Mafia Princess Reclaimed Her Throne at Her Wedding

My boyfriend of five—Evan Callister, suddenly proposed to me.

Everyone flooded me with congratulations.

I felt happy too, quickly started planning our wedding.

Then I overheard him talking with his gang friends.

Apparently, I wasn’t his only option. Just one of five women he’d been seriously considering for marriage. A lineup that included his childhood sweetheart, a few of his long-time bed warmers, and some well-connected heiresses whose families could do wonders for his.

“I didn’t imagine that you actually gonna marry Liora at the end, I thought Viola’s still the one you love.”

And then Evan, “Liora’s father died. If I marry her, I could have all of her money and the casino. She cannot do a thing about it. She only has me as her family now.”

“And what if Viola hears about your wedding and freaks?” his friend teased.

Evan chuckled. “I told her that I will make Liora conveniently die after the wedding. Then her and I can get marry instead.”

My heart iced over. But I didn’t cry or confront or even blink.

Instead, I made the call to the man my father had always wanted me to marry — the one of noble status, the one everyone admired, the one I’d avoided. And just said one thing, “My wedding is three days from now. Come and elope with me.”

Liora’s POV

When I came to fetch my fiancé—soon-to-be husband, Evan—for a simple lunch, I didn’t expect to hear my world shatter.

From around the corner, I caught his voice, laughing with his friends. Laughing about me. About us. Mocking our relationship like it was some inside joke. And then he said it—how he’d never loved me. How he’d only seen me as a name on his list of potential wives.

I froze.

What scared me most wasn’t just Evan’s betrayal—it was how twisted he truly was. How he could be two completely different men. With me, he was soft. Gentle. The kind of man who brushed my hair behind my ear and kissed my knuckles like I was precious.

But with his friends? He was smug. Cruel. Like I was just another name on his list.

What kind of man thinks a woman like me could just be picked? Like I was one of many, and he was doing me a favor?

When I met Evan, he was a newcomer to New York’s mafia circle. Fresh blood. His father had just brought him in, and their family was still scraping by, dealing in low-level arms and dirty drugs.

But he had that smile. That posture—confident, but not cocky. Steady in a way that drew my attention.

In my world, the weak bow to the strong. Evan didn’t bow. He didn’t grovel.

And when he was with me, he didn’t treat me like I was fragile or something to conquer.

I used to think that was strength. Now I see it was arrogance.

Only a man drunk on his own ego would believe he could