Revenge for Mom: Destroying His Mafia World

My fiancé, the Underboss of the DeLuca Crime Family, promised he would burn the world down for me.

But when my mother was dying in the hospital, he chose a ski trip with another woman.

It was that woman's dog that attacked my mother, but when I called him, shaking, he was annoyed. He was in Aspen with Isabella, and I could hear her laughing in the background. He dismissed my mother's injuries as a "minor scrape" and told me not to "make a big deal out of this."

While my mother's fever spiked, he ignored my desperate pleas. Instead, my phone lit up with an Instagram post of him and Isabella smiling by a fireplace, sipping hot chocolate.

My mother slipped into septic shock. That picture was a public declaration, a judgment on my mother's worth, and my own. A cold fury burned away every last bit of love I had for him.

She died at 3:17 a.m. I held her hand until it was cold, then walked out of the hospital and called the one number I was never supposed to use-the number for my father.

"She's dead," I said. "I'm coming to Chicago. I'm leaving this life, and I'm going to burn his world to the ground."

Chapter 1

Alessia POV:

My fiancé, the Underboss of the DeLuca Crime Family, promised he would burn the world down for me. But when my mother was dying, he chose a ski trip with another woman.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room hummed, a flat, dead sound that scraped against my raw nerves. An hour ago, I was wiping down my mother's kitchen counters, the scent of lemon cleaner still faint on my hands. Then the call came-an unknown number. An accident. A dog. My mother.

Now I was here, my world shrunken to the size of this sterile, beige room. I'd called Caden on the drive over, my hands shaking so badly I could barely keep the phone to my ear. He was my anchor, my future, the man who had plucked me from a life of paychecks and prayers and promised me a kingdom. His power was a shield, and I needed it now more than ever.

He answered on the third ring.

"Ally? What's wrong?" His voice was tight, irritated.

In the background, I heard a woman's bright, tinkling laughter. I knew it instantly. Isabella Ricci.

"Caden, it's my mother," I said, my voice trembling. "She's in the hospital. She was attacked by a dog."

A heavy sigh on his end. "Jesus, Ally. Is it serious?"

"I don't know yet. The doctors are with her now. I... I need you."

"I'm not in New York," he said, the impatience in his tone like a slap. "Isabella and I just landed in Aspen. It's a business trip, a strategic retreat. You know how important her family's alliance is."

Isabella's laughter again, closer this time. A chill, sharp and painful, slid down my spine. He was with her-of course, he was with her.

"Don't make a big deal out of this," he said, his voice dropping to that low, commanding tone he used to signal a conversation was over.

He hung up.

The dial tone echoed in the sudden silence of my car. I sat there for a moment, hollowed out, before finally forcing myself to move.

Inside the hospital, the doctor's words were a blur of clinical terms. Mauling. Deep lacerations. The dog, he told me, belonged to an Isabella Ricci. He needed vaccination records. Urgently.

I remembered Caesar, Isabella's Doberman. A sleek, black missile of muscle and teeth she called her "baby," an animal that snarled at anyone but her or Caden.

My mother was lying in a hospital bed, her face pale, a weak smile on her lips. "It was just an accident, honey," she whispered, but her hand trembled in mine. She had diabetes. The doctor had been very clear about the risk of infection.

My phone buzzed. A text from Caden. Update?

I typed back, my thumbs clumsy. Isabella's dog attacked her. The doctor is worried about infection because of Mom's diabetes.

His reply was almost instant. Isabella is a wreck. She says the dog has never done anything like this. It was probably just a minor scrape. Don't let them overreact.

He wasn't just defending Isabella. He was erasing my mother.

I didn't reply. I sat by my mother's side, holding her hand, the steady beeping of the heart monitor the only rhythm in the world. Hours passed. Her fever spiked. I called Caden again, my voice cracking with a plea as I told him her condition was worsening, that she might need surgery.

He didn't call back.

Instead, my phone lit up with an Instagram notification. A new post from Isabella. It was a picture of her and Caden, their faces close, smiling in the warm glow of a roaring fireplace, mugs of hot chocolate in their hands. The caption was a single red heart emoji.

I looked from the picture on my screen-the perfect snow, the luxury lodge, the man who was supposed to be mine-to my mother's frail form, lost in a tangle of tubes and wires. A quiet, cold flame ignited in my chest, burning away the tears, the fear, the love. It was a fury so pure it felt like clarity.

She slipped into septic shock while they sipped hot chocolate. The doctor began talking about organ failure.

I sat alone in the waiting room, staring at my phone, at their smiling faces. He had made his choice long before he boarded that plane. The trip, the alliance, this picture-it was all a declaration. A public judgment on my mother's worth, and by extension, my own. It was a public dishonor.

My mother died at 3:17 a.m.

I held her hand until it was as cold as the tile floor. Then I walked out of the hospital, into the grey light of dawn. I drove back to her small, empty house.

I pulled out my phone and called the one number my mother had made me memorize years ago, a number I was never to use unless the world was ending: the number for my father.

He answered on the first ring.

"She's dead," I said, my voice a hollow echo of itself.

A long silence. Then, a voice thick with a grief I hadn't heard in twenty years. "Where are you, Alessia?"

"I'm coming to Chicago," I told him, the decision crystallizing in my soul. "I'm leaving this life."

And I was going to burn everything down.

Alessia POV:

Back inside my mother's house, the silence was a physical weight. I went to the bathroom and stared at my reflection. The girl in the mirror was a stranger, her eyes hollow, her face a pale, tight mask. My fingers were swollen from clenching my fists, from the tears I'd refused to shed in that hospital.

I tried to pull off my engagement ring. The three-carat diamond Caden had used to brand me as his. It wouldn't budge. I ran my hand under cold water, the icy shock a welcome, grounding sting, until the band finally slid over my knuckle.

I walked into the living room and placed the ring on the mantelpiece, right next to a faded wedding photo of my mother and the father I barely knew. It wasn't a symbol of love anymore. It was the price. The cost of a life. A price Caden had paid, and now a debt I was leaving behind.

I started on her clothes. The closet smelled of lavender and her, a scent that brought a sudden, sharp wave of grief that almost buckled my knees. I forced it down. Emotion was a luxury I couldn't afford. I sorted everything into three piles: keep, donate, discard.

I packed the few things I would take: a worn floral apron, a dog-eared copy of her favorite book, a small silver locket with a picture of me as a baby inside. I placed them in an empty cardboard box, scrawling a single word on the side in black marker: "Memories."

Then I found the photo albums. I flipped through them until I found a picture from last summer. Me, my mother, and Caden, all smiling on a boat in the Hamptons. My mother looked so happy. I looked... devoted.

With a pair of sewing scissors from my mother's drawer, I carefully, with surgical precision, cut Caden out of the picture. His smiling face, the arm draped possessively around my shoulder-gone. I was left with just me and my mother, a jagged white space where he used to be.

I tucked the trimmed photo into my wallet and tossed the scrap of Caden's face into the trash.

Just then, my phone buzzed. An Instagram notification. It was a video, posted by one of Isabella's sycophantic friends. A video of her and Caden, kissing on a ski lift, the snow-covered mountains a perfect backdrop. The caption was another heart emoji.

I watched it, a cold certainty settling in my chest, confirming what I already knew. The betrayal wasn't a single act. It was a pattern. A lifestyle.

A strange calm settled over me. The pain was no longer just pain. It was a compass. It was pointing me north, away from this life, away from him.

I walked back to the mantelpiece, picked up the heavy diamond ring, and went to the back door. My mother's small property backed onto the East River. I stood on the damp grass at the water's edge, the cold night air biting at my skin.

I drew my arm back and hurled the ring into the darkness.

It disappeared into the black, churning water. I didn't even hear it land.

Alessia POV:

The day after the funeral, Caden finally called. I was sitting on the porch steps of my mother's house, the air heavy with the sickly-sweet decay of funeral flowers.

I let it ring three times before answering.

"Ally." His voice was low, threaded with a practiced, hollow sorrow. "I just got back. I'm so sorry."

I said nothing.

"Why aren't you at the apartment?" he asked, a hint of his usual impatience creeping in.

"I'm at my mother's house."

He sighed, a sound of pure inconvenience. "I should have been there. I know." He paused. "Look, Isabella is a wreck. She's blaming herself for what happened. She's with me now, she's completely falling apart."

My voice, when I spoke, was a flat line, stripped of all emotion. "Put her on the phone."

A moment of silence, then Isabella's voice, thick with theatrical, hiccupping sobs. "Ally, I am so, so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Caesar has never... maybe your mother had a dizzy spell? Maybe she fell on him?"

And just like that, the blame shifted. From her aggressive dog to my sick mother.

"Caden already has his lawyers handling things," she added, her voice gaining a sliver of strength. "To protect me. To make sure everything is taken care of."

Caden came back on the line. "It was a tragic accident, Ally. You're being emotional."

"The doctor said the dog wasn't vaccinated," I said, each word a chip of ice.

"That's not true," he snapped, instantly defensive. "Isabella is meticulous about her dog. You must have misheard. You were in an emotional state."

His tone morphed, the anger dissolving into the kind of patronizing calm you'd use on a hysterical child. "Listen to me. I know this is hard. But you don't have to worry about a thing. I will handle everything."

I will handle you. That's what he meant.

I hung up.

Then I blocked his number. Blocked Isabella's.

I sat on the porch, the wood cold beneath me, and finally accepted the truth. The life I had fought so hard to be worthy of, the man I'd mistaken for my salvation-they were phantoms. Illusions I had conjured to keep myself safe.

There was nothing left to hold on to. Only an empty house and the long road ahead.