The Don's Betrayal, My Unstoppable Rise

For seven years, I was the perfect, silent wife to Dante De Luca, the Don of the Chicago Outfit. Our marriage was a contract, signed only because his true love, Isabella, left him at the altar.

Then, she came back.

He made me watch as he chose her, again and again. He took her into a dark closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven, emerging with a fresh love bite on her neck. Then, she framed me for stealing her diamond necklace.

"She's a thief, Dante, just like her mother!" Isabella wailed.

My husband didn't hesitate. He shoved me against a table and had his men throw me into the family's private holding cell. He knew it was a setup, but he still called me trash, not fit to clean her shoes.

I finally understood. I was never his wife. I was just a "low-cost placeholder," a body in his bed until Isabella returned. I was disposable.

So when I was finally released, I walked away. His biggest rival was waiting for me with a job offer: Chief Design Director. I would compete against Dante for the city's biggest contract, using the very architectural designs he stole from me and gave to his mistress. I would build an empire on the ashes of his pride.

Chapter 1

Seraphina POV:

The text from my lawyer glowed on the screen, a death sentence for a marriage that was never alive. The dissolution clause was now active. In a few days, I would no longer be Mrs. Dante De Luca.

I slipped the phone back into my simple clutch, the smooth leather cool against my trembling fingers. Around me, the grand ballroom of the De Luca family estate hummed with a life from which I was excluded. Crystal chandeliers threw fractured rainbows across the faces of Chicago's elite, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of powerful men making deals. I was a ghost at my own husband's gala, a beautiful wallflower he had planted in the corner and forgotten to water.

My gown, an elegant sheath of navy silk, was a stark contrast to the glittering, jewel-encrusted dresses of the other women-women who belonged here. I didn't. I never had.

"Well, well. Look what we have here."

Isabella Ricci's voice, sharp and laced with venom, cut through the noise. She glided toward me, flanked by two women whose sneers were as practiced as their makeup.

"I'm surprised to see you, Seraphina. I thought the help usually used the back entrance."

My eyes remained fixed on the swirling amber liquid in a glass across the room. "Hello, Isabella."

"Dante isn't even here. What's the point of you showing up?" one of her friends chimed in, looking me up and down as if I were something she'd scraped off her shoe.

"He's away on Family business," I said, my voice as cold and flat as I could make it. "As his wife, it's my duty to be here in his place."

Isabella let out a high, tinkling laugh that grated on my nerves. "Wife? Oh, darling, don't be delusional. You were a fluke. A funny little story everyone tells about the time the Don of the Outfit married the housekeeper's daughter because his real bride couldn't be bothered to show up."

She leaned in close, her perfume cloying and sweet. Her whisper was for my ears only, a poisoned dart aimed at my only vulnerability.

"How is your mother, by the way? Still can't speak? I hope she's not stealing the silver. It's a nasty habit that seems to run in your family."

Something inside me snapped. The quiet, fragile surface I had maintained for seven years didn't just crack-it shattered.

My hand shot out, shoving her back a step. It wasn't a hard push, but it was enough to make her stumble in her ridiculous heels.

"Keep her name out of your filthy mouth," I said, my voice low and dangerous, a tone I hadn't used since I was a teenager fighting for survival in a school that hated me.

Isabella's face contorted with rage. "You bitch!"

She snatched a glass of red wine from a passing tray and hurled it. The dark liquid splattered across my face and down the front of my dress, a violent stain on the simple navy silk. Gasps rippled through the nearby crowd.

The wine dripped from my chin like blood. I didn't move. I just stared at her, my heart a block of ice.

"Enough."

The word was a low growl from the shadows, but it cut through the ballroom like a gunshot. The entire room fell silent.

Dante.

He stepped out of the darkness, his presence a vacuum, pulling all light and sound toward him. His tailored suit was as black as his reputation. He was Dante "The Devil" De Luca, the absolute Don of the Chicago Outfit, a man who had inherited a criminal empire at twenty-five and crushed all his rivals with a brutality that became legend. His eyes, cold and dark, weren't on me. They were fixed on Isabella.

He moved to stand in front of me, shielding me from her. His fury was a palpable thing, a cold, deadly pressure that made even Isabella flinch.

"Seraphina is my wife," he declared, his voice chillingly quiet but carrying the weight of an executioner's sentence.

Isabella, ever the actress, immediately played the victim. Her eyes filled with tears. "Dante, she attacked me! You only married her to spite me, you know that!"

Dante's reply was merciless, a public execution of her pride.

"I don't wait for anyone."

He turned, and his hand closed around my wrist. His grip was like iron, hard and unforgiving. Without another word, he pulled me through the stunned crowd and out of the ballroom, leaving Isabella standing there, humiliated and alone.

In the back of his armored sedan, the silence was suffocating. I stared out the window at the blurred city lights, acutely aware of the tight clench of his jaw. The air crackled with the residue of his rage.

He let out a slow, controlled breath, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet car. The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, but only marginally. When he finally spoke, the hard edge of his voice was gone, replaced by an unfamiliar, stilted tone.

"Is our anniversary coming up?"

I didn't turn to look at him. "It was last month."

I felt, more than saw, his slight shift on the leather seat. "Right. My apologies." He cleared his throat, the gesture hollow. "I'll make it up to you. I'll rent out the entire amusement park for the day. You still like that, don't you?"

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed on the seat between us. The screen lit up with her name.

Isabella.

He answered, and her voice, a seductive, cooing purr, filled the small space.

"Dante, baby, I'm so sorry. I'm all alone. Can you come get me?"