My Sister’s Mafia Husband Begged When I Finally Left
After my sister's death, I signed a five-year contract marriage with her mafia husband, Horton Falcone.
I became the stepmother to my five-year-old nephew, Luca.
On my birthday, I wore my late sister's diamond cross necklace, not realizing what it was.
At the family dinner, Luca walked up to me with a glass of red wine and threw the wine in my face.
The red wine dripped down my cheeks, its sharp scent stinging my eyes and staining my white dress.
He tilted his head back to look up at me, his eyes as cold and cruel as his father's.
"Don't think you can replace my mom just because you married into the Falcone family," he said with a malicious grin. "You're the reason she's dead."
"I wish you were the one who died. Then I could smash your gravestone instead of celebrating this stupid birthday."
"I swear, when I grow up, the first thing I'll do is dump you in the Hudson River myself!"
The memory stung as sharply as the wine, and all I could taste was despair.
I stared at the child I had spent five years raising as my own, a sharp pain pulsing in my chest.
I had thought I could devote myself to the Falcone family, that I could win him over with my love.
But now, I was just so tired of it all.
It was a family with no love, a child who saw me as his mortal enemy.
I stopped deluding myself. It was time to let go.
But after I left, that arrogant father and son came crawling back to me like whipped dogs, begging for my forgiveness.