I Crashed His Empire With a Marriage Certificate

I grew up fatherless, clawing my way through the Chicago underbelly with my mom.

She always said he loved us. That he just had to go far, far away.

Until she got terminally ill.

I dropped out of design school and rushed back, ready to drain our life savings to treat her.

But she put a pair of scissors to her own throat. She told me not to touch the cash. It was the only thing she had to leave me.

I pretended to agree. But the second I turned around, I took our fifty grand and ran to Mr. Sal, the neighborhood's back-alley doctor. I begged him to save her.

"Fifty grand? This buys her three months. Tops."

He lit a cigarette. Through the smoke, his eyes bored into me. Like he was looking at a ghost.

"Your mother... she was once the brightest jewel in Chicago. Gave it all up for a man. That man took her money and became the city's real estate king. He's Mob-connected. Maybe you should go ask him for help."

I took that poison home with me. And I didn't breathe a word.

When she found out I spent the money, she held me and cried. "My foolish girl, why are you so stubborn? I'm dying anyway. What about your school? How will you pay for it?"

But while I took care of her, I tore through all her old things, looking for proof of that bastard's betrayal.

On the night of his empire's 20th-anniversary gala, I crashed his party. I brought two things: a blood-stained marriage certificate, and a lawyer.

"I'm looking for Nico Russo. He can either honor a twenty-year-old marriage... or he can sign these divorce papers."

Twenty years. That's how long I waited to meet the father who abandoned me. And they wouldn't even let me through the goddamn door.

"Miss, you can't come in without an invitation."

The butler sized me up like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe. "This is the Russo Group's 20th-anniversary gala. It's strictly invite-only."

I glanced around the glamorous mansion.

Crystal chandeliers. Champagne towers. Guests in evening gowns clinking glasses.

How ironic.

And my mother's blood money paid for every last cent of it.

"I don't need an invitation." I held up the blood-stained papers. "I'm here to see my mother's husband."

The room went dead silent.

Hundreds of eyes locked onto me. People whispered. Some covered their mouths, sneering.

"Your mother's husband?" A woman dripping in diamonds shrieked with laughter. "Look at this stray cat! Is that a jacket from Goodwill?"

"Where's security? Throw this crazy bitch out!"

"Jesus, any stray dog thinks they can just walk in now."

I ignored the insults. My eyes locked on the man at the head table. Nico Russo.

Twenty years.

He went from a broke nobody to the king of Chicago real estate. Perfect suit, an aura of power. And at his side, his perfect wife and son.

The perfect family. The perfect