I Married His Enemy and Watched Him Burn

Two pink lines on a pregnancy test. I was going to surprise my husband, Vince, the Moretti family heir.

Instead, the surprise was on me.

A pair of black lace panties—not mine—left in his car. The air reeked of cheap perfume and betrayal.

I stormed his casino, demanding answers.

But I found her in his private suite. Sophia.

She smirked, looking me up and down. “You must be the wife. I’ve seen your picture on the nightstand. Vince says you’re a boring little nun. Says he can’t even get hard looking at you.”

I snapped. My hand shaking, I hurled a glass of red wine in her face.

She shrieked, stumbled back, and crashed into a glass cabinet. Blood bloomed across the carpet.

Vince burst in and slapped me so hard I hit the floor.

"Are you insane?! She's carrying my heir!"

My heart shattered. As I fell, a darker pool of blood spread beneath me. Our baby. I was miscarrying.

And when forced to choose between his wife and his whore, Vince chose her.

He forgot who put him on his throne.

I’m not some trophy wife he can discard. I am a DeLuca. A princess of the underworld.

So for revenge, I married his worst enemy, Dante Costello.

And when we burned his empire to the ground, Vince finally broke.

He got on his knees and begged me to come back.

I made my husband the heir. Five years later, he repaid me by getting another woman pregnant. Then he killed our child to save hers.

But he didn’t know who the hell he married. I’m a DeLuca princess, not some trophy wife he can throw away.

It started with the scent on his suit jacket. A strange perfume.

Not my Chanel.

My fingers brushed the cuff of his shirt. A faint lipstick stain. The color of blood.

I don’t wear red lipstick. Vince always said it was for whores, not his wife.

But now, he’d clearly been kissing a woman who did.

My gut twisted. A woman always knows.

I dropped the jacket and ran to the garage. I knew Vince's Maserati was there.

He’d claimed he was out on business. He always took a driver when he was ‘working,’ leaving his Maserati behind.

I pulled open the driver's side door.

On the passenger seat lay a pair of black lace panties.

A thong.

My vision blurred. Not my size. Not my style. I would never wear… this.

"Damn it..."

My hand shook as I reached for them. The satin felt slick between my fingers. Still warm.

Vince Moretti and I had been together for five years.

When I wanted to marry him, my parents looked down on his family. They weren't powerful enough. And Vince himself didn't have what it took to be a Don.

But I was a fool for his handsome face and sweet lies.

I traded New York for Chicago, a DeLuca princess for a Moretti wife.

My mind for the arms trade