The Don’s Secret Wife

I’m the princess of the Hillrose Family. He’s Blair Falcone, Don of the Falcone Family. A perfect match. We were New York's power couple, the envy of everyone in the underworld.

Until three days before our wedding.

One minute, we were lost in each other, his body moving inside me, his lips trailing fire across my skin.

The next, he calmly announces, "Flora, there's something I have to tell you."

"Legally, I already have a wife. The old man married me off to her six years ago. She's the daughter of a man who took a bullet for him."

"If you can live with it," he continued, "our marriage is still on. As planned."

I stared at him in disbelief. "What about me? What were our six years?"

He took a slow drag from his cigar. "I know what this is. So, what's it gonna be?"

My hand instinctively went to my stomach.

He didn't know. I was going to tell him my happy secret tonight: I was pregnant.

But now, I wasn't going to tell him a damn thing.

Three days before the wedding, the man I’d been with for six years told me he was already married.

And I, his partner in building an empire, was to be his Donna in name only. In reality, his mistress.

Sweat slicked the hard muscles of Blair’s back, soaking into the expensive silk sheets.

He pinned me beneath him, his rough thumb tracing my collarbone, sending a shiver through me.

He wouldn't let me turn away, his mouth crashing down on mine, staking his claim.

"Flora," he growled, his voice a sexy, dangerous rumble.

And God, I loved it when he was this possessive.

I was the daughter of the former Don of the Hillrose Family. After my father’s unexpected death, I went to Blair’s side to hold our families' alliance together.

For six years, I was his right hand, his top strategist.

Together, we took five boroughs. We were the most lethal power couple in New York's underworld. Partners in every sense of the word. Soulmates.

Next month, we were supposed to have the wedding of the century at St. Patrick's Cathedral.

I was so full of hope for our future.

After we finished, Blair pulled away.

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and lit a cigar, the ritual smooth and familiar. The cherry glowed like a single red eye in the dark.

"Flora, I need to tell you something," he said, his voice calm as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

I pulled the sheet around me, leaning against the headboard with a contented smile. "What is it?"

Blair took a deep breath and turned to face me, a look in his eyes I’d never seen before. "Legally, I've been married for six years."

The air in the room froze.

"What did you say?" I stared at him, sure it was some kind of sick joke.

"The old man set it up before he died. Her father took a