Donna is only worthy of kneeling at her feet.”

I stared at the screen for three seconds. Then I laughed and closed the feed.

My mother swirled her champagne. “What is it?”

I slipped my tablet into my Hermès bag.

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m heading over first. You should rest in the car, maybe open another bottle. I’ll come back for you later.”

Through the bulletproof glass, the heavily guarded Vitiello estate grew closer.

Somewhere in the cellar, Camilla was still admiring the flesh and blood on her heels.

In the main hall, Cassian was polishing his gun, wondering why his mother hadn’t arrived yet.

My car pulled to a stop.