The Don's Forgotten Bride

Nora's POV

Three years ago, I married Rex Cavano—New York's most dangerous mafia boss—because of this face. Not for love. Because I looked like Isabella, his stepsister. The woman the family ripped away from him and shipped off to Rome.

I thought time would make him forget her. Until three months ago when she came home a widow, and I finally got it: a knock-off is always just a knock-off. When the real deal walks back in, the fake gets tossed.

Divorce papers in hand, I headed for the pool.

The sun was brutal. Rex knelt beside a lounge chair, those long fingers of his working sunscreen into Isabella's bare shoulders.

She wore a red bikini, stretching like a cat that got the cream.

"Rex, easy," Isabella purred. "That hurts."

"Let me be gentler." Rex slowed down, fingertips gliding over her skin with a tenderness I'd never fucking seen.

The papers felt like they were burning a hole in my hand. Cover page read "Cavano Family Medical Insurance Renewal"—I handled these every year. Rex never bothered reading them, just signed on the dotted line.

Except this time, I'd tucked the divorce papers inside.

"Rex," I called out. "Need your signature."

Rex didn't look up. "On what?"

"Family medical insurance. Annual renewal." I moved closer, holding out the folder.

Rex wiped his hands and took it. Flipped to the first page. His brow creased.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

His fingers hovered over the signature line—

"Let me check the terms—"

"Oh for God's SAKE, Rex," Isabella sat up, laughing as she cut him off. "Since when are you so paranoid? It's just insurance. Nora does this every single year."

She snatched the sunscreen bottle, draping her legs across his lap. "Or wait—don't you trust your wife's professional judgment? She IS a surgeon."

Rex glanced at Isabella, then back down and scrawled his signature.

In that moment, I couldn't tell if I felt relieved or gutted.

"That all?" Rex handed the folder back.

"Yeah." I took it, turning to go.

"Hold on, Nora," Isabella called after me. "Since you're right here, mind making me a juice? The other girls never get it quite right."

I gripped the folder tighter. Didn't say a word.

"If you're swamped, don't worry about it," Isabella sighed. "It's just—I haven't been back long, and it's one of the only things I'm craving..."

"Make her one." Rex's tone was flat. Eyes still down.

Ever since Isabella came home after her husband got whacked, this was my life now. She was Rex's stepmother's daughter—no blood between them, but they grew up together. They should've been together, until the family tore them apart. Old Don married Isabella off to Marco Ricci, some Rome mafia boss, for territorial leverage.

Three months ago, Marco took a bullet. Isabella came home.

And I finally understood where I stood.

"Sure," I turned toward the bar. "What do you want?"

"Orange and celery. You know how I like it," Isabella settled back. "Lots of ice."

While the blender roared, I watched through the glass as Isabella leaned into Rex's ear, whispering something that made him smile. They looked so RIGHT together it physically hurt.

A lump formed in my throat. I forced my eyes away.

When I brought the juice over, Isabella took the glass with a smile. "Thanks, babe. You're such a doll. Isn't she, Rex?"

Rex grabbed a towel, drying his hands. Said nothing.

I turned to leave.

"But seriously, Rex," Isabella's lazy laughter floated after me. "Nora's SO good at everything. Sometimes though? I swear she's more like your assistant than your wife. You ever think about that?"

My feet stopped. Something twisted in my chest.

Rex muttered something back, but I didn't stick around to hear it. I picked up my pace back to the bedroom.

Leaning against the closed door, I let out a breath. Stuffed the folder deep into my bag.

One month. That's all the agreement needed to take effect.

Then I'd be free.

Nausea hit suddenly. I bolted to the bathroom to dry heave—couldn't tell if it was the juice smell or Isabella's "more like your assistant" still ringing in my ears.

I stripped and stepped under the shower spray. Hot water pounded my skin. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Three years ago, I first laid eyes on Rex Cavano.

Back then I was just an orphan the Cavano family bankrolled through med school, working at their private hospital. Rex walked into the ward while I was changing old Don's bandages. He stopped in the doorway and stared at my face for what felt like forever, expression unreadable.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Nora Hart."

One week later, Rex proposed.

I thought it was love at first sight. Thought this ruthless bastard had finally seen something special in ME. So I said yes—partly out of gratitude, partly because I'd fallen for him.

That first year of marriage was better than I'd dared hope.

Late nights, he'd show up with crème brûlée, saying he didn't want me going to bed hungry. At family dinners when someone crossed a line, he'd pull me against him and growl, "Watch yourself." Back then I fell HARD. Thought he genuinely loved me.

Until one day I caught a maid prepping crème brûlée with raspberry sauce in the kitchen.

"It's the boss's favorite," she said. "Miss Isabella used to make it for him all the time growing up."

Isabella. Always fucking Isabella.

That guy who insulted me at dinner? Turns out he'd pushed hardest to send Isabella to Rome. Rex wasn't defending ME. He was avenging HER.

None of it was real.

Those late-night desserts weren't about me—they were HER favorite. That protection wasn't for me—it was HER honor he was defending. Even this face wasn't mine—he never loved Nora Hart. Just Isabella's ghost.

I opened my eyes. Water streaming down blurred my vision. The mirror was completely fogged. I stared at my reflection—compared to Isabella's sultry confidence, I looked like a kid playing dress-up.

No wonder he hadn't laid a finger on me since she came back three months ago.

I wrapped myself in a bathrobe and stepped out. Reached for a towel when an arm suddenly locked around me from behind.

A hard body pressed against mine. I felt his chest, his breath hot on my neck, reeking of chlorine and whiskey.

"Rex—" I tried to pull away.

"Don't." An order, not a request.

His hand slid under the robe, rough palm splaying across my waist. My body went rigid. All I could see was him hours earlier—those same hands on Isabella's shoulders, so gentle it broke something in me.

With me? Just ownership.

"Rex, stop—" I struggled.

"Why?" His voice rumbled against my ear. "Last I checked, you're still my wife."

His mouth found my shoulder, fingers sliding lower. I closed my eyes, fighting down bile.

"You've been off all day," he said suddenly. His other hand gripped my jaw, forcing me to face him. "What are you hiding?"

Those dark eyes bored into me, sharp enough to cut through lies.

"Nothing," I dropped my gaze.

"Really?" He narrowed his eyes, thumb dragging across my bottom lip. "Then why'd you look at me today like I was a stranger?"

My pulse raced.

"Or maybe," his voice went lower, almost amused, "you're jealous?"

His hand moved to my inner thigh, breathing turning ragged. The robe fell open—

His phone rang.

Rex let go so fast I nearly stumbled. Grabbed his phone. "Yeah? Isabella?"

"Rex, I need you," Isabella's voice came through, dripping honey. "The guest bathroom heater died. Water's like ICE. Can you come fix it?"

"On my way."

He didn't spare me a glance. Just snatched his shirt off the floor, pulled it on, and walked out.

Door closed behind him.

I stood there, robe pooled at my feet.

Then I laughed. Laughed until tears ran down my face.

This was my marriage. Three years of being the PUNCHLINE.

I grabbed the robe, wrapped it around myself, and sank onto the bed. My phone lit up. New email.

"Dear Dr. Nora Hart: We're pleased to inform you that you've been accepted as a surgeon for the Santa Cruz Medical Camp in Colombia. This is a three-year conflict zone medical program, departing in one month. Please confirm within 48 hours..."

Colombia. War zone. Bullets and blood and danger.

But no Rex. No Isabella. No gilded fucking cage.

I hit "Accept."

Outside, moonlight shimmered across the pool. Isabella's laughter drifted from the guest room, Rex's low voice mixing with hers—I couldn't make out the words. Didn't want to.

All I knew was that this time, I was finally getting out.