Pampered By The Rival Mafia Boss

Ten years ago, I saved the life of New York's most dangerous mob boss with a sewing kit. I gave Ethan Reed my youth, my loyalty, and my heart.

But the moment his ex-girlfriend Chloe returned, I became disposable.

It didn't matter that she had abandoned him. It didn't matter that she poisoned me, killing the unborn child Ethan didn't even know we had.

When Chloe needed a kidney transplant due to her drug abuse, Ethan didn't protect me. He strapped me to a gurney.

"It's just one kidney, Ava. You owe me."

He harvested my organ to save the woman who murdered his heir. And when he was done, he decided I was a loose end.

He dragged me to the edge of a bridge in the pouring rain.

"This is how it ends," he said, his eyes devoid of love. "A tragic suicide."

He pushed me into the freezing water, watching me drown to secure his happy ending.

He thought I was dead. He thought the canary had sung its last song.

But he forgot one thing. I was the chemist who built his empire.

When his greatest rival pulled me out of the river, I didn't pray for salvation. I prayed for revenge.

Three months later, I walked into his charity gala on the arm of his enemy, wearing a white suit and a smile sharp enough to cut glass.

Ethan dropped to his knees when he saw me.

But I wasn't there to forgive him. I was there to burn his house down.

Chapter 1

Ava POV

I held the vial that secured the Reed family's future in my hand just as the phone rang-a call that would dismantle my own.

Ten years ago, I had pulled a bullet out of Ethan Reed's chest with shaking hands and a sewing kit, saving the life of the most dangerous man in New York. Today, the man I saved-the Don of the Reed crime family-called me not with gratitude, but with the cold, clipped tone he usually reserved for executing traitors.

"Get to the manor. Now."

The line went dead before I could draw a breath.

The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the family's secret laboratory, illuminating dust motes dancing in the sterile air. I looked at the clear liquid in the test tube. It was a breakthrough-a synthesized clotting agent for the family's underground clinics. It should have been a moment of triumph. Instead, a heavy stone of dread plummeted into my stomach.

Ethan never called me like that.

Not me.

Not his Ava.

I tore down the highway toward the estate, my mind replaying that night a decade ago. I was eighteen, a medical student with more debt than sense. He was twenty-two, bleeding out in an alley. I didn't know he was the heir to a criminal empire. I just knew he had eyes the color of a stormy sea and he didn't want to die.

I saved him. He claimed me. He said I was his lucky charm, his canary in the coal mine.

But canaries are disposable. I just didn't realize it then.

When I pulled up to the wrought-iron gates, the silence was loud enough to scream. The guards didn't nod at me; they stared straight ahead, rigid as statues. Two Capos were smoking by the fountain, their voices dropping to a hush as I passed. They glanced at the front door, then at me, with expressions that hovered somewhere between pity and dismissal.

I walked into the foyer. The air conditioning was set too low, biting at my exposed skin.

Vittorio, Ethan's Consigliere, stood by the library door. He was an old man, steeped in blood and tradition. He caught my eye, his gaze complicated. It wasn't a greeting. It was a warning.

"He's waiting," Vittorio said, his voice rough like gravel.

I pushed open the heavy oak doors.

Ethan stood behind his desk. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes etched deeper than they were yesterday. He wore a crisp black suit that cost more than my first car, his presence filling the room with a suffocating dominance. He didn't smile. He didn't round the desk to kiss my forehead.

"Chloe is back," he said.

Three words. That was all it took to stop my heart.

My body went rigid. The memory hit me like a physical blow-Chloe, running out the back door ten years ago while Ethan gasped for air on my floor. She had been his girlfriend then. She had seen the blood, screamed that she couldn't handle "this life," and vanished.

She left him to die. I stayed to keep him alive.

"Back?" I whispered. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears.

"She returned this morning," Ethan said, shuffling papers on his desk, refusing to meet my gaze. "She's... fragile. The years haven't been kind to her."

"She left you, Ethan."

"She was scared, Ava. We were kids." He finally looked up, and the hardness in his eyes made me take a step back. "She's family. And she stays."

He didn't ask. He commanded. He was the Don, and his word was law. But this wasn't business. This was the woman who broke him, the woman I spent ten years helping him forget.

"I need you to prepare something for her," he continued, his tone shifting to business. "She's anxious. Can't sleep. Make that calming tonic you used to make for me when the nightmares were bad."

I felt the blood drain from my face. He wanted me to serve the woman who abandoned him the same remedy I used to heal his trauma?

"You want me to be her nurse?"

"I want you to be useful," he snapped. Then, his expression fractured, softening just enough to look painful. "Please, Ava. Just do this for me. You're the only one I trust with the meds."

Useful.

Not loved.

Useful.

I nodded, because that's what I did. I was the loyal Ava. The good soldier.

I retreated to my lab, my hands trembling as I gathered the herbs. Valerian root. Chamomile. Passionflower. I moved on autopilot, my mind screaming. Why now? Why her?

As I reached for the jar of dried St. John's Wort, I paused. The texture was wrong against my fingertips.

I poured a small amount onto the stainless steel table. It wasn't St. John's Wort. It was a look-alike herb, Hypericum, but a different subspecies. Mildly toxic to most, but dangerous to anyone with a specific liver sensitivity.

And Chloe... I remembered Ethan mentioning years ago that Chloe had a delicate liver.

Someone had swapped the herbs.

A chill ran down my spine. This wasn't an accident. If I brewed this and gave it to her, she would get sick. Not die, but sick enough. And who would be blamed? The jealous ex-girlfriend. The chemist. Me.

I stared at the toxic leaves. I could brew it. I could let her drink it. It would serve her right.

But I wasn't her.

I swept the toxic herbs into the waste bin and replaced them with the correct ones from my private stock. I brewed the tonic, the smell of lavender and honey filling the air, masking the scent of my own fear.

Dinner was a farce.

Chloe sat next to Ethan, wearing a dress that was too white and a smile that was too sweet. She looked at him like he was the sun and she was a flower desperate for light. Ten years hadn't touched her beauty, but it had sharpened her edges.

"Oh, Ethan," she cooed, placing a hand on his forearm. "I feel so safe now. I don't know how I survived without you."

I sat across from them, picking at my steak. It tasted like ash.

"Ava made something for you," Ethan said, gesturing to the bottle I had placed on the table. "For your nerves."

Chloe looked at me, her blue eyes widening with faux innocence. "Oh, Ava. You're still here? That's so sweet. Like a little sister who never quite left home."

Little sister.

"I made it myself," I said, my voice steady. "It will help you sleep."

"I've been feeling so unwell lately," Chloe sighed, leaning into Ethan. "Just... weak. I'll need a lot of care."

Ethan stroked her hair. "Ava will help. She's the best. She'll take care of you."

He looked at me then, his eyes pleading, manipulative. "Won't you, Ava? Take care of her like you took care of me?"

The irony tasted like bile in my throat. He was asking me to nurse the snake that bit him.

"Of course," I said. "Whatever you need."

I excused myself after dinner, claiming I needed to clean the lab. I walked out of the dining room, the sound of their soft laughter following me like a ghost.

Back in the safety of my lab, I locked the door. My hands were shaking again. I pulled out my burner phone, a device Ethan didn't know existed. I dialed a number I hadn't used in two years.

"It's me," I whispered when the line connected. "I need a full workup. Chloe Davis. Where she's been for ten years. Who she's been with. Everything."

"That's dangerous territory, Ava," the voice on the other end crackled. It was Marco, an intelligence broker who owed me a life debt. "The Don won't like it."

"The Don is blind," I said, staring at the empty vial of the toxic herb I had thrown away. "Don't let anyone know. Especially Ethan."

I hung up.

I looked at the clear liquid in the beaker on my desk. Loyalty was a two-way street, and Ethan had just closed his lane.

I picked up the bottle. The glass was cool against my skin. The war had started, and Chloe had fired the first shot without even lifting a finger.

But she forgot one thing.

I was the one who made the poison.

Ava POV

I spent the night feeding the incinerator.

The toxic herbs hissed and popped within the flames, turning from lethal dried leaves into grey, unrecognizable ash. I watched the fire dance, mesmerized. It felt symbolic. I was burning my blind loyalty, watching it disintegrate just like the trust I had placed in Ethan Reed.

The smoke smelled bitter. It stung my eyes, or maybe I was just crying. I couldn't tell anymore.

By morning, the lab was clinical, cold, and spotless. I had scrubbed every surface with bleach, the harsh chemical scent masking the lingering acrid tang of burning herbs. I was exhausted, my bones aching with a weariness that sleep couldn't touch.

The door swung open without a knock. Ethan walked in, bringing the scent of expensive cologne and fresh coffee with him. He looked rested. Happy, even.

"She slept like a baby," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "That tonic works miracles, Ava."

I forced the corners of my mouth up. It felt like stretching old rubber. "I'm glad."

"She's been through a lot," he continued, striding over to my workstation. He didn't look at me; he looked at the equipment, touching a microscope with idle curiosity. "She needs stability. We need to make her feel welcome."

"We?" I asked, the word slipping out before I could stop it.

He finally looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly as if my confusion was an inconvenience. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black card. He slid it across the stainless steel table. It stopped inches from my hand.

"Buy yourself something," he said. "You've been working hard. A vacation, maybe. Get away for a few days."

I stared at the plastic rectangle. It wasn't a gift. It was a dismissal. He was paying me off. He was buying my silence and my compliance. He wanted me out of the house so he could play happy family with Chloe.

"Is this my bonus?" I asked, my voice flat. "For not poisoning her?"

His eyes darkened. "Don't be dramatic, Ava. It's a gesture. Take it."

I picked up the card. It felt cold against my skin. "Thank you, Ethan."

"Good." He checked his watch. "I have to go. Family business downtown. I might be late."

He turned and left without another word. No kiss. No 'I'll see you later.' Just the back of his suit jacket disappearing down the hall.

I waited until his footsteps faded before I threw the card into the trash bin.

That evening, my burner phone vibrated against the metal table. It was the report from Marco.

I sat on the floor of the lab, scrolling through the encrypted file. The blue light of the screen illuminated the horror dawning on my face.

Chloe hadn't been "fragile." She hadn't been suffering.

For ten years, she had been living in Vegas, hopping from one high-roller to another. There were photos of her hanging off the arms of low-level mobsters, card sharps, and hustlers. She had racked up massive gambling debts.

But the last page was the one that made my blood run cold.

In the last three months, she had been visiting a clandestine clinic in the Bronx. A place known for "specialized" treatments. The report didn't say what she was doing there, but it noted she met with a man named Russo-a known poisoner for the Moretti family, our rivals.

She wasn't back for love. She was back for sanctuary. Or worse, she was a plant.

I needed to tell Ethan. I stood up, gripping the phone, ready to run to him. He had to know.

My phone rang. It was him.

"Ethan, I need to-"

"I can't talk," he cut me off, his voice breathless. "Something came up. A shipment got hit at the docks. I won't be home tonight."

"Ethan, listen to me, it's about Chloe-"

"Ava, not now!" he snapped. "Handle things at the house. Make sure she takes her medicine."

The line clicked dead.

He chose her. Even when he wasn't there, he chose her comfort over my voice.

I stood there, the silence of the lab pressing in on me. A sudden wave of dizziness hit me, so strong I had to grab the edge of the table to keep from falling.

Nausea rolled through my stomach. I swallowed it down, thinking it was just stress. But then the pain started.

It began as a dull ache in my lower abdomen and quickly escalated into a sharp, twisting cramp that brought me to my knees.

"Oh god," I gasped, clutching my stomach.

It felt like something was tearing inside me.

I crawled to the cabinet where I kept emergency supplies. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely open the latch. I needed pain meds. I needed...

I looked down. A dark stain was spreading on my white lab coat. Blood.

My heart stopped.

I wasn't just sick. I was losing it.

I had suspected I might be pregnant. Ethan and I had a slip-up two months ago, a night of desperate passion after a close call with a rival gang. I hadn't told him. I wanted to be sure. I wanted it to be a happy surprise.

Now, it was a tragedy happening on the cold tile floor.

I dragged myself to my phone and dialed the only number I could trust. Not Ethan. He was "busy."

"Ben," I gasped when he answered. "I need you. Now."

"Ava? What's wrong?" Ben Carter's voice was filled with alarm. He was the family doctor, a man who had stitched up Ethan more times than I could count.

"Just come," I whispered. "Please."

The next hour was a blur of agony and silence. I didn't scream. I couldn't let the guards hear. I couldn't let Chloe hear. I birthed my grief in silence, cleaning up the blood with paper towels, flushing the remains of my future away.

By the time Ben arrived, I was sitting in the corner, wrapped in a blanket, shivering uncontrollably. The room smelled of bleach and iron.

Ben took one look at me and the trash bin full of bloody towels, and his face went pale. He didn't ask stupid questions. He went to work. He checked my vitals, gave me a shot for the pain, and started an IV.

"Ava," he said softly, his hand on my shoulder. "You lost it."

"I know," I said. My eyes were dry. I had no tears left. "Don't tell him."

"Ethan has a right to know."

"He's not here, is he?" I looked at Ben, my eyes hollow. "He's out dealing with 'business.' He doesn't care, Ben. He never cared."

Ben looked away, conflict warring in his eyes. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid.

"This will help with the infection risk," he said. Then he paused. He looked at the vial, then at me. "Ava, this wasn't... natural."

My head snapped up. "What?"

"The rate of blood loss, the cramping intensity... it looks induced." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Like you ingested an abortifacient."

My mind flashed back to the "calming tea" Chloe had insisted on making for me yesterday afternoon. To thank you for being so welcoming, she had said.

I stared at Ben, the horror dawning on me.

"Rest," Ben said, handing me a sedative. "We can't prove anything yet. But be careful. Some things in this house are toxic."

I took the pill. It felt heavy in my hand.

I lay back on the cot, the cold plastic of the IV line against my arm. I had lost my child. Ethan was gone. And the woman sleeping in his bed had likely murdered my baby.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life, I didn't pray for Ethan's safety. I prayed for the strength to burn this entire house to the ground.

Ava POV

I lay in the dark, listening to the sterile hum of the refrigerator in the lab.

The sedative Ben had administered made my limbs feel like lead, but my mind was a scalpel, cutting through the fog of grief with cold precision.

Ben came back the next afternoon.

Dark crescents hung beneath his eyes. He locked the lab door behind him and scanned the room for bugs-a habit ingrained from a decade of working for the Reeds.

"We need to talk," he said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket.

He handed it to me. It was a toxicology report.

"I ran your blood work from last night," Ben said, his voice barely a whisper. "I found traces of Pennyroyal and Blue Cohosh. High concentrations."

I stared at the numbers. They were just black ink on white paper, but they screamed premeditation. These were herbs used for centuries to induce miscarriages.

"Chloe," I said. The name tasted like bile.

"I checked the inventory of the underground clinic she was visiting in the Bronx," Ben continued, his eyes heavy with pity. "They ordered these specific herbs three days ago. Under a pseudonym."

"She poisoned me."

The realization didn't bring tears; it brought a glacial clarity.

"She made me tea," I said, my voice trembling with a rage so cold it burned. "She smiled and watched me drink it, knowing it would kill his child."

"Ava, you have to leave," Ben said, gripping my hand. "If Ethan finds out..."

"If Ethan finds out what?" I pulled my hand away. "That his girlfriend is a murderer? Or that he was too busy playing Don to protect his own unborn child?"

"He won't believe it," Ben said sadly. "She has his ear. She has his heart. He thinks she's a victim."

I laughed-a jagged, foreign sound that scraped against my throat.

"He promised me a home, Ben. He promised me we were family."

"I can help you get out," Ben offered. "I have contacts."

"No."

I stood up, ignoring the sharp, phantom pain in my abdomen. "Running is for victims. And I am done being a victim."

I walked over to my desk and opened the bottom drawer. Inside, hidden beneath a stack of old medical journals, was a file I had prepared months ago. Just in case.

It was a separation agreement. Not for a marriage-we weren't married-but for a business partnership.

It outlined the division of assets, specifically the patents for the drugs I had created for the family. The clotting agents, the undetectable poisons, the stimulants. They were mine. Legally and intellectually.

I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the family's lawyer, Mr. Steinberg.

"I need you to execute the separation protocol," I said. "Asset division. Immediate effect."

Steinberg sputtered on the other end. "Miss Miller, surely you want to discuss this with the Don first? The timing is..."

"The timing is perfect," I cut him off. "Do it. And keep it quiet until the papers are ready."

I hung up just as my personal cell phone buzzed.

Ethan.

I stared at the screen for a long moment before answering.

"Ava?" His voice was smooth, devoid of guilt. "How are things holding up?"

"Fine," I said. "Just peachy."

"Good. Listen, I'm wrapping up here. I stopped by the jeweler."

My breath hitched. For a second, a stupid, pathetic part of me hoped.

"I got you a little something," he said. "A bonus. For handling Chloe so well. She told me how attentive you've been."

A bonus.

Like I was an employee of the month.

Like my grief was a transaction.

"You shouldn't have," I said, my voice dripping with ice.

"It's a bracelet," he said, oblivious. "Diamond. You'll love it. I'll be home in an hour. We can celebrate."

"Celebrate what, Ethan?"

"The shipment is safe. Chloe is happy. Life is good, Ava."

Life is good.

I looked at the toxicology report on my desk. I looked at the empty spot in my womb where a heart had stopped beating less than twenty-four hours ago.

"I'm not feeling well," I lied. "I'm going to bed early. Leave the... bonus... on the counter."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed, but not concerned. "Alright. Feel better. Chloe wants to go shopping tomorrow, maybe you can go with her?"

"Goodbye, Ethan."

I hung up before I screamed.

He didn't know. He didn't know about the baby, or the poison, or the fact that his perfect life was built on my corpse. And the worst part was, he didn't care enough to notice.

I walked to the mirror in the corner of the lab. My face was pale, my eyes dark circles of exhaustion. I looked like a ghost.

"Good," I whispered to my reflection. "Ghosts are scary."

I went back to the safe. I moved the separation agreement aside and pulled out a black ledger.

This was my insurance.

For ten years, I hadn't just been making drugs. I had been keeping records. Every illegal shipment, every bribe to a judge, every body buried in the Pine Barrens.

I knew where the bodies were because I had synthesized the chemicals to dissolve them.

This book could bring down the Reed empire in a week.

I ran my fingers over the leather cover. I had protected him with silence. I had protected him with my skills. I had protected him with my body.

Omertà. The code of silence.

I opened the book. The pages crinkled.

Ethan wanted a celebration? I would give him one. I would light the candles on his cake with the flames of his own destruction.

I touched my stomach one last time.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the baby I never held. "But Mommy has work to do."