Married to the Mafia's Lost Heir
On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, the groom's name was swapped out.
The woman my boyfriend was now promised to—the pampered mafia princess nestled in his arms—looked at me with a triumphant smile.
"Isn't it perfect?" she sneered. "A fraud of a bride for a fake heir. What a match."
I ignored her and turned to the man I loved. This was the man who endured three days of brutal punishment just for the right to marry me, when the Rossi family first acknowledged him as their true heir.
Now, he just nodded along with her. "Don't be so dramatic. It's a joke. You're not actually mad, are you? It's just a piece of paper. Once Sienna's had her fun, you two get a divorce, and then it'll be our turn. I promise."
I smiled.
Then I turned and walked straight to the so-called "fake" heir.
"The marriage license is filed, honey," I said. "Let's go plan our real wedding."