The Jilted Mafia Bride And Her Rise

As I raised my crystal flute to toast our mafia wedding, my fiancé made an unexpected announcement.

Christian publicly declared to a room of hardened killers that he was abandoning our joint promotion and our vows for a low-level smuggler named Lilith.

"I am not going to Paris. As a Soldier, I cannot sit back and watch her fail."

He claimed she was a helpless orphan who desperately needed his protection.

He tore up my official transfer papers and accused me of sabotaging her business out of jealousy.

He even gave her my bespoke silk wedding dress and my antique betrothal pearl comb to parade around at a syndicate gala.

While I stood completely alone at our Union Ceremony, he was staging intimate photos in her bed to post on the Family's network.

I became the ultimate punchline of the underworld, a discarded Queen replaced by a weeping pawn.

I couldn't understand how four years of blood oaths and my unwavering loyalty could be ground to dust for a manipulative parasite's cheap theatrics.

So, I stopped waiting.

I packed my weapons, boarded the private jet to Paris alone, and walked straight into the arms of the lethal Underboss who had been waiting for me all along.

Chapter 1

Vivienne POV

As I held my crystal flute aloft, preparing the toast for my own mafia wedding, the man I was to marry announced to a room of men who killed for a living that he was casting aside the Paris district's ten-million-profit shipping routes and our four years of blood oaths, like so much scrap paper, for a low-level smuggler.

The declaration left me precisely one minute to choose: to be immolated alongside his ruined name, or to claim the European seat of power alone.

A dull echo of laughter and the brittle chime of vintage crystal filled the grand hall of the Family Estate.

Dozens of Made Men and Capos of some rank had assembled for what was meant to be a celebration of our ascension.

The Consigliere had just officially ceded the lucrative Paris territory into the joint custody of Christian and myself.

We were to be installed to oversee the Family's most profitable legitimate fronts, and a current of envy, thick as cigar smoke, moved through the room.

Low murmurs had been passing between the tables about our blood oath of union, scheduled for a time a mere forty-eight hours from now.

An old superstition held that couples who sealed their vows under the stone arches of the grand Parisian cathedral were destined for an unbreakable loyalty and a power that could not be touched.

A smile formed on my lips as I turned to Christian, my intention to pull him forward, to raise a glass to the Family.

But it was then that Christian spoke, his voice a flat, dead thing in the warm room.

"I am not going to Paris."

My hand, holding the champagne, stopped in mid-air; the crystal flute's etched rim dug into my palm, and my knuckles showed white with the strain.

Christian did not look at me; his gaze was fixed upon the Consigliere.

"Lilith's smuggling route is facing complications," Christian explained, and there was no trace of shame in his tone.

"As a Soldier, I cannot sit back and watch her fail."

He turned his gaze to me only then.

"You will stay behind in New York to support me."

He reached out and patted my head, a condescending gesture one might use on a disobedient dog.

"Drink less of the imported whiskey," he instructed.

"You do not handle the burn."

With that pronouncement, he turned his back on me and walked with long strides toward the heavy oak doors.

"I need to go to the warehouse to help Lilith," he threw over his shoulder with an air of carelessness.

He walked out without a single backward glance.

The entire room fell into a thick, suffocating silence that lasted a full minute.

These were hardened criminals-men who did not flinch at murder.

But right now, they were staring at me with a mixture of pity and shock that made my stomach clench.

Someone cleared their throat, the sound cracking the silence like a gunshot.

An Associate made a desperate attempt to smooth over the insult, which was a catastrophic breach of our code.

"Christian is very dedicated to helping a struggling Family member," the man said nervously.

"It shows his strong bond with the crew."

I arranged my mouth into a tight, hollow smile.

My ribcage felt as if it were collapsing inward, but I kept my posture immaculate, straight.

In this world of ours, a world of brutes, showing the smallest fraction of weakness was a death sentence.

I knew what the men in this room-men who could cut off a traitor's finger without a change in expression-respected.

They respected unapologetic power.

They respected men like Gabriel Falcone.

Gabriel was the Reaper-the Underboss who had, by his own hand, erased an entire Russian cartel in a single night of blood.

He was a man who, without drawing a weapon, could drain all sound from a room; a man for whom even the most seasoned killers would instinctively create a three-foot perimeter of empty space.

He was a man whose lethal capabilities a boy such as Christian could never fathom.

More to the point, Gabriel never broke a promise.

Christian had just allowed his own vow to be ground to dust in front of the entire syndicate.

I swallowed down the humiliation, which felt like bile in my throat, and turned back to the Consigliere.

"I officially accept the posting to Paris," I said clearly, my voice carrying across the silent hall.

The old man raised a grey eyebrow, his eyes testing the iron of my resolve. The Consigliere studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. A public defiance like Christian's would normally be met with immediate consequences-but the old man was a strategist. He would let the boy hang himself with his own rope.

I held my smile fixed, a mask of ice.

If Christian chose to cast his life away on a fool's errand, what right had he to chain me to his shadow?

The Consigliere stared at me with dark, calculating eyes.

"Are you certain about this, Vivienne?"

I placed my untouched champagne glass with deliberation onto a silver tray that a servant held nearby.

"I am going to Paris," I told him, lifting my chin.

"And I am going alone."

As I walked out of the grand hall, every pair of eyes followed me. In the suffocating silence, I could feel the unspoken question hanging in the cigar-smoke air: What happens to a Queen when her King publicly crowns another woman?

They were about to find out.

Vivienne POV

The moment the gathering ended, my encrypted phone buzzed against the fabric of my dress.

I stepped into the quiet, shadowed hallway of the estate to take the call.

It was Christian.

"If the Consigliere asks, tell him you do not want to go to Paris," Christian instructed at once, forgoing any greeting.

His voice was rushed, and a frantic quality frayed its edges.

"Tell him it is your choice, so it does not reflect poorly on Lilith's standing."

I stood immobile, the cold of the marble floor seeming to seep through the thin soles of my shoes and into my bones.

"Lilith has had a very hard life since her father was killed," Christian emphasized, as though that fact excused this new demand.

For a moment, I could not form a word; the air seemed to have been punched from my lungs.

Over the line, I heard a high-pitched giggle that made my stomach turn.

"Christian, how do I handle this shipment of contraband?" Lilith asked in the background.

I heard the rustle of fabric, a sound too intimate for a business matter.

Christian's voice softened at once, shedding its former urgency.

"Let me guide you through the logistics," he told her gently.

"I will show you, hand-in-hand."

The impulse to scream tore at my throat, but four years of the Family's discipline had stitched my lips shut with wire. I swallowed a mouthful of saliva that tasted of rust and blood.

I did not make a sound. I simply ended the call.

Without a pause, I walked straight to the Consigliere's office to submit my formal transfer dossier.

The heavy wooden doors were slightly ajar.

I pushed them wide and stepped inside, my back held rigid.

The Consigliere looked up from his great mahogany desk.

He looked confused, his brow furrowed as he registered my solitary arrival.

"Where is Christian?" he asked.

"Christian is not going," I replied flatly.

The Consigliere leaned back in his deep leather chair, his eyes studying me with intensity.

He looked genuinely shocked.

"Christian has always played the part of the fiercely protective partner," the Consigliere noted, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"How could he let you go to a foreign territory alone?"

He tapped his pen with a thoughtful rhythm on the desk.

"You two are supposed to swear your union vows in two days."

A sudden prickle of tears, hot and sharp, stung the bridge of my nose, threatening my composure.

I recalled Christian's past blood oath, a memory that now felt like a grotesque parody.

He had sworn I was the most important thing in his world.

I forced myself to keep my voice steady, my fingers gripping the edge of the dossier so tightly my knuckles were white.

"Christian might be joking," I said quietly, offering a fragile excuse I did not believe myself.

The office doors were suddenly pushed open behind me, shattering the tense silence.

Lilith barged in uninvited, a waft of cloying perfume preceding her.

She walked right past me and handed the Consigliere a stack of papers, her bearing that of one who owned the place.

"These are the latest ledger reports for my front business," Lilith announced.

The Consigliere's sharp eyes scanned the pages, catching the glaring discrepancies at once. "This is doctored garbage," he barked, slamming the papers back onto the desk. His fury at the blatant fraud and her brazen intrusion was plain to see.

Lilith immediately turned to me. The muscles at the corners of her eyes twitched, and her mouth pulled into an irrepressible curve-the expression of a hunter seeing a trap spring shut.

She placed a hand on her chest.

"You are so lucky, Vivi," Lilith said.

She feigned envy, her tone heavy with false sincerity.

"It must be amazing to have such a powerful, protective Capo-in-training like Christian."

She stepped closer to me, a deliberate invasion of my space.

"My operation's success is entirely due to Christian's hands-on intervention," Lilith boasted.

She smiled widely.

"Christian will be spending the next few months holed up in the warehouse with me."

"Do you mind?"

Her face beamed with a triumphant smile that made me sick.

It reminded me of my own past innocence, a time when I trusted the man I loved without question.

A bitter sensation settled like a stone in my chest.

I did not let my mask slip.

I shook my head without expression, maintaining a facade of indifference.

"I do not mind," I said calmly.

"It is Christian's prerogative."

Lilith's smile turned sharp and provocative.

"Since Christian is so capable and pursued by many in the underworld," Lilith asked slowly, drawing out each syllable.

"If he were to shift his loyalties, would that also be his prerogative?"

I looked her dead in the eye, refusing to yield an inch.

I calmly nodded.

"Yes."

Sensing the venomous atmosphere, the Consigliere frowned sharply.

"Get out of my office, Lilith," the Consigliere ordered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Lilith pouted her lips, her sweet act falling away for a moment of petulance.

"I was just asking a question," she muttered.

She turned on her heel and left the room, the heavy doors clicking shut behind her.

The Consigliere slid two transfer documents across his desk toward me.

"Take these back and tell Christian to reconsider," the Consigliere told me.

"This promotion is a rare ascension."

He lowered his voice, leaning forward slightly.

"Keep a close eye on Lilith."

"Do not let Christian get too close to her."

I understood his logic, the political maneuvering behind the words.

But in my heart, I already knew the truth.

A man whose loyalty wavers cannot be tethered, not by blood, not by vows.

I took the documents and walked out of the office, heading straight for the front doors of the safehouse, unaware of the storm waiting for me outside.

I did not yet know that the storm was not just the rain. It was the photograph Lilith had already uploaded to the Family network-a photo of Christian's jacket draped over her shoulders, captioned with three words: "My new protector."

Vivienne POV

I stepped out of the syndicate safehouse just as the sky tore open, releasing a torrential downpour.

The sky was a bruised shade of black. Cold rain struck the pavement in heavy sheets. I took what little shelter I could find under the awning's narrow lip, clutching the transfer documents against my chest.

Through the dense curtain of rain, I saw a familiar figure approaching with a purpose in his stride. It was Christian, shielded by a large black umbrella.

My chest tightened with a foolish jolt of hope. I instinctively shifted my weight, preparing to step toward him.

But before I could take a step, a petite figure darted out from the side door of the safehouse. It was Lilith.

She claimed the dry space under Christian's umbrella first, pressing her body against his side without a hint of hesitation. Christian did not flinch or push her away. Instead, he made a subtle motion to adjust the umbrella, covering her completely, while the gaze he turned on me was one of devastating indifference.

"Do you want to join us?" Christian asked me, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain. "Lilith invited me to her apartment for a sit-down dinner."

I stared at the two of them, the image searing itself into my mind. Slowly, I shook my head. "I refuse."

My mind returned to the Family gathering an hour ago. Christian had barely touched his food at the banquet. Now I understood: he had been saving his appetite for a private dinner with her.

Lilith gave a soft, theatrical gasp. She feigned surprise, acting as if she had only just noticed me standing in the shadows of the doorway.

"Christian, the rain is so heavy," Lilith murmured, looking up at him through her lashes with wide, innocent eyes. "We can reschedule our dinner. You should really escort Vivi home first."

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering for theatrical effect. "I can just wait out the storm alone," she claimed.

She played the helpless martyr to perfection. Her submissive act struck a chord of protective pity in Christian's ego.

"I couldn't possibly do that," Christian told her, and his tone was firm and unwavering. "I am a man of my word. In this life, when I make a promise, I keep it."

Lilith stole a fleeting, triumphant glance at me. "But what should Vivi do then?" she asked softly.

Christian at last looked at me. Without a word of warning, he tossed the large black umbrella directly at me.

I fumbled with it, my fingers closing on the handle. Leaving himself exposed to the storm, Christian grabbed Lilith by the hand. "Let's go," he said to her.

Together, they ran into the pouring rain. Lilith let out a loud, ringing laugh that cut through the night. A second later, Christian laughed with her. Their shared laughter echoed, somehow louder and more deafening than the torrential storm.

Rainwater dripped from the hem of my coat, and the cold seeped through the thin leather of my shoes, pinning my feet to the wet asphalt.

Then, I was struck by a memory so violent it stole the breath from my lungs. On a rainy day four years ago, Christian had said those very same words to me. He had pulled me into the rain, and we had run and laughed together, just like that.

My fingers trembled against the cold handle of the umbrella. Slowly, with the movements of a machine, I opened it and stepped out into the storm.

I walked toward our penthouse alone, my head bowed against the biting wind.

The rain masked the sound of my footsteps. It also masked the sound of my phone vibrating with another alert-Lilith had posted a new photo to the Family network. I would not see it until I was standing in our empty bedroom, soaked to the bone and utterly alone.

I walked into the empty, silent penthouse and stripped off my damp clothes.

After washing the chill from my skin in a scalding shower, I checked my secured phone. There were no messages from Christian.

With a frown, I opened the Family's encrypted social channel. The first thing to load was a new post from Lilith.

"When you are with someone who truly protects you, you do not fear the storm," the caption read.

An Associate had commented below. "Who is your new protector?" the Associate asked.

Lilith had replied a minute later. "Hehe, cy."

I stared without expression at the screen. Cy. Christian.

A wave of bitter realization washed over me. If they were willing to run through the storm together, how could it be anything but love?

I sat on the edge of the bed and waited.

Christian did not return to the penthouse until eleven at night, breaking the unspoken rule we had set years ago. We always returned before ten for security reasons.

I heard the heavy front door open and close. A moment later, Christian walked into the bedroom. He had changed into a perfectly tailored new shirt, but the scent hit me instantly. He smelled strongly of cheap motel soap rather than his usual expensive cologne.

My vision blurred for a second. I took a deep breath to steady my heart, which had begun to race, then picked up the transfer documents from the nightstand. I held them out to Christian.

"The Consigliere wants you to reconsider this rare opportunity," I told him evenly.

In the next second, Christian snatched the documents from my hands and tore them to shreds with a violent motion. The ruined pieces fluttered to the hardwood floor.

I stood frozen, unable to comprehend his volatile reaction.

Christian glared at me, his eyes blazing with a strange fury. "Why are you targeting Lilith?" he demanded loudly. "Why are you whispering poison into the Consigliere's ear? You know how hard she is trying to survive."

He stepped closer, his chest heaving with a misplaced, righteous anger. "Do you get a sick thrill out of bullying an orphaned girl?"

I looked at him in bafflement. "Show me proof that I ever targeted Lilith," I countered, my voice eerily calm. "Show me proof that I broke Omertà to speak ill of her. I have never done such a thing."

Christian scoffed coldly. "Do I need proof?" he snapped. "The ledgers Lilith handed to the Consigliere were rejected. She was severely reprimanded, and you were the only one in his office at the time. If it was not you sabotaging her, who else could it be?"

My lips parted and closed, but no sound came out; I almost wanted to laugh. The endless arguments I had prepared died in my throat. Those ledgers were doctored under his direct supervision. Of course the Consigliere saw right through them.

"Go to the Consigliere tomorrow," Christian ordered me, and his tone left no room for argument. "Clear Lilith's name and force the approval of her route."

I took a very slow, deep breath. "After four years together in this life, do you still not know my character?" I asked him.

Everyone in the Family knew I despised backdoor politics. I always helped our own. Christian himself had his financial plans rejected seven times before I fixed them for him line by line.

Christian fell silent for a moment, his pride refusing to yield. "People change in this life," he stated stubbornly.

I narrowed my eyes. "So, that applies to you too, right?" I retorted, my gaze pointedly on his unfamiliar shirt.

Like a man whose fatal weakness had been exposed, Christian flew into a rage. "Vivienne!" he shouted. "You have become arrogant and unreasonable. It is because I have always been too gentle and accommodating with you."

Without another word, he turned and stormed off into the study, slamming the door behind him with a sound that shook the walls.

I stood alone in the sprawling bedroom.

My mind flashed back to my junior year in the Family. A moment of reckless passion had led to me becoming pregnant, and I had desperately wanted to keep the child. But Christian had manipulated me into terminating it. He claimed a child would ruin his chances of making Capo, insisting it would make us vulnerable to rival hits.

I remembered him holding my cold hand in the sterile clinic. "I am sorry," he had sworn to me then, his eyes brimming with a sincerity I now knew to be false. "It is my fault you have to suffer."

He had made a blood oath right there in the clinic. "Never again. I will never let you suffer or be wronged. No matter what happens, your safety and feelings come first. I swear on my life I will never break your heart."

I looked down at the shredded papers on the floor. Today, he had broken me multiple times. His sacred vow, which I had held as a relic, now seemed like a sick joke.

I realized with clarity that I was a fool to believe him. I had sacrificed our child for his ambition, and he had repaid me by giving another woman everything I had ever asked of him.

Just then, my phone suddenly lit up on the nightstand with a message-one that would seal his fate forever.