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Too Late For Regret: The Don's Queen

Too Late For Regret: The Don's Queen

Author: Li Xiamo
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Chapter 1

Word Count: 1330    |    Released on: Today at 16:37

celebrate my long-deferred marriage to Ma

Mafia families that he had

r illicit affair from the Syndicate elders. He had stolen my meticulous ledger work to cover her mistakes, leaving me to endure brutal reprim

shattering our gene

e with a spirit as unbending and a heart as c

hattered the bones in my own hand pulling him to safety from rival soldi

posable pawn, discarding our shared his

y, and I didn't

er a frantic call from his fragile

he most feared boss in the city, a

pte

hia

ebrate my long-deferred marriage to Marco Rossi, when he brought his pal

n's swallowing was a distinct, percussive event. A span of five heartbeats was all the time I possessed to erect a defens

man I had grow

he far wall, a studied avoidance that dr

rate lack of haste. The tap of silver against porcelain was a sh

t fury. In the circle to which we belonged, a slight of

nt before, she had been jesting about an heir for the Family; now, the

e weapon concealed beneath his tail

hing of the maelstrom within. I addressed my gaze to the Rossi elders a

rp, incredulous motion, her eyes widening as

held the matter in confidence out of respect for my duties,

iance with a man whose name would make every capo in this room reach for their holst

ut a harsh,

eyes held a dark, insolent mirth. "And what man of consequence," he asked, his voice pitched fo

d his insult to hang in the heavy

er ended in an absol

n us, as irreparable as the crystal goblet he had overturned. Its contents, a deep red wine, seeped slowly into the fibers of the

of the night. The street was preternaturally quiet, lined wi

ded behind me. It was Marco; he reached me before

d my arm from his grasp with a

g a childish tantrum in

ld a stranger who had m

ofessed that Isabella was struggling with her associate duties. He professed th

at my feet. In a voice devoid of inflec

there when he was but thirteen. I spoke of his blood on the cobblestones, and

worn under Omertà that day-a vow t

nd he made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his

ick with irritation. He stressed again that Is

till marry me and take care of me, but only

dark eyes and felt

be necessary. I stated cle

e past was void. The blood oath

fell s

It was a cold,

cked the idea, saying I never had the time or th

ds, his burner phone vibr

he screen lit up wi

The hard, metallic quality in his eyes w

s back on me and walked away into

r a call from the woman he had publicly claimed over our shattered engagement. My fingers found

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