My Ex-Husband's Regret, My Freedom

I'd lived as a mafia queen, ruling with quiet strength, only to discover my entire life was a lie. My husband, Dante, secretly divorced me three years ago, then married our timid nanny. I wasn't just betrayed; I was a dead ex-wife walking, a ghost in my own home.

A mafia daughter, I expected routine at Rossi’s law firm. But Rossi, pale and sweating, handed me an envelope: Dante's divorce judgment, signed three years ago, and his marriage certificate to Gia, our nanny.

Truth slammed me: Gia poisoned me for years, causing infertility, making her bastard son the sole heir. Hidden, I watched her force Dante, the Underboss, to kneel, drink hallucinogenic tea, and profess devotion. She smirked.

This was calculated murder: my existence, my legacy. Rage burned, but clarity struck: disappear, or vanish into the Long Island Sound.

From a hidden phone, I called Luca, the underworld’s elite cleaner. "I need a top-tier scrub. Target is myself," I commanded. "Get me out of this hell. I'd rather die than be his taxidermy specimen."

Chapter 1

Aria Vitiello POV:

I sat perfectly still on the genuine leather sofa in the VIP room of Rossi's Manhattan law firm, taking a slow sip of my black coffee. I kept my eyes on the New York skyline stretching out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. My posture was flawless, my spine straight, my breathing even. It was a physical discipline drilled into me since childhood as the eldest daughter of a mafia family. You never showed weakness, especially not in a room designed to intimidate.

The heavy oak door of the office groaned open. Rossi, the family’s exclusive attorney for thirty years, walked in. He was wiping cold sweat from his forehead with a crumpled handkerchief. I had known Rossi my entire life. He was a shark in a tailored suit, a man who had stared down federal prosecutors without blinking. Seeing him this rattled was wrong. It meant whatever he was bringing me was catastrophic.

Rossi couldn't even look me in the eye. He walked over to the marble table and slid a thick manila envelope across the polished surface. His breathing was shallow and erratic.

"Thank you, Rossi," I said, my voice calm and smooth. I reached out and began to untie the string closure of the envelope.

Suddenly, Rossi’s hand slammed down on top of the envelope. His fingers were trembling uncontrollably.

I stopped. I looked at his shaking hand, then up at his pale face. I frowned slightly. "Rossi, are you feeling unwell?"

He snatched his hand back as if the paper had burned him. "I... I apologize, Mrs. Vitiello," he stammered, his voice cracking. "Mr. Dante instructed that you must review these documents personally. Today."

I pulled the flap open and slid the papers out. The first document was standard. A departure permit for Paris. Dante and I were supposed to go on a trip next month. I reached for the gold pen on the table, flipping to the last