The Wolfless Outcast's Defiant Mate And Her Sweet Revenge

On the day I was supposed to marry Giovanni Moretti, he publicly declared I was his brother’s girl. He called off our wedding at the last minute. His ex, Sofia, had amnesia after a car crash, her memory reset to a time when they were still deeply in love. So he cast me aside in my wedding dress to play the part of her devoted boyfriend. For a month, I was forced to live as a "guest" in the Moretti estate, watching him dote on her and rebuild their past, all while promising he would marry me as soon as she recovered. Then I overheard the truth. Giovanni had the cure for her amnesia locked away in his safe. He wasn't trapped. He was indulging, savoring a second chance with the love of his life. He was confident I was his property, that I would simply wait until he was done. He told his men he could have us both. He used his brother's name to humiliate me. Fine. I would use his brother's name to destroy him. I walked into the office of the true power in the family, Don Domenico Moretti. "Your brother said I am your companion," I told him. "Let's make it real. Marry me."

Three years ago, my biological brother, the ruthless Don of New York, dragged me back to his compound. But he didn't bring me home to be the Mafia Princess; he brought me back to be a lowly maid for his manipulative adopted sister, Serafina. On the anniversary of our parents' death, I only wanted to place a single white rose on their grave. Cassio ordered his heavily armed soldiers to barricade the mausoleum, looking at me with profound irritation. "If you do not drop to your knees and beg Serafina for permission, I will permanently erase your existence from this bloodline," he threatened. To appease Serafina's fake tears, Cassio had locked me in a windowless basement, banned me from family banquets, and forced me to bow to her in front of his Capos. When I finally refused to submit, he froze my bank accounts, threw me out of his armored SUV onto the highway, and decreed that no one in the city could hire me, trying to starve me into crawling back. I couldn't understand why he bothered to extract me from my civilian life just to let a fake bloodline torture his real sister. Standing in the dirt, my heart went completely dead, and any remaining hope for this family shattered. I stripped off the heavy diamond necklace he gave me and threw it onto the gravel like industrial waste. Then, I pulled out my hidden burner phone and texted my other brother, Leo, the deadliest rising boss in the underworld. "Come pick me up," I sent. "I am abandoning this cursed surname forever."

For five years, I nursed my crippled mafia boss husband back to health. But the moment he reclaimed his throne, he brought home his childhood friend, Rosalie. He gave her the master suite and ordered me to the kitchens to prepare food like a common maid. Even my eight-year-old stepdaughter, whom I had raised since she was a toddler, started looking at me with absolute disgust. "I wish you were my real mother, Aunt Rosalie. She dresses like a peasant and doesn't belong in our bloodline." When Rosalie orchestrated a fake kidnapping to frame me, my own daughter looked Vincenzo in the eyes and lied to support the mistress. Then, Rosalie faked a fainting spell at the top of the grand staircase. Vincenzo rushed up to catch her, letting me tumble violently down the hard marble steps. As I lay paralyzed in a pool of my own blood, miscarrying our unborn child, he carried her away without sparing me a single glance. I didn't understand. I had pulled him from the edge of death, washed his wasted body, and carved the wooden cane he used to walk. Why was my five years of absolute devotion treated like disposable garbage? When the doctor delivered the crushing news about my baby, the last ember of affection I held for him went cold. I signed the annulment papers without asking for a single cent, and vanished from the city forever.

For five years, I was the undisputed Mafia Queen, the only exception to the ruthless Don's lethal boundaries. That was until I was locked out of my husband's encrypted tablet. His new, ambitious associate answered his most guarded phone line. "The new passcode is my birthdate. He lets me play games on it." When I handed Dante the divorce papers, he violently tore them to shreds, coldly reprimanding me for throwing a tantrum over a young girl. My own parents refused to offer sanctuary, demanding I turn a blind eye to his mistress just to maintain our family's syndicate power. Serena even showed up at my estate, flaunting the custom clothes Dante bought her and bragging that they had already slept together. When I told her to get out, Dante protectively pulled her behind him. "You are a hysterical lunatic. Be magnanimous to the young associate." I had foolishly loved a man who could so easily replace me, treating my five years of devotion like dirt. He was so busy defending his mistress that he never knew I was already carrying his long-awaited heir. I stopped crying and calmly booked a one-way international flight. I went to an underground clinic to terminate the pregnancy, leaving the blood-stained receipt and the ultrasound photo as his anniversary gift before vanishing from his world forever.

I was holding a diagnosis that gave me six months to live when I heard my fiancé's voice behind the oak tree. Dominic Falcone, the Don of the New York Syndicate—a man who had buried three rival Bosses before his thirtieth birthday—had my sister pinned against the stone courtyard wall. "I arranged the betrothal to keep you inside my circle," he said, his voice a low, possessive rasp. "Drop the collateral weight, Rosa. Let her go." The collateral weight. That was me. My sister, who had fought off armed soldiers to protect me when we were children, pressed her forehead against his chest. Her shoulders shook. "Surviving this life would be a million times easier," Rosa whispered, "without having to carry her." I stood frozen behind the bark. My fingers tightened around the medical report—Somnus Decay, terminal, six months—until the paper crumpled in my fist. I didn't confront them. I didn't scream or cry or demand an explanation. I closed my eyes, made a silent vow to whatever god watched over this blood-soaked Family, and took the first step toward orchestrating my own quiet disappearance.

Frieda married Dewitt believing he was just a struggling middle-manager, living in a cramped apartment with only seventy-two dollars left to her name. She had no idea her cold husband was actually a ruthless billionaire running a cruel psychological test on her. Convinced she might be a gold digger, Dewitt gave her a meager allowance, keeping the divorce papers ready the moment she showed any greed. While Dewitt secretly judged her every move, Frieda suffered endlessly. At her toxic workplace, she was relentlessly bullied by her arrogant in-laws and mocked for her scuffed shoes. Even after she risked her life to protect his grandmother from an armed mugger and exposed her own hidden tech genius, her coworkers still treated her like trailer-park trash. They cornered her on the street, pointing fingers in her face. "You are a shameless, gold-digging whore! A billionaire would never want you!" She endured the humiliation, having just rejected a priceless no-limit black card from his family out of pure principle. She truly believed she and her husband were fighting through poverty together. She had no idea her "poor" husband was watching her every struggle from the tinted windows of a hidden Maybach across the street. But when her bullies finally pushed too far and raised a hand to strike her, the icy wall around the billionaire's heart completely shattered. Dewitt tore up the divorce papers, his eyes turning pitch black with murderous rage. "If anyone ever raises a hand to her again, break it."