Jilted Wife? I Am The Underworld Boss

I am the head of the Bianco syndicate. I trusted my quiet, civilian husband, Simon, to guard my ancestral estate while I expanded our legitimate empire out of state.

I rushed home after receiving an alert that my five-million-dollar property was sold, only to find Simon cradling a newborn baby with his mistress in my desecrated courtyard.

The mistress, Rachel, smugly declared she now owned my house and my husband, using a forged divorce agreement and IDs Simon had secretly stolen from my private safe.

"Simon divorcing you was an escape from misery, because no real man wants a cold machine in his bed."

They played the victims for the live-streaming neighbors, and Rachel tossed my late father's sacred mafia relics into the mud, stomping on his photograph and laughing about melting his legacy for scrap metal.

I stared at the pathetic coward I had married, sickened and bewildered that the man who once vowed to protect my home could steal my inheritance and casually destroy my bloodline's honor for a cheap affair.

As the local police tried to arrest me for defending my father's memory, my syndicate's armored convoy suddenly barricaded the street, and I prepared to leave the traitors nothing but ashes.

Chapter 1

Lucia POV

I was reviewing the laundering margins for the Bianco syndicate when my phone lit up with an email from a real estate broker. The line of text in the preview shimmered on the screen, each letter a nail driven into a coffin lid: "The five-million-dollar escrow transfer for the sale of your ancestral estate is complete."

If I did not get back to New York immediately, the stone fastness my father had raised with blood and mortar would belong to strangers.

My father was Don Salvatore Bianco. He had ruled the underworld with an iron fist, and when he died, he left me the keys to his legitimate empire and the heavily fortified estate that housed his legacy.

I had married Simon Thorne three years ago. He was a civilian. A quiet, ordinary man who had promised to guard my home while I spent my days out of state, keeping the family business clean and expanding our territory.

I had trusted him with the gates. I had trusted him with my life.

I booked the next flight out and did not pause to consider the cost.

Lucia POV

The sun was just rising when my driver pulled up to the heavy iron gates of the Bianco estate.

I pushed the gates open, and my breath caught in my throat.

The blood-red rose garden was gone.

My mother had planted those roses. They were a tribute planted in her memory, each thorn a testament to our bloodline.

Now, the earth lay churned and violated, the soil ripped open to the sky. A cheap, brightly colored plastic children's playground sat over the dirt where my mother's legacy used to bloom.

An older woman walked out of the front door carrying a bag of groceries. She halted as if she had run into a wall of glass when she saw me standing in the courtyard.

She looked me up and down with immediate suspicion.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

Before I could answer, a younger woman's voice drifted from inside my house.

"Mom, can you grab the baby formula? Simon barely slept after taking care of the baby all night."

A tremor began in my gut, a slow, sickening churn that was not of the body but of the soul.

My territory had been sold. My husband was in my house, and he had bred a child with another woman.

I placed my hand on the wrought iron gate to steady myself.

The older woman's face darkened. She marched forward and thrust a palm toward my shoulder.

"I told you to get out. This is my daughter's house."

I easily sidestepped her hand. My training kicked in, suppressing the rising fury of my bloodline.

"This is my house," I said. I swallowed the taste of rust that had risen in my throat, forcing the words out from between my clenched jawbones.

The woman let out a loud, mocking laugh.

"You have some nerve. My daughter bought this property in full."

The front door opened wider, and a woman stepped out onto the porch.

I recognized her instantly. Rachel Vance. She was a project manager I had mercifully handed a lucrative contract to a year ago, only because Simon had vouched for her.

Rachel froze when she saw me.

In her hand, she was holding my late father's enamel mug, its rim dented and stained with the dark residue of his first gunfight. He had drunk from it after surviving his first gang war.

I locked eyes on the mug.

"Put it down," I commanded.

Rachel hesitated for a split second. Then a wicked smirk spread across her face. She raised the mug to her lips and deliberately took a slow sip, maintaining eye contact with me.

"Where is Simon?" I asked.

Rachel leaned against the doorframe. "Why are you looking for my husband?"

The older woman, Mrs. Vance, straightened her posture and pointed a finger at me.

"Simon is my son-in-law. He and Rachel just had a beautiful baby together. Now get off our property before I call the police."

Doors across the street began to open. Civilian neighbors stepped out onto their porches, whispering and pointing.

I heard one of them mutter that I must be the bitter ex-wife causing a scene yet again.

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. "I know who you are. You are Simon's ex-wife. The one who abandons her home all year to play businesswoman."

"I am not divorced," I said flatly.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Did you hit your head and forget the divorce agreement you signed?"

Mrs. Vance chimed in, her voice loud enough for the entire street to hear.

"Look at you. You lack any femininity. Simon divorcing you was an escape from misery. No real man wants a cold machine in his bed."

Several neighbors pulled out their phones, pointing their cameras at me to record the drama.

I ignored the civilian noise. I did not care about their cameras or their opinions.

I strode directly toward the front steps.

Rachel reached out to block my path, her hand pressing against my chest.

I moved faster than she could process. My fingers enclosed her wrist, and I applied a precise, educated pressure to the radial nerve, enough to make her breath catch in a pained hiss.

"Tell Simon to come out here right now." My voice was ice, but beneath it, a slow, volcanic heat was already building-the kind that, once released, would leave nothing but ash in its wake.

Lucia POV

"Assault! The ex-wife is hitting people! Help!" Mrs. Vance screamed at the top of her lungs.

Heavy footsteps rushed down the hallway inside the house. Simon emerged into the daylight, holding a newborn infant against his chest.

Rachel tore her hand from my grasp, leaving angry red welts on her skin. She rushed to Simon's side, wrapping her arm around his waist.

"Hubby," she whimpered, pressing her face against his shoulder.

Simon looked up. A muscle near Simon's eye began to twitch, and a fine, oily sheen of sweat coated his forehead, catching the morning light.

His lips trembled. "Lucia."

My gaze dropped from his terrified eyes to the child in his arms.

"How old?" I asked. The air, thick with the cloying sweetness of baby powder and the raw scent of overturned earth, stung the back of my throat.

Simon's arms tightened around the infant, a purely animal reflex, and he took an unsteady step back.

"How did a child appear in my home during my absence?" I asked, stepping closer. "And whose is it?"

Rachel puffed out her chest, provocatively stroking the baby's wispy head. "The child is mine. And Simon's."

Simon remained a statue of silence. He looked like a coward waiting for a storm to pass.

I surveyed my desecrated home. The gaudy playground. The missing roses. The strange women standing on my porch.

"Simon," I said, and though I did not raise my volume, the final syllable of my question seemed to scrape against the cheap plastic of the children's slide, making the wind itself sound shrill. "Did you sell my house?"

He refused to meet my eyes. He stared at the dirt where my mother's garden used to be.

"Lucia, let's go inside and talk about this privately," he muttered.

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "You want privacy now? Why did you not speak up when she called you her husband?"

Rachel sneered at me. "Because this house and this man belong to me now. Get lost."

I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed the real estate broker.

Ten minutes later, Manager Lee rushed into the courtyard. He was clutching a leather folder full of contracts, beads of sweat collecting at his collar despite the morning's damp chill.

I turned to him. "When did I ever authorize the sale of this estate?"

Lee froze. He glanced nervously between Rachel and Simon, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Rachel smiled calmly. "Tell her, Lee. Explain everything so she will stop throwing a tantrum on my property."

"Show me," I demanded.