Scars Of Love: The Boss's Misunderstood Ex

These are the last thirty days of my life.

Four years ago, I secretly donated my kidney to save Falco, the mafia soldier I loved deeply.

To ensure he accepted the surgery, I lied and said I betrayed him for money, selling myself to a rival family.

Now, he is the ruthless mob boss of this city, and he has finally found me.

He thinks my terminal illness is just another trick.

"The sight of you makes me sick," he sneered.

I bore his humiliation, quietly bought my own grave, and waited to pass away in peace.

But when the underground doctor uploaded my surgical records to the mafia network, Falco completely broke down.

Chapter 1

My bodily functions might last another thirty days. The doctor expressed his regrets.

The phone in my pocket buzzed.

I stared at the familiar number on the screen. For four years, it had been etched into my mind, lingering like a brand.

Falco.

Today, that name made the whole city tremble.

He was no longer the poor kid who fought for me on the streets and stuffed his last piece of bread into my hands when he was starving. He had crushed the bones of rival families and turned their names into whispers in the alleys.

The Mafia Godfather, Falco.

I answered the phone, my throat feeling like it had been scraped by sandpaper.

His voice came through the receiver, cold as winter train tracks. "Any regrets? Selling me to a rival family for a few filthy bucks—was it worth it?"

I gave a dry laugh, my throat tightening. "Lend me fifty grand."

There was a two-second silence on the other end, followed by a sneer.

It wasn't a laugh; it was something sharper. Then, the dial tone.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed. Bank notification: Four dollars received.

Accompanied by a message: One dollar a year. Four years. The debt is paid.

I stared at the screen, a heavy weight pressing on my chest. I hit refund.

A red banner popped up: Account frozen.

His hackers had locked my account.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and pulled up a paper mask to cover half my face. I needed to leave this clinic; the air here was suffocating.

Turning the corner, I walked toward the private elevator.

I froze.

Falco was standing there. It wasn't a hallucination.

Wearing a charcoal-gray suit, his imposing figure blocked the hallway.

Standing next to him was Gia—the daughter of the mafia's underboss, and perhaps soon to be his bride.

I lowered my head, staring at the polished floor, trying to make myself smaller, hoping to slip away along the edges.

A hand shot out from a gray sleeve, grabbing my upper arm. His fingers tightened like an iron vice.

He yanked me hard, and my shoulder joint let out a sharp crack.

Falco looked down at me.

Finally, he spoke, his voice deep and raspy. "Stalking me? Back to spy for the rivals?"

I looked