After My Divorce, I Became the Mafia Don’s Wife

On the day I signed the divorce papers, I was ordered to leave with nothing.

When I walked out of the Crane estate, I had twenty-six dollars in my wallet and nowhere safe to go. My phone was nearly dead when a message from an old classmate appeared on the screen, linking to a discreet placement notice.

【Seeking a live-in maternal figure for three children. Room, board, salary, and protection provided.】

I stopped at the word protection.

A roof, a meal, and a place the Cranes could not reach me were already more than I had that night.

The address led me to the iron gates of an old mansion on Chicago’s Gold Coast. Only after the butler opened the door did I learn who had placed the notice.

Dante Bellandi.

The Don of Chicago’s oldest Italian crime family.

I had only wanted a place to stay. Somehow, I became the legal mother of the three Bellandi children and the contract wife of Dante Bellandi himself.

Later, my ex-husband, Sebastian Crane, stood before me with the same careless arrogance and asked, “Do you realize you were wrong now?”

Before I could answer, the triplets stepped in front of me.

Little Livia clung to my leg, her eyes red. “My mom wasn’t wrong!”

Her two brothers stood on either side of her, staring Sebastian down.

Dante placed one hand at my waist, his voice calm enough to make the air turn cold.

“Mr. Crane, my wife owes no explanation to a man who lost the right to speak to her.”

I never imagined a luxury childcare ad would lead me to the most dangerous family in Chicago.

The Bellandi estate sat behind black iron gates on the Gold Coast, its family crest worked in black and gold above the entrance. A row of black cars waited inside the drive. The butler who came to meet me introduced himself as Enzo. His gaze moved over my rain-soaked coat, then to the worn handbag in my hand.

“Miss Ward, this house does not hire women to decorate a room or charm the Don. If you enter, the children’s needs come first, the household rules second, and your curiosity last.”

He pushed the gate open.

“Do not ask about locked doors. Do not repeat names you hear. Do not promise the children anything you cannot keep.”

I tightened my grip on my bag and nodded.

Eight hours earlier, I had signed my divorce papers. Sebastian Crane’s lawyer told me the prenuptial agreement left me with no claim to the Crane family’s assets and no right to remain in the house. Sebastian did not even come. He sent his assistant with one message.

“If she wants to leave, let her leave clean.”

I signed my name and walked out of the house I had lived in for three years with twenty-six dollars in my wallet. By then, I had lost any interest in husbands. I needed a bed, a hot meal, and a place where