/1/117119/coverbig.jpg?v=b022da3f3711d0dab71200bba611e890)
When the Syndicate Elders issued a blood decree, my Underboss fiancé had seventy-two hours to marry me or lose his territory. But instead of securing our alliance, Pietro slid my four-carat blood-diamond engagement ring onto the finger of Mia, the nineteen-year-old protégé I had rescued from the gutters. He let her leak confidential intel that cost our Family over a million dollars, yet he fiercely protected her while blaming me. He publicly stripped me of my rank as Consigliere, relocating my desk to the entry-level floor. Then, he demanded I forfeit my controlling shares directly into Mia's name. "Stop making a scene before you ruin your chances of ever becoming my wife," he warned me patronizingly. I looked at the man I had dodged bullets with for four years to build this legitimate empire from nothing. He was so poisoned by power and ego that he truly believed I would accept being his powerless trophy wife while he paraded his mistress around. He thought I was just a submissive woman who desperately needed him to survive. Without a second of hesitation, I picked up the pen and signed my power away. What Pietro didn't know was that I had already secretly transferred my true holdings to the daughter of the city's most feared Don. I left him holding a worthless piece of paper, packed my bags, and went back to my old territory to build a new fortress.
Contents
Claiming The Queen: The Mafia Boss's Rise Chapter 1
When the Syndicate Elders issued a blood decree, my Underboss fiancé had seventy-two hours to marry me or lose his territory.
But instead of securing our alliance, Pietro slid my four-carat blood-diamond engagement ring onto the finger of Mia, the nineteen-year-old protégé I had rescued from the gutters.
He let her leak confidential intel that cost our Family over a million dollars, yet he fiercely protected her while blaming me.
He publicly stripped me of my rank as Consigliere, relocating my desk to the entry-level floor.
Then, he demanded I forfeit my controlling shares directly into Mia's name.
"Stop making a scene before you ruin your chances of ever becoming my wife," he warned me patronizingly.
I looked at the man I had dodged bullets with for four years to build this legitimate empire from nothing.
He was so poisoned by power and ego that he truly believed I would accept being his powerless trophy wife while he paraded his mistress around.
He thought I was just a submissive woman who desperately needed him to survive.
Without a second of hesitation, I picked up the pen and signed my power away.
What Pietro didn't know was that I had already secretly transferred my true holdings to the daughter of the city's most feared Don.
I left him holding a worthless piece of paper, packed my bags, and went back to my old territory to build a new fortress.
Chapter 1
The four-carat blood-diamond glittered under the crystal chandelier as Pietro slid it onto Mia's trembling finger.
Seven hours earlier, I had stood before the Syndicate Elders and signed the blood decree-marry me within seventy-two hours, or lose everything.
Now, I watched the man I'd bled for, killed for, built an empire for, place my ring on the hand of the girl I'd rescued from the gutter.
As for me, a broken engagement meant I would be free to return home to Salvatore-the most ruthless, blood-soaked Don our family had ever seen.
Even with that ultimatum hanging over us, I never expected Pietro to slide my four-carat diamond engagement ring onto the finger of my nineteen-year-old protégé.
The brass handle of my office door was clammy with the chill of the air conditioner. With the metallic click of the lock engaging, the clamor of chips from the casino floor below was instantly severed, my eardrums faintly throbbing from the sudden pressure change.
I stood behind my desk, my hands resting flat on the cool glass surface.
I had just reminded Pietro of the old laws.
"As an Underboss, you are required to solidify our faction's bloodline by your thirtieth birthday," I stated. "Which is in three days."
Pietro leaned against the leather armchair opposite me.
He scoffed, a harsh sound that scraped against the stillness of the room.
"You're dredging up antiquated traditions to force my hand," he said, the words edged with contempt. "You want to trap me in a church."
Mia stood beside him.
She was a girl from my old neighborhood-a desperate associate I had pulled from the gutters and brought into our sanitized, corporate operations for the sole purpose of protecting her.
Pietro reached into his tailored suit jacket. From it, he produced the velvet box I had seen on his desk a month ago.
I had thought he was waiting for the perfect moment to officially propose.
Instead, he opened the box, took out the massive blood-diamond, and casually handed it to Mia.
The shadows from the venetian blinds sliced his face into bars of light and darkness. I found my eyes fixed on a single speck of dust on the knot of his tie, and the man before me suddenly felt like a complete stranger. "I need space to think."
I watched the diamond resting in Mia's trembling palm, a strange placidity settling in my veins. The anger that once would have consumed me felt distant now, like reading a faded newspaper headline, leaving only a film of gray, weary dust.
Mia looked up at me, her eyes wide, playing the part of the innocent bystander perfectly.
She took a step forward and reached out, trying to hand the tainted jewel back to me.
I did not move.
My voice was a low, toneless sound, scraped from the back of my throat.
"Keep it. I don't accept hand-me-downs from traitors."
I looked back at Pietro, but he was already turning.
He walked out of my office with the slow, untouchable swagger of a man who believed he owned the world.
I looked at Mia. "Our alliance is dead. Get out of my sight."
She scurried out the door, clutching the ring to her chest.
Hours later, the only light in the penthouse Pietro and I shared was the thin, chemical blue of the city filtering through the blinds.
I pulled my suitcase from the closet and began methodically folding my clothes.
I did not cry.
My hand paused on a black cashmere sweater-the one I'd worn the night Pietro carried me, bleeding, through a back alley after a deal went wrong. Four years ago. I folded it carefully and placed it on top of the suitcase.
My chest felt as if it were packed with cold, shattered glass; each breath was a careful negotiation with the sharp edges against my ribs, but my hands were steady.
The front door clicked open.
Pietro walked into the bedroom, loosening his silk tie.
He stopped when he saw the suitcase on the bed.
He crossed his arms. "What do you think you're doing?"
The cashmere fibers of the sweater abraded my fingertips with a faint static. "Did Mia deliver my message? That our alliance is over?"
His face instantly hardened.
He advanced, his haste to argue stirring the stale, smoke-tinged air. "You're a paranoid, venomous woman! Mia is a sister from our old territory. You're supposed to look out for her!"
The folding motion paused.
My gaze traveled past his shoulder, to the memory of certain looks Mia had given him in boardrooms, a photograph slowly developing in my mind.
I remembered the time Pietro shouted at me in front of our Made Men just to protect Mia from being reprimanded for a late report.
He had recently promoted her to his personal assistant, threatening anyone who questioned her profound lack of competence.
Looking at his angry face, I realized with sickening clarity that his judgment was gone.
He was no longer the hungry, honorable man who had helped me build this network of fronts and backrooms from nothing.
Power had poisoned his blood.
I glanced at my phone on the nightstand, where my secured flight itinerary to the old territory was already booked.
I knew fighting him tonight would only waste my energy.
I pulled off my left glove, finger by finger, a slow and deliberate ritual. Then I lowered my eyes, feigning submission. "You're right," I whispered. "I'm stressed and overreacting."
Pietro blinked, thrown off balance by my lack of retaliation.
The anger drained from his face, replaced by a confused frown.
"Suit yourself," he muttered, turning and walking out of the penthouse.
I listened to the deadbolt slide home, knowing he would not return tonight-and knowing precisely how I would strip him of everything he loved.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Salvatore: "The jet is fueled. But there's a situation at the border. Call me."
View More Comments on App
Other books by Xiao Ye
More/1/115529/coverbig.jpg?v=bf1d555b059121e26b6f4de3f1024fa4)
Flash Marriage To The Secret Zillionaire Boss
ModernMinutes before announcing her grand engagement, Darla caught her fiancé sleeping with her stepsister. She publicly exposed them and canceled the wedding on the spot. Furious, her adoptive mother demanded Darla marry a fifty-five-year-old predator to save their broken business deal. "If you don't do exactly what I say, I'll let your father rot in prison for the rest of his life." Desperate to escape her family's control, Darla grabbed a massive, intimidating hotel security guard she bumped into in the hallway. She shoved all the cash in her purse at him—eight hundred dollars—and begged him to fake-marry her. They signed the papers at City Hall that same day. But the nightmare didn't end. That evening, Darla received a cold phone call from the state penitentiary. Her father had been found dead in his cell, and her company, owned by her ex-fiancé's family, fired her immediately. They had taken everything from her, leaving her completely broken and sobbing on the floor of her tiny apartment. She thought she had nothing left but a broke, fake husband to keep her company. She had no idea that the "poor security guard" holding her in his arms was actually Anson Prince, a ruthless billionaire CEO. And he was already making the calls to tear her abusers' empires to the ground.
/1/114338/coverbig.jpg?v=f1deedfa8a4a7005f2d3e7d20b9f09c8)
Falling For The Most Hated Hollywood Girl
RomanceI was the adopted daughter of the wealthy Ruiz family, but the moment their true heir appeared, I was thrown away like trash. Not long after being kicked out, my adoptive father and uncle hired a hitman to stage a fatal car crash on Mulholland Drive. Pinned under an overturned Porsche with a shattered leg, I watched the hitman point a suppressed pistol between my eyes. "The Ruiz family sends their regards." Before this, my reputation had already been completely destroyed by a director, a pop idol, and a reality TV star, leaving me blacklisted and universally hated. My adoptive family didn't just want me ruined; they wanted me permanently silenced to tie up loose ends. The hitman pulled the trigger, and the original Alicia died in despair, tasting only rain and blood. Until her last breath, she didn't understand. Why did the family she loved treat her like a disposable object? Why did those three men maliciously frame her and turn the world against her? Opening my eyes again, the fear was gone, replaced by an ancient, cosmic indifference. I, the Arbiter, had taken over this deceased vessel. Moving faster than the human eye, I crushed the hitman's steel gun with my bare hand and turned his soul into dust. Looking at the memories of those who wronged this girl, I signed a contract for the very reality show they were starring in. Since I borrowed this body, taking out the trash is a required courtesy.
/1/105557/coverbig.jpg?v=033b26438bf347bdf0a35be7a8c4170d)
Reborn To Ruin: The Jilted Heiress's Revenge
ModernI lay on a mildewed mattress in a run-down motel, my body trembling from withdrawal. Once the most feared "Gossip Queen" in Hollywood, I was now a forty-three-year-old ghost staring at a cracked mirror, waiting for the end. The door clicked open, and Brittany Potts stepped in, looking immaculate in a beige trench coat that cost more than my life. She didn't come to help; she tossed a waiver of marital assets onto my bed and handed me a cup of coffee laced with something that smelled like bitter almonds. She laughed, telling me my husband, Bennet, was already in the Bahamas celebrating my death. I froze when I saw the sapphire pendant around her neck—my mother’s necklace, which had vanished the day she died. As the poison began to burn through my chest, Brittany leaned in and whispered her final secret: she was the one who cut the brake lines on the car that killed my father when we were teenagers. My entire life had been a lie. The pills, the scandal, the bankruptcy—it was all a masterpiece of betrayal orchestrated by the two people I trusted most. I died on that filthy floor, suffocating on my own rage and the taste of chemicals, praying for a single chance to make them pay. But when I opened my eyes, the pain was gone. I was sitting in my old bedroom, the morning sun shining on a calendar that read September 15, 2024. My mother’s voice, warm and alive, called me for breakfast from downstairs. I was eighteen again, back in my senior year at Crestview Academy, and the monsters who destroyed me were still pretending to be my friends. This time, I’m the one who holds the shears.
/1/102623/coverbig.jpg?v=f32dbc03ae1aca6ebef45427d1e9b24c)
Escaping The Mafia Don's Golden Cage
MafiaI stood over the fresh dirt of my four-year-old son's grave. My husband, the Don of the Stark family, didn't hold my hand for comfort. He only adjusted his cuffs and checked that the diamond necklace he forced on me looked good for the cameras. "Stop crying," he whispered into my hair. "You're making a scene." Two days later, I woke up to the sound of shattering glass in the nursery. A strange boy stood there, smiling over the broken remains of my son's favorite snow globe. "This is Cody," my mother-in-law said coldly. "He's family. He stays." When I demanded he leave, Eli looked at me with dead eyes. "Material things can be replaced, Harper. The boy stays." Suspicion led me to the library door, where I heard the impossible truth. Cody wasn't a distant cousin. He was Eli's illegitimate son. And worse—while my son was drowning alone in the pool, Eli hadn't been at a business meeting. He had been in bed with his mistress. I realized then that the silver bracelet he had gifted me wasn't jewelry. I pried it open and found the blinking red light of a tracker. I was a prisoner in a cage of gold. So, I decided to die. I staged my suicide at the bridge, vanished into the night, and paid a shadow doctor to wipe my memories clean. I became Avery. I was happy. I was free. Until six months later, when a man in a black suit walked into my small-town cafe and looked at me with the eyes of a wolf. "Harper," he growled. "Come home."
/1/101741/coverbig.jpg?v=71e68e5fe6fcfe3de5f7b77332e2b1d6)
Ashton's Betrayal, Her Unyielding Vengeance
RomanceI spent a decade as Ashton Maxwell' s shadow, building his empire and warming his bed, only for him to announce his engagement to a senator's daughter right in front of me. When assassins struck that night, he didn't just choose her; he used my body as a human shield against a grenade and then shot me himself to prove his loyalty to her family. I survived, reinvented myself as Grecia Munoz, and returned to burn his world to the ground, eventually forcing him to hand over his entire empire in a desperate plea for forgiveness. He promised to disappear so I could find peace with a kind doctor named Garrick. But Ashton' s definition of love was a sickness. To "protect" me from what he called a weakness, he secretly destroyed Garrick' s career and reputation, driving the only innocent man I ever loved to jump off a bridge. He thought this would drive me back into his arms, into the safety of the monster he created. Instead, I drove to the Hamptons, to the pristine dream home he had built for our future. He knelt before me, begging for understanding, claiming he did it all for us. I didn't offer forgiveness. I raised the pistol he had once given me, aimed at the heart I had already broken, and ended the nightmare once and for all.
/0/96392/coverbig.jpg?v=2c1a05a1995f4a51937aa7ca48d5a309)
The Syndicate's Ghost: Don's Forgotten Queen
MafiaFor four years, I was the grieving wife of a mafia Don, drowning in the memory of our dead son. My husband, Eli, held me through it all. But a trip to the records office on the anniversary of our son's death revealed a devastating truth. He had another son. A secret family. Worse, I discovered he was with his mistress the day our son died, having dismissed the security that could have saved him. He let me believe it was my fault. When I tried to leave, he brought his mistress and their son into our home, framing me as a madwoman. His mother accused me of hurting the boy, and Eli punished me by locking me in a dark, flooding room—a cruel echo of our son's drowning. To “cure” his new heir of my son’s “ghost,” they had my baby’s grave dug up. On a yacht, Eli held me down as his mistress emptied the ashes into the ocean. Then they left me to die in the water. When I washed ashore, his mistress was waiting to deliver the final, soul-crushing blow. She hadn't scattered the ashes. She’d flushed them down a toilet. I didn't want to escape him. I wanted to erase him. I found a neuroscientist with an experimental procedure and made my request: wipe the last ten years. I didn't want to leave my husband; I wanted to make it so he never existed at all.
