The Mafia Princess's Revenge

Inside the private dining room, my seven-year-old daughter leans against the edge of the table. She waits for three hours, and her birthday cake melts. Dante texts me, claiming he is handling an "emergency arms deal" and telling us not to wait.

But his mistress's Instagram tells a completely different story.

She wears the limited-edition black diamond necklace Dante just bought, cozying up to someone in a top-tier club. The caption is blinding: "A real man always knows who comes first, even when bullets fly."

What is more brutal happens the next day. When stray bullets hit the casino, Dante actually shoves his own daughter away when she begs for help, turning his back to protect his mistress's nephew instead.

Looking at the bloody scratches on my daughter's arm, listening to him announce in public that "that boy is my only blood," my heart completely dies.

He doesn't know that to love him, the heir to the Romano Mafia family willingly suffered in the slums for seven years. And he treats our lives like garbage compared to an outsider.

Now, it is time to make him pay.

...

Inside the private dining room.

In the middle of the long table, the fondant cake melts little by little. Seven-year-old Lily leans on the edge. Her head bobs from sleepiness, but her eyes stay locked on the door.

My phone screen lights up. It is a text from Dante.

"Border shipment got hit. In a firefight. Don't wait up."

The words bleed urgency and violence. If I were still the civilian wife from five years ago, the one who only knew how to cower behind him, I would be screaming and praying for him right now.

But I don't shed a single tear. My finger swipes straight to Instagram.

It is a private account list restricted to inner-circle syndicate members. Chloe Vance posted an update two minutes ago.

The background is the most exclusive underground club in the city.

Under the dim lights, Chloe wears the limited-edition black diamond necklace Dante bought last week around her pale neck. In the photo, a thick arm wearing an expensive gold watch blocks a shot of tequila for her. On the back of that hand is a scar I know all too well.

The caption burns my eyes: "A real man always knows who his priority is. Even when bullets fly."

Lies. Betrayal. Blatant humiliation.

My breathing grows heavy. Extreme anger makes my eyes sting. A sharp pain shoots through my palms, and warm blood seeps through my fingers.

I stand up abruptly, scoop up the sleeping Lily, and stride out of the room.

After buckling my daughter into the back seat, I stand in the freezing wind of the dark alley and dial a number I haven't touched in three years.

Ten seconds later, the call connects.

"Romano family, chief liquidation line," a deep, cold male voice answers.

"It's me," I state.

"Initiate the Omega protocol. I want every ghost account, trust fund, and holding company under Dante's name frozen before sunrise."

"Understood, Boss. Do you want him in one piece?"

"No. I want him alive to see himself left with absolutely nothing."

I hang up and start the car.

Three in the morning. The villa living room.

The lock clicks. Dante stumbles through the door, reeking of cheap perfume and sharp whiskey.

I sit in the dark on the couch, staring at him coldly. The ruined cake we brought back sits on the table.

"What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark?" Dante yanks his tie loose. He doesn't even bother to hide it. A smear of red lipstick marks the side of his neck.

"Did your arms deal go well?" I stand up.

"What do you know about how the streets work?" Dante raises his voice. "I put my life on the line every single day to feed you and that kid! And all you care about is some stupid birthday party?"

He marches over, grabs the cake, and smashes it hard onto the floor.

"Listen to me, Serena!" Dante points a finger right in my face. "I'm the Capo of the Southside! I don't have time to watch a little girl blow out candles. If you can't act like a proper mob wife, pack your bags and crawl back to the slums!"

Looking at the mess on the floor, my shoulders tremble slightly.

I realize how ridiculously stupid I was for the past seven years, suppressing my true nature and playing the weak housewife just to have a normal family life.

"I'll adapt." I lock eyes with him and force out a freezing smile. "Better than you can ever imagine."

Dante mutters a curse, turns around, and slams the bedroom door shut.

A few hours later, the crisp autumn morning wind cuts through the streets like a knife.

Dante wakes up early for once and pretends to be a good father by offering to drop Lily off at school. He stands next to his black SUV, honking the horn impatiently.

I walk over, holding Lily's hand. The moment we pull the car door open, both my daughter and I freeze.

The spacious back seat is piled high with high-end designer shopping bags for kids. They are boy's sizes, meant for Chloe's eight-year-old nephew. Even worse, a Polaroid picture is slapped right on the dashboard. Dante has his arm around Chloe's waist, and they are both laughing without a care in the world.

Lily doesn't say a word. She just shrinks into the edge of her seat, trying her best not to touch those glaring shopping bags.

Dante gets into the driver's seat. Without a single word of explanation, he starts the engine.

Right then, his phone rings.

"Uncle Dante!" a spoiled boy cries loudly through the speaker. "My new game console is broken! Come fix it right now, Aunt Chloe is crying too!"

Dante's expression changes instantly. He slams on the brakes and turns to look at Lily in the back.

"Get out," he orders coldly.

Lily freezes. Her small hand instinctively grips the hem of Dante's jacket resting on the seat. "Dad, the school is still two blocks away."

"I said, get out!" Dante violently yanks his jacket back. Lily almost hits her head on the door. "Walk the rest of the way! I don't have time for this nonsense!"

I pull my daughter out of the car and hold her tight against my chest.

"Dante," I grit my teeth, forcing the words out from deep in my throat. "If you step on that gas pedal today, there is no turning back."

"Save your threats, Serena. You are nothing without me."

Dante gives me a mocking glance and floors it. The exhaust blows right onto me and my daughter as he speeds off.

Seven-year-old Lily stands perfectly still. The freezing air turns her fingertips purple.

"Mom," Lily looks up. Her small face is pale from the cold, and her voice is so calm it breaks my heart. "Will I always mean less than a stranger?"