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I am the wife of Julian Falcone, a powerful mafia boss, but my title in this house is nothing but a joke. When our car broke down in a deadly blizzard, Julian rushed to the scene, only to bypass me entirely. He wrapped his heavy coat around his fragile cousin, Livia, and put her in his only available passenger seat. "Livia's constitution is too weak to survive this cold. I have to take her back first." He left me to freeze in the pitch-black car for the entire night. When his men finally dragged my half-dead body out the next morning, they openly mocked me, calling me a piece of "collateral" that the boss wouldn't care about as long as I was breathing. Back at the estate, Julian didn't even ask if I had survived the frostbite. Instead, he stormed into my sickroom, demanding I treat his mistress with respect just because my absolute silence had hurt her feelings. His grandmother then publicly humiliated me for failing to provide an heir, while Livia flaunted the custom diamond bracelet Julian bought to soothe her "fright" from the storm. I finally understood. He didn't marry me out of honor to save my fallen family. He just needed my aristocratic Rossi blood to legitimize his new-money mafia empire. I was never a wife. I was a transaction he was willing to let freeze to death. When his men delivered a heavy diamond necklace to buy my submission, I didn't cry or beg. I dropped the blood diamond into the deepest drawer, and began to plan my escape.
Contents
Left To Freeze: The Neglected Wife's Awakening Chapter 1 1
Isabella POV
The 1920s Cadillac was a tomb of walnut wood and brass, rapidly losing whatever warmth it had left. Outside, the Chicago blizzard howled like a wounded beast, burying the desolate road in a thick, suffocating layer of white.
I sat in the back seat, my breath pluming in the freezing air. Next to me, Livia shivered violently, her delicate sobs the only sound breaking the heavy silence. The tire had blown out nearly two hours ago, and the heater had died shortly after.
Headlights suddenly pierced the blinding snow. Julian had arrived.
The heavy car door was wrenched open, letting in a vicious gust of wind. But Julian Falcone, my husband, didn't even look at me. His frantic gaze bypassed me entirely, landing on the fragile figure beside me.
"Livia," he breathed, his voice laced with a raw panic I had never heard him use for me.
He leaned in, wrapping a heavy, luxurious mink coat around her trembling shoulders. He pulled her against his chest, sharing his body heat. Then, he finally turned his icy blue eyes to me. His expression shifted instantly, becoming the cold, calculating Caporegime of the Falcone family.
"The engine of my car is struggling in this storm. I can only take one more safely," Julian stated, his tone strictly business. "Livia's constitution is too weak to survive this cold. I have to take her back first."
He didn't ask. He commanded.
"Don't worry, Livia," he murmured to the girl in his arms, deliberately emphasizing my title. "Your cousin's wife will wait here for the backup vehicle. She's strong."
*Your cousin's wife.* Not *my wife*.
I didn't argue. I didn't beg. I simply looked at him, my eyes as dead and calm as the frozen wasteland outside. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of something complex-guilt? hesitation?-crossed his handsome face under my unwavering stare. But it was quickly buried. He helped Livia out of the Cadillac, shielding her from the wind, and slammed the door shut, leaving me in the dark.
As the red taillights of his car faded into the relentless blizzard, the last shred of my naive illusions vanished with them.
The biting cold seeping through the leather seats dragged my mind back to a crisp autumn afternoon three years ago. I was standing before the imposing wrought-iron gates of the Falcone estate, clutching a piece of parchment that held my fate.
My father, Giovanni Rossi, the respected Consigliere of the Costello family, had just been murdered. The Rossi name had lost its power overnight. Desperate and terrified, I had gone to Julian to ask if our arranged marriage was still valid, fully expecting him to tear the contract to pieces and humiliate me.
Instead, he had looked at me with the impeccable grace of a gentleman.
"A Falcone honors his word, Isabella," he had said smoothly. "Since it was arranged by our families, the contract stands."
I had been so foolish. I had thought I was marrying a man of honor, a savior in my darkest hour. But sitting in this freezing metal coffin, the truth was as clear as ice. Julian hadn't married me out of duty or pity. The Falcones were newly rich, a family built on bootlegging and blood during this Prohibition era. They needed the ancient, aristocratic blood of the Rossi family to legitimize their rise in the mafia world.
I was never a wife. I was a transaction. A high-end collateral bought to decorate his resume, while his heart and warmth were reserved entirely for his cousin.
The crystal dome light above me flickered and died completely, plunging the car into pitch blackness. The temperature was dropping rapidly, the frost creeping thicker across the windows.
I pulled my thin wool coat tighter around myself, my fingers going numb. The anger and resentment that had poisoned my heart for two years were gone, replaced by a chilling, absolute clarity. I was entirely alone in this frozen wasteland, and the long night had just begun.
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