Two years into my marriage with Don Dante, my ex came back. Julian, the man who shattered my heart five years ago. He announced he was getting engaged. And he wanted me as his mistress. "I know I hurt you," he said. "My family looks down on mob ties. It was never going to work. But now? I'm marrying Tiffany. I'm taking over the family empire. I can finally afford to keep you." I just sneered at him. "Did it ever occur to you that I might be married?" He scoffed. "What decent family would have you? The daughter of a mob underboss? Don't be ridiculous." His arrogance made me sick. When I refused, he slapped a black card on the table. Told me to buy whatever I wanted. He said he'd pick me up next week. That we could spend every weekend tangled up in his bed. I spat on the floor at his feet. "Get him out," I told my guard. "And take his trash with him." He didn't get it. Not then. But he would. The moment he found out who I married. I didn't just marry anyone. I married the king of the Chicago underworld. A man he could never touch. And when he finally figured it out, he lost his goddamn mind.
Lihat lebih banyakAfter Julian’s “accident,” Old Man Astor cut his losses. He shipped his disgraced son off to a remote sanatorium in Europe to appease the Morettis.But his sick obsession never died.For years after, on my birthday, a single black rose would appear silently at the gates of the Moretti estate.It crossed an ocean, passed through countless hands, a ghost from the past arriving right on schedule.The first year, Dante threw it into the fireplace himself, the flames reflecting on his cold face.The second year, he couldn’t be bothered to touch it, just had a guard dispose of it.The third year, he looked at the rose and offered his only comment: “A cripple. This pathetic ritual is all he has left.”This pathetic little ritual continued for five years.Then, on my birthday in the sixth year, a massive storm hit Chicago. Thunder cracked the sky open.The gates of the estate remained empty.A few days later, one of Dante’s men handed me a report.The sanatorium in Europe reported that Julian
For Tiffany Vanderbilt, the gala was a public crucifixion.She was the perfect product, labeled “Astor’s Fiancée,” only to be discarded by the man who was supposed to be hers—in front of all of Chicago’s elite.Every look Julian gave Seraphina, every step he took to follow her, was a slap across Tiffany's face.When she returned to the Vanderbilt estate, she didn’t cry. She didn’t break a thing.She simply took off the Chanel gown and threw it in the fireplace.She watched the expensive fabric curl and blacken in the flames, just like her pride, which had already burned to ash.Her initial plan was simple.Just an old flame Julian couldn’t forget. A washed-up debutante with a touch of mob dirt.She had a hundred ways to make a girl like that disappear quietly.Or ruin her reputation so completely she could never show her face in front of Julian again.Twenty-four hours later, a coded file was delivered to her desk.Tiffany opened it gracefully. The confident smile on her face froze, th
“Our life?” My laugh was pure ice. “Which one? The one where I was your dirty little secret, sneaking out of your little love nest? Or five years ago, when I needed you, and you threw me away like trash for your ‘family duty’?”“That was different! I had no choice!” Julian pleaded.“It’s not different!” I bit out each word. “Your love is a prize you think you can claim whenever it’s convenient. Julian, you don’t know the first thing about love.”“Who says he doesn’t?”A voice, colder than a grave, came from the shadows of the terrace.Julian’s blood froze.Dante stepped out of the darkness, the moonlight carving out the hard line of his jaw.He looked like the devil himself, come to collect a soul. His eyes were empty of all warmth.“You… How are you here?” Julian’s voice was a wreck.“My wife is here,” Dante said, walking to my side and pulling me into his arms. His hand covered mine on the dagger, his touch a steady, burning heat. “Why shouldn’t I be?”He looked at Julian like he was
Dante’s reflection materialized in the mirror. A silent, carved statue.He didn’t bother to lean against the doorframe. He strode right in, carrying the faint scent of cordite from his pre-gala “meeting.”He took the lipstick from my hand and tossed it onto the table. It made a sharp clatter.“I don’t like that color,” his voice was low, dangerous. “Too red. Like blood.”I met his eyes in the mirror and shot back a cold smile. “What are you afraid of, Dante? That it reminds you of their blood… or mine?”Ever since the opera, the chill coming off him had been constant.He’d been sleeping in his study. Punishing me with silence.He closed the distance in a single step, planting his hands on the vanity on either side of me. He trapped me in his shadow.“Show me where he touched your wrist,” he demanded, his eyes dissecting me.“He’s a nobody. And he touched nothing important.” I kept pushing.His fingers clamped around my jaw, forcing my head up. “Sera. Don’t test me like this.”“Or what?
Julian locked himself in his penthouse and let the days bleed together.Empty whiskey bottles were strewn across the Persian rug.He wasn't passed out on the sofa. He sat bolt upright, staring at his phone. At the only picture he had of Sera.In the photo, her smile was bright and fierce. A rose with thorns, fighting for the sun.That was his Sera.Not Dante Moretti’s.The name was a brand on his soul.The Devil of Chicago. The king of the Outfit.His father's slaps and shouts still rang in his ears. Stern letters from the family patriarchs piled up at his door.Everyone told him the same thing: Let her go.But that just fanned the flames inside him.It was a sick, gnawing jealousy. The kind you feel for something stolen. A desperate need to drag her back from the devil himself.“Sir,” his assistant’s voice trembled through the door. “An ultimatum from the Astor family. If you don’t show, they’re starting the process to disinherit you... Also, the invitation for the Chicago United Char
Julian’s POVOne week later.Three black Rolls-Royces pulled up outside the Venti family villa.Julian stared out the window of the Rolls-Royce, his jaw tight. Anger, jealousy, humiliation—it was a bitter cocktail churning in his gut."Sir, shall we proceed?" the driver asked.Julian nodded.The cars rolled slowly toward the main entrance of the estate.Seraphina's father—old man Venti—was waiting on the steps.The old man's face was a mask of stone.Julian got out of the car, straightening his suit."Mr. Venti. I'm here for Sera."The old man didn't respond."We had an arrangement," Julian said, walking up the steps. "Where is she?""She's not here.""What do you mean, not here?" Julian frowned. "We agreed on today—""She's back where she belongs," the old man cut him off."Where she belongs?" Julian was getting more confused. "What place is that?""Chicago."Julian felt a wave of dizziness."What… what is she doing in Chicago?"The old man's voice was as cold as iron. "She went back
Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.
Komen