The Heir He Never Knew
I spent five years as Dominic Santoro’s wife in name only.
Five years hidden behind closed doors, buried under his sheets, erased from his world.
When he finally agreed to take me back to Chicago—to stand beside him, to be seen—I thought I had won.
I bought a new dress.
Soft. Elegant. Worthy of a Don’s woman.
The night before we left, he looked at me through the mirror and said calmly,
“Take the makeup off. Change into pants.”
I asked why.
He adjusted his cufflinks like I was nothing more than background noise.
“Juliana Lancaster is back. Tonight is our engagement.”
Russian Bratva. Lancaster blood. A marriage alliance.
Seeing my silence, he laughed—careless, cruel.
“What’s with t
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