Provoking The Godfather's Hidden Wife

My ex-boyfriend told me to divorce my "nobody" husband to become his secret mistress, completely unaware that my husband is the Supreme Mafia Godfather.

"Divorce that loser, Valeria. I'm a Capo now. I can give you the world," Gideon smirked, tossing a cheap gala pass at my feet.

I looked at the coward who abandoned me in a shootout three years ago and actually laughed. Give up my throne as the Donna of North America’s most powerful syndicate to be a street thug's dirty secret?

At the Blood Oath Gala, I'll show him that I am no longer the woman I was three years ago.

——

I was leaning back against the plush velvet sofa, watching my two-year-old daughter, Elena, chase our Ragdoll cat across the rug.

Just then, the sudden, frantic buzzing of my phone on the coffee table shattered the peace.

I glanced at the screen. It was an unsaved number, but the barrage of incoming texts left me staring at the screen in pure disbelief.

"Valeria, I’m back in New York. It’s been three years. I know you’re still waiting for me."

"I’m a Capo in the Russo family now. I’ve taken over the entire West Side territory. You don’t have to live that miserable, hiding-in-the-shadows life anymore."

"For old times' sake, and considering how obsessed you were with me, I’ll let you be my mistress—on one condition. You divorce whatever random loser you ended up marrying."

"This is the only chance you’ll ever get to move up in the world. Meet me at the Nightingale Café on the West Side at 3 PM. Don’t keep me waiting."

Staring at the relentless stream of messages, I actually let out a dry laugh.

Gideon.

The cowardly bastard who had mercilessly abandoned me in the middle of a street shootout three years ago just to save his own skin and climb the ranks, had somehow resurrected.

I glanced toward the kitchen. My husband, Cassian Falco, was currently wearing a pink apron, expertly flipping toast in a pan.

Let me get this straight. I’m supposed to give up my position as the Donna of North America’s most powerful Mafia syndicate, just to be the dirty little secret of a mid-level street thug?

Was he drinking espresso every morning, or chugging straight industrial motor oil?

Not even bothering to reply, I blocked the number and accepted the glass of warm milk Cassian just handed me.

"What's wrong?" Cassian murmured, leaning in to nuzzle his straight nose into the crook of my neck.

"Who upset you this early in the morning? Need me to have someone fit them for cement shoes and toss them into the Hudson?"

"It's nothing." I ran my fingers through Cassian's dark hair.

"I have to swing by the gallery this afternoon. You stay home and keep Elena company."

At 2:00 PM, I was sitting in my own private art gallery right in the heart of Manhattan, flipping through the new season's auction catalog.

The wind chimes above the door suddenly let out a harsh jingle. Immediately after, several hulking men in black suits—deliberately flashing the gun holsters at their waists—pushed their way in and flanked the entrance.

A moment later, a man strutted in, wearing a flashy, dark red suit and sporting at least half a pound of hair gel.

It was Gideon.

He looked around my gallery—which was minimalist in design but screamed understated wealth from every corner—and his lips curled into a condescending smirk.

"Valeria. So this is where you work now? Playing shopgirl in some run-down, pretentious little store?" he sneered. "Didn't I tell you to wait for me at the Nightingale?"

"What, still trying to play hard to get with me?"

I remained seated in my swivel chair, not even bothering to look up.

"Our gallery doesn't admit trash today. See yourself out."

Gideon clearly hadn't expected this attitude. He strode over and slammed both hands onto my desk.

"Valeria, I know the last three years have been rough on you. You married some average nobody and even popped out a kid."

"But look at me now. I am a Capo of the Russo family! I have over a hundred men under my command. I can decide who lives and dies on this street with a single word!"

He paused, his eyes gleaming with a sickeningly narcissistic fervor.

"All you have to do is nod. Get rid of that bastard kid, divorce that loser, and I’ll buy you designer bags. I’ll set you up in a high-end luxury apartment on the West Side."

"I'm about to marry Bianca, the daughter of the Russo family's Underboss, so I can't give you a title. But as my woman, you’ll still be able to walk these streets untouchable."

I was utterly astounded by the sheer audacity and delusions of his little speech.

How could someone this shamelessly idiotic actually exist?

"Are you done?" I stood up, casually rolling my wrists.

"What, too moved to speak? I knew you still had feelings for—"

Calculating the perfect angle, I pulled my arm back and delivered a vicious, echoing slap straight across Gideon’s face.

The force of it sent him stumbling backwards. Half of his face swelled and turned a violent shade of red instantly. Clutching his cheek, he stared at me, his eyes practically bugging out of his head in disbelief: "You... you dared to hit me?!"

"Throw them out!"