My Sister’s Mafia Husband Begged When I Finally Left

After my sister's death, I signed a five-year contract marriage with her mafia husband, Horton Falcone.

I became the stepmother to my five-year-old nephew, Luca.

On my birthday, I wore my late sister's diamond cross necklace, not realizing what it was.

At the family dinner, Luca walked up to me with a glass of red wine and threw the wine in my face.

The red wine dripped down my cheeks, its sharp scent stinging my eyes and staining my white dress.

He tilted his head back to look up at me, his eyes as cold and cruel as his father's.

"Don't think you can replace my mom just because you married into the Falcone family," he said with a malicious grin. "You're the reason she's dead."

"I wish you were the one who died. Then I could smash your gravestone instead of celebrating this stupid birthday."

"I swear, when I grow up, the first thing I'll do is dump you in the Hudson River myself!"

The memory stung as sharply as the wine, and all I could taste was despair.

I stared at the child I had spent five years raising as my own, a sharp pain pulsing in my chest.

I had thought I could devote myself to the Falcone family, that I could win him over with my love.

But now, I was just so tired of it all.

It was a family with no love, a child who saw me as his mortal enemy.

I stopped deluding myself. It was time to let go.

But after I left, that arrogant father and son came crawling back to me like whipped dogs, begging for my forgiveness.

After my sister died, I signed a five-year contract marriage with her mafia husband, paying my family's blood debt in her place.

I poured five years of my life into the Falcone family, and all I got was a husband who only wanted me for his bed and a child who saw me as his enemy. It was time to let go.

"Christine, are you certain you want to leave the family?"

Don Corrado asked me in his private study, his commanding voice echoing off the walnut-paneled walls.

"There's still a week left on the contract."

I stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the blood-red rose garden in the estate, my voice quiet and flat. "Five years was long enough, Don. I've fulfilled my obligations."

"I owe the Falcones nothing."

This marriage was my penance.

My father's fatal mistake had created a debt of blood between our families, a debt that would be paid in full by these five years of marriage.

For five years, I had been the perfect underboss's wife and a capable mother, dedicating my life to Horton and his son with nothing to show for it.

But at least the contract was almost over. I was finally going to be free.

Before the Don could speak, a sharp crack echoed from the garden, followed by the