The Scapegoat Fiancée: I Am No Substitute

Seven years. That was the price I paid for my sister’s crime.

My fiancé, Dante, the most ruthless Don in New York, called my prison sentence "mercy." He promised we would go back to how things were once the debt was paid.

But when I walked out of those gates, I didn't find a husband waiting for me. I found him peeling grapes for my sister, Chiara.

They sat at the family table, telling me I was unstable. They demanded I break our engagement so Dante could marry her instead.

They claimed she was fragile, dying of leukemia, while I was "strong enough" to handle the rejection.

They didn't know the truth.

They didn't know that while I was in solitary, I was dragged to a clinic to donate my bone marrow—without anesthesia—to save her life.

I gave my freedom and my bones for this family. Yet, when I told Dante the truth, he looked me in the eye and called me a liar. He chose the sister who framed me over the woman who sacrificed everything for him.

So, I didn't scream. I didn't fight. I simply disappeared.

Two years later, when Dante finally found me in a gallery in Paris, begging on his knees with his wrist slashed in desperation, I didn't feel love.

I looked at the man who destroyed me and said, "Security, please escort this gentleman out."

Chapter 1

Alessia POV

The heavy steel gates of Danbury Federal slammed shut behind me. They didn't mark my freedom so much as signal the end of a seven-year transaction.

My life had been the currency. My fiancé, the most ruthless Don in New York, was the buyer.

I stood on the cracked pavement, clutching a clear plastic bag containing the clothes I'd worn at eighteen. They were tight now-not because I had gained weight, but because I had grown into a woman inside a cage designed to break animals.

A black armored SUV idled ten feet away. The engine purred with a low, threatening rumble that vibrated in my chest.

The window rolled down.

Dante Moretti sat in the back. The Capo dei Capi. The Boss of Bosses.

He didn't look like the boy who used to sneak into my room to steal kisses. He looked like a king who had forgotten the shape of a smile. His jaw was a sharp line of tension, his eyes hidden behind dark aviators, though I could feel the weight of his gaze pressing against my skin.

The driver, a man I didn't recognize, opened the door for me.

I climbed in. The air conditioning hit me like a physical slap, heavy with the scent of expensive leather and Dante's cologne-sandalwood and gunpowder.

"You look thin, Alessia," Dante said. His voice was deep, a baritone that used to make my toes curl. Now, it just sounded like a judge passing a death sentence.

I stared straight ahead at the partition. "Seven years of prison food will do that."

"It was