All Chapters of Mafia Ex-Wife: I Bought His Death with His Own Hundred Grand: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Ten years of marriage, and my husband slid the divorce papers across his mahogany desk."You contributed nothing to this family. Under the prenup, you walk away with nothing.""Consider this a courtesy. Ten thousand a year. A hundred grand for a decade of your youth.""Don't even think about touching a cent of family money."I smiled and signed. I'm the kind of woman who's already died once.The next day, I took that hundred-thousand-dollar check and walked straight into the territory of his most dangerous enemy—Dominic Salucci.The man who controls half the East Coast underworld looked at me like I was inventory he hadn't ordered."Why should I help you?"I leaned in close."Because I know every decision Vincent Moretti is going to make for the next ten years. Every property. Every shipping route. And I know about the son he's hiding in Zurich."He studied me for a long moment. Then he smiled."Interesting."What he doesn't know—what Vincent doesn't know—is that in my last life, men l

The woman who opened the door was wearing my silk robe.She couldn't have been more than twenty-three. Blonde, coltish, with the kind of expensive dental work that announced private schooling and a father who'd never told her no. She looked me up and down with the casual cruelty of a woman who'd never had to fight for anything."You must be the ex."I didn't answer. I was looking past her, into the foyer I'd designed. The marble floor I'd sourced from a quarry in Carrara. The chandelier I'd spent three months arguing with Vincent about because he thought it was "too much" and I knew it was exactly enough. All of it still here. All of it mine, except nothing was.Vincent was seated in the living room, a cup of espresso balanced on his knee. He looked up at me with the satisfied expression of a man watching a replay of his own victory."Adriana. You came back.""My things.""Your things." He gestured toward the hallway with his cup. "Yes. Your things."Three black garbage bags sat by th

"According to preliminary surveys, the site contains a colonial-era burial ground. Human remains have been identified. As of this moment, all commercial development on that land is suspended indefinitely, pending full archaeological review."The room erupted.Vincent's voice cut through the noise. "That's impossible. We did due diligence. There's nothing on that land.""Your due diligence appears to have been incomplete, Mr. Moretti." Dr. Vance's expression didn't change. "The suspension is effective immediately. You'll receive formal documentation within the hour."She turned and left, her officers falling in behind her.Three hundred million dollars. Frozen. Untouchable. A hole in Vincent Moretti's balance sheet that would take years to fill—years he didn't have, because his other investments were leveraged against this one, his entire structure built on the assumption that he was too smart to fail.I watched his face cycle through shock, fury, calculation. Watched him realize, in re

The Moretti estate in Westchester was a monument to old money pretending to be older than it was.Vincent's father had bought the property in the eighties from a railroad heir who'd gambled away his inheritance. Twenty acres of manicured lawn, a thirty-room mansion modeled after an Italian villa, and a ballroom that had hosted everyone from senators to crime bosses without anyone acknowledging the contradiction. Elena Moretti had spent three decades perfecting every detail—the frescoed ceilings, the imported marble, the gardens that required a staff of twelve to maintain. It was her kingdom, and she ruled it with the same iron efficiency her husband had once applied to his less legitimate enterprises.Tonight, the kingdom was celebrating its queen's sixty-fifth birthday.I arrived alone, in a black dress I'd bought that afternoon with Dominic's money. Simple. Elegant. The kind of dress that said I belong here without screaming for attention. The valet took my car—Dominic had insisted I

The River Club dinner stretched late into the evening. By the time we walked out onto the street, the city had shifted into its nighttime rhythm—fewer cars, more cabs, the glow of streetlights reflecting off wet pavement from an earlier rain. The air smelled like ozone and exhaust and possibility.Dominic walked beside me, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. We didn't speak at first. The silence between us had become comfortable somewhere along the way, no longer something to fill but something to inhabit."You never answered my question," he said eventually."Which one?""At the office. Before you left for London. I asked why you came back." He glanced at me. "Vincent was destroyed. Your brother was safe. You could have disappeared—taken the money, started over somewhere no one knew your name. Most people would have."I considered the question. The honest answer was complicated. It had to do with the memory of floating above my own dead body, watching the world continue without