His Unwanted Wife Is Another Man's Treasure

The exact moment Marcus Thorne, the most violent Capo on the East Coast, chose to leave our anniversary dinner to answer his mistress's call, I didn't cry.

"Business," he rumbled, ignoring the untouched meal I had cooked.

"Don't cause a scene, Ellie," he commanded before walking out the door.

I later found out his "business" was a polo match with Izzy. She posted a photo of them laughing, her hand on his chest, wearing the shirt I bought him.

When I tried to leave, he humiliated me publicly. He kissed her on stage at a gala, just to prove he could. He told his men I was merely acting out.

"Ellie is the furniture," he laughed. "You don't throw away antique furniture just because you bought a new TV."

But the final blow came when a bomb detonated at a family gathering.

Marcus didn't look for me. He dove to cover Izzy with his body.

He actually stepped over my bleeding leg to carry her to safety, leaving me in the dust and debris.

He thought I was trapped. He thought I was dependent on his money and his name. He thought I would be waiting at home when he was done playing hero.

He was wrong.

I signed the divorce papers, destroyed my wedding ring, and boarded a one-way flight to Italy.

Three months later, when he finally tracked me down in Tuscany, he fell to his knees in the street, begging me to come back.

But I just held the hand of the man standing next to me—a man who treated me like a partner, not a prop.

"You are trespassing," I said coldly.

"Go home, Marcus."

Chapter 1

Ellie Vance POV

The exact moment Marcus Thorne, the most violent Capo on the East Coast, chose to leave our anniversary dinner to answer his mistress's call, I didn't cry.

Instead, a cold clarity washed over me. I realized my life wasn't a fairytale; it was a hit job, and I was the target.

I sat at the head of the mahogany table, surrounded by the predators of the New York underworld. The crystal chandelier overhead likely cost more than an average annual salary, yet it failed to outshine the cold, heavy stone weighing down my left hand.

A diamond that felt less like a promise and more like a shackle.

Marcus stood up. The scrape of his chair against the floor echoed like a gunshot in the suffocating silence of the room.

"Business," he said. His voice was a low rumble, the kind that usually made my stomach flip with desire. Tonight, it just made me feel sick.

He didn't look at me. His eyes were fixed on his phone.

Three years ago, this man had looked me in the eyes in the secret garden of the Thorne estate. His hands, stained with the blood of his enemies, had cupped my face with a gentleness that terrified me.

"I will burn the world before I let anything hurt