Mafia Marriage From Betrayal to Obsession

On the third anniversary of our engagement, my fiancé—Dominic Corleone, heir to one of the most powerful Mafia dynasties in New York—told me he was not ready to form a new family so that our wedding would have to postpone.

I told myself to wait for some time, the bond between the Corleones and the Valentinos—our families’ sacred alliance—would hold us together.

But what followed were his endless betrayals and tortures.

I walked into a bridal boutique and saw him laughing with Liliane, the childhood friend who always lingered too close.

I watched him destroy the wedding gown I had spent months designing—then crush my hand beneath his heel until it bled.

And when I thought I had hit rock bottom, he proved I was wrong—by getting behind the wheel and running me down.

He thought I’d beg and cling to him, terrified of losing the Corleone name and privilege that came with it.

But instead, I made one phone call and insisted firmly on canceling the engagement.

However, that call didn’t just end a marriage arrangement.

It unearthed a secret that had been buried for over a decade…and turned a marriage born of duty into a story of dark devotion.

The moment I pushed open the door of the bridal boutique, the sight before me froze the blood in my veins.

My fiancé—Dominic Corleone—had his arm draped lazily around Liliane Russell, the childhood friend who’d never learned where her place was.

They were laughing, his hand resting possessively on her waist as if he was her man.

When Dominic finally lifted his gaze and saw me standing there, he didn’t even flinch. The corner of his mouth curled in a smirk, but he didn’t bother to move his arm away.

He just tilted his chin toward me—like I was the one intruding.

Liliane shrank back behind him, pretending to look guilty, though the smug gleam in her eyes betrayed her.

I took a slow, steady breath and walked closer.

“Dominic, you told me this morning you had an urgent meeting at the company and couldn’t come with me to try on wedding dresses. What are you doing here?”

His tone was indifferent. “Liliane asked me to help her choose a gown for her engagement party. So I came.”

The disgust in my expression must’ve shown, because he stopped pretending. He exhaled a cloud of smoke from the cigar between his fingers—straight into my face.

“Eva Valentino,” he said, his voice sharp as glass, “don’t start taking things out on Liliane.”

He chuckled then, that cruel, mocking sound I’d once mistaken for charm.

“What’s your problem, huh? So desperate to get married you have to stalk me everywhere I go?”

“I told you I’ll marry you. I meant it. But Liliane’s been sick all her life—barely made it through college. Her dream was to have a campus wedding. You really have to fight with this?”

Once upon a time, when he talked about our arranged marriage, there had been smile