The Jilted Mafia Heiress Takes It All

I stood at the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral, the daughter of New York’s most feared Don, ready to lower myself to marry a common soldier.

Then, a toddler in the front pew shrieked, "Daddy."

Liam didn't squeeze my hand for reassurance. He dropped it like it was a branding iron. In front of five hundred of the criminal elite, he ran down the aisle, scooping up his secret child and the mistress who had been blackmailing him.

He left me standing there, humiliated and alone.

Three months later, the "Jilted Princess" title still clung to me. Yet, Liam had the audacity to bring her to my father's birthday gala.

Sarah, wearing a dress far too tight and a smug smile, cornered me in the middle of the ballroom. She wanted to twist the knife.

"He hates you, you know," she screamed, loud enough for the Dons and Capos to hear. "He says sleeping with you was like sleeping with a statue. He chose real love! He chose a family!"

The room went deathly silent. Liam looked at me with pity, thinking he had won. He thought I was broken. He thought I was alone.

I took a slow sip of my champagne and set the glass down.

"I am not alone, Sarah," I said calmly.

I turned toward the shadows near the entrance.

"Ethan?" I called out.

The crowd parted instantly for the scarred, lethal man who stepped forward—The Ghost of Chicago, the most feared Underboss in Europe.

He walked over and wrapped a heavy, possessive arm around my waist.

"I’d like you to meet my husband," I told a horrified Liam. "And our daughter is waiting upstairs."

Chapter 1

Ava Vitiello POV

I was standing at the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral, the heavy silk of my custom gown weighing down my shoulders, when a toddler in the front pew shrieked "Daddy" and pointed a chubby finger directly at my groom, shattering the silence and my future in a single breath.

The air in the cathedral turned instantly suffocating.

Five hundred guests, the elite of New York's criminal underworld, froze in their seats.

I felt Liam's hand twitch in mine. It was a spasm of pure terror.

He didn't squeeze my hand for reassurance. He didn't look at me with confusion.

He dropped my hand.

He dropped it as if my skin had suddenly turned to branding iron, and he turned his head toward the pews.

I watched him. I watched the man I had lowered myself to love, the man I had begged my father to accept despite his insignificance, make his choice.

A woman stood up from the shadows of the pillars.

Sarah.

I knew that face. I had seen it on the glowing encrypted screen of Liam's burner phone three nights ago. I had seen the texts where he promised her money, promised her safety, promised her he was only marrying me for the position.

I had confronted him then. He had fallen to his