Regret Is Useless: The Mafia Queen Rises

I was a Mafia Princess, and he was the gutter rat I tried to make a King.

On our wedding day, with five hundred guests watching, Luca Moretti didn't say his vows.

Instead, after receiving a photo of a secret child, he looked at me with panic and backed away from the altar.

"I can't do this," he announced to the silent church. "She's here. She'll ruin the kid."

He chose a waitress and their illegitimate daughter over me.

He walked out, leaving me humiliated in a dress that cost more than most people's lives.

Forty-eight hours later, he married her.

He gave the waitress my ring, my future, and his name, all to protect a child he had hidden from me.

When I confronted him weeks later, he looked at me with cold eyes and told me he did it for honor.

He destroyed me to save them, convinced I would fade away into the background.

He thought he could break a Vitiello and not pay the price.

Five years later, I returned to Chicago.

The gala went silent as I walked in, wearing blood-red silk.

Luca approached me, eyes full of regret, begging for a second chance, claiming his marriage to the waitress was a mistake.

He thought he could win me back.

Until a little girl ran into the room—my daughter.

And behind her walked my husband.

Not a soldier, but the Reaper himself, Dante Cavallaro.

Luca’s face turned pale as he realized the truth.

He had left me at the altar to play father, but I had married the Devil to become a Queen.

Chapter 1

Gianna Vitiello POV:

I placed the gun on the mahogany table between us. The metal clattered against the wood-a sound like a judge's gavel sealing a death sentence.

"Her or the Outfit, Luca. Choose carefully.Because if you walk out that door to her, you leave as a corpse."

That was three years ago.

I was twenty-one, a Mafia Princess with a spine made of steel and a heart that beat only for the boy who had clawed his way up from the gutter. Luca Moretti.

The bastard son who wanted to be a King.

He had looked at the gun, then at me, and I saw the fear in his eyes. Not fear of death, but the terrifying fear of remaining nothing.

He chose me.

He paid the girl, Elena-a low-level waitress at my father's club-to disappear. He chose the crown over the comfort.

Or so I thought.

Today was supposed to be the coronation.

The air in the cathedral was thick, cloying with the suffocating scent of white lilies and expensive perfume. Five hundred guests. The entire Chicago Outfit.

My father, the Capo, sat in the front row, his face a mask of pride. I stood at the altar, the delicate lace of my veil scratching against my skin, waiting for Luca to say the words that would bind his ambition to my bloodline.

He looked handsome. Devastatingly so.