The Underboss's Wife, Now His Queen

I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria.

But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity.

A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love.

My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me.

Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego.

He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press.

He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan.

He had no idea she was a fraud.

He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her.

He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate.

At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her.

I didn't beg. I didn't cry.

I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play.