Too Late For The Mafia King's Regret

On our seventh anniversary, the Capo dei Capi lit up the New York skyline with drones spelling my name, swearing on his life that I was his only Queen.

Moments later, he abandoned me on the dock to rush to his mistress-my own sister, Sophia.

Sophia sent me a photo of him kissing her belly with the caption: "He finally has a real woman. It's a boy."

Lucien wanted an heir above all else. I was just the placeholder; she was the vessel.

I didn't scream. I didn't confront him.

I simply initiated Ghost Protocol.

I left the wedding ring, signed the divorce papers, and erased Eleonora Marino from existence.

By the time Lucien found the DNA test proving Sophia's baby wasn't his-that he had betrayed his loyal wife for a lie-I was already gone.

He executed my sister in a rage and spent his fortune burning down the world to find me.

Six months later, he bought the high-security Swiss lab where I was hiding, forcing his way back into my life.

He stood before me, gaunt and desperate.

"I killed her, Nora. She paid for what she did to us. Come home."

I looked at the man I had once worshipped.

"Infidelity is a choice, Lucien. But murder? That is who you are."

"We are enemies now."

Chapter 1

Nora POV

I stood in the center of a ballroom that cost more than a small country, my fingers white-knuckled around a crystal-encrusted evening bag that held two secrets capable of destroying the most powerful crime syndicate in New York.

One was a pregnancy test with two pink lines-the heir my husband had demanded for seven years.

The other was a burner phone with a single draft message addressed to the FBI.

Happy Anniversary to me.

Seven years ago, my father sold me to Lucien Marino to prevent a turf war. I was the price of peace, a Vittori daughter traded to the Capo dei Capi, the Boss of Bosses. I expected a monster. Instead, I got a god. A dark, ruthless, beautiful god who made me forget I was a prisoner in a gilded cage.

Or so I had let myself believe. Until tonight.

I stood near the heavy velvet curtains, watching Lucien hold court. He was terrifyingly handsome in his tuxedo, the sharp lines of his jaw and the predatory grace of his movements drawing every eye in the room. He was the sun everyone orbited, burning anyone who got too close.

Marco, his Underboss, leaned in close to him. They thought the swelling crescendo of the orchestra drowned out their voices. They thought I was just the pretty, oblivious doctor wife who only knew how to smile and host galas.

They forgot my grandmother was Sicilian. I learned the dialect before I learned to say 'Daddy.'

"The little bird is getting impatient, Boss," Marco said, swirling his scotch. "She keeps asking when she gets her turn at the head of the table."

My heart stopped. I gripped my champagne flute so hard I feared the stem would snap and slice my palm open.

Lucien laughed. It was a low, dark sound that usually made my knees weak. Now, it tasted like bile.

"Sophia is an unripe peach," Lucien said, his voice dripping with arrogant entitlement. "Fresh. Delicate. But she is a distraction, Marco. Nothing more."

Sophia.

My sister.

The room tilted. The chandeliers blurred into streaks of crystal fire. My own sister. The one who borrowed my clothes, who cried on my shoulder about boy problems, who hugged me this morning and wished me a happy anniversary.

"She tastes sweet, though," Marco leaned closer, a lecherous grin on his face. "Better than the frigid doctor?"

Lucien's expression hardened, but not in defense of me. He looked like a man guarding a toy he wasn't done playing with yet.

"Watch your tongue," Lucien warned, but there was no heat in it. "Nora is the Queen. She is the image we need. Sophia is... an indulgence. Keep the men quiet. Omertà. If Nora finds out, it complicates things."

Complicates.

That was what I was to him. A complication to be managed. Seven years of devotion. Seven years of stitching up his wounds in the middle of the night with shaking hands. Seven years of loving a man who had just reduced me to a public relations necessity.

I took a sip of champagne. It tasted like ash.

I turned away, my movements mechanical. I had to get out of this room. I had to get out of this life.

I walked toward the terrace doors, nodding politely to the wives of the Capos. They looked at me with envy. They saw the diamonds around my neck, the powerful husband, the protection of the Marino name. They didn't see the knife buried in my back.

I stepped out into the cool night air. The noise of the party faded behind the glass. I walked to the stone railing and looked out over the estate. It was a fortress. Guards patrolled the perimeter with assault rifles. Cameras watched every shadow.

I opened my clutch. My hand trembled as I touched the cool plastic of the pregnancy test.

An heir. A son. It was what he wanted more than anything. If I told him now, he would be thrilled. He would spin me around, kiss me, and promise me the world. And then he would go back to my sister's bed.

I couldn't bring a child into this. Not to be raised by a father who viewed loyalty as a suggestion and family as a transaction.

I took out the burner phone.

I didn't send the message to the FBI. That was suicide; trading one cage for another. I had a better option. A cleaner one.

I dialed a number I had memorized years ago.

"It's me," I whispered.

"Dr. Marino," the voice on the other end was calm, sterile. The Professor. "I didn't expect to hear from you."

"The position in Zurich," I said, my voice steady despite the tears burning my eyes. "Is it still open?"

"For you? Always. But the security clearance requires a total ghost protocol. You know what that means."

"I know," I said. "I need extraction. High priority."

"Timeline?"

I looked back through the glass doors. Lucien was laughing at something a Senator said, his hand resting possessively on the back of a chair. He looked like a king.

"Three days," I said. "I need three days to liquidate and sanitize."

"Done. The window opens in seventy-two hours. Be ready. Once you step on that plane, Eleonora Marino ceases to exist."

"She ceased to exist ten minutes ago," I said.

I hung up and dropped the phone back into my clutch.

I took a deep breath, composing my face. I smoothed the silk of my gown. I was a doctor. I dealt with trauma. I dealt with blood. I could triage this.

I felt a presence behind me. The air shifted, charged with electricity.

"Nora."

Lucien's voice wrapped around me. Once, it felt like a warm blanket. Now it felt like a noose.

I turned around. He was standing close, too close. He smelled of expensive cologne, tobacco, and the faint, cloying scent of vanilla.

Sophia's perfume.

I almost gagged.

"You've been out here a long time," he said, his eyes scanning my face. He was perceptive. He was a predator who noticed the slightest limp in a gazelle. "Is something wrong?"

I forced a smile. It was the best performance of my life.

"Just a headache," I lied. "The music is loud."

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my neck. My skin crawled.

"You look tense," he murmured. "Who upset you? Tell me, and I will handle it."

The irony was suffocating.

"No one," I said. "Just tired."

He stepped closer, boxing me in against the railing. His possessiveness was a physical weight.

"We have a surprise later," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "For the anniversary."

"I can't wait," I said.

He frowned slightly, sensing the distance I couldn't quite hide. His eyes narrowed.

"You are mine, Nora," he said, the darkness bleeding into his tone. "Remember that."

"I know," I said.

He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head at the last second, so his lips brushed my cheek.

"I need some water," I said, slipping out from under his arm.

I walked back into the party, leaving him standing alone on the terrace.

The countdown had begun.

Nora POV

The next evening, the air on the private terrace hung heavy, thick with humidity and unspoken lies.

Lucien sat across from me, swirling a glass of red wine with practiced ease. He looked relaxed, the absolute picture of a devoted husband. He had cleared his schedule for our anniversary dinner. No guards, no business, just us.

It was a beautifully orchestrated farce.

"You're quiet tonight," he said, cutting into his steak with surgical precision. "Still the headache?"

"I heard about the Rossetti divorce," I said. It was a lie I had fabricated hours ago, a bait laid carefully in the trap. "It made me think. Twenty years of marriage, and he left her for a showgirl."

Lucien scoffed, shaking his head dismissively. "Rossetti is a fool. A man without honor."

"Honor," I repeated, testing the word on my tongue. "Is that what keeps a man faithful? Honor?"

"Loyalty," Lucien corrected. He put down his fork and looked at me with those intense, dark eyes that used to make my knees weak. "A Don never betrays his Queen. It weakens the foundation of the house."

"So it's about strategy," I said, keeping my voice even. "Not love."

He reached across the table and took my hand. His grip was firm, warm. A week ago, this touch would have grounded me. Now, I felt like pulling my hand away and scrubbing it with bleach until the skin was raw.

"It is both, Nora," he said seriously, his voice dropping an octave. "I swear on the honor of the Marino family. I swear on my blood. I would never betray you. You are the only woman who matters."

He looked me straight in the eye. He didn't blink. He didn't flinch.

He was a sociopath.

He truly believed his own lies. Or maybe he thought that because Sophia was just a "distraction," it didn't count as betrayal. He had compartmentalized his life so perfectly that he could sleep with my sister and still believe he was a good husband.

"That's good to know," I said softly.

I was mentally calculating the hours. Forty-eight hours left.

"Come here," he said, standing up.

He pulled me up from my chair. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body. I stiffened instinctively, then forced myself to melt into him. I couldn't raise suspicion. Not yet.

"I have something for you," he whispered against my ear.

"Lucien, I-"

"Hush."

He took a silk blindfold from his pocket.

"Trust me," he said.

The irony tasted like bile in my throat.

He tied the blindfold over my eyes. My world went dark. Panic flared in my chest. Being blind to him was dangerous. But I let him lead me.

We walked for a few minutes. I could smell the salt of the ocean and the damp wood of the pier. We were heading toward the private docks.

"Stop here," he said.

He stood behind me, his hands resting possessively on my shoulders.

"Open your eyes."

He pulled the silk away.

I blinked against the sudden breeze. We were standing at the edge of the harbor. The water was black and still.

Suddenly, a mechanical hum filled the air. Hundreds of lights shot up from the darkness. Drones.

They swarmed into the sky, dancing like synthetic fireflies. They formed shapes-a heart, a crown, the number seven.

Then, they spelled out a name.

ELEONORA.

It spanned the entire horizon. It was massive, ostentatious, and incredibly expensive. A display of wealth and power that screamed to the world: She is mine.

"Beautiful," Lucien whispered, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Like you."

I stared at my name in the sky. It felt like a neon tombstone.

"It's... a lot," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"You deserve the world," he said. He turned me around to face him. "I love you, Nora. You are my life."

He leaned in. His lips were inches from mine. I could feel his breath.

Buzz.

His pocket vibrated against my hip.

He froze. I saw the annoyance flash in his eyes, followed by something else. Something guilty.

He pulled back, reaching for his phone. It wasn't his business phone. It was the burner he kept in his inside pocket.

I saw the screen before he could angle it away.

My Little Canary.

Sophia.

My stomach dropped to the floor. Canary. Because she sang for him? Or because she was just another pet in a cage?

Lucien's face changed instantly. The romantic husband vanished. The Don appeared. But there was a frantic edge to his eyes.

"I have to take this," he said, stepping back. "It's... a family emergency. A situation with the shipments."

"Tonight?" I asked, letting the hurt bleed into my voice. It wasn't hard. "On our anniversary?"

"I'm sorry, tesoro," he said, already walking toward the waiting SUV that had pulled up silently out of the shadows. "The Family comes first. You know this."

"Yes," I said. "I know."

He didn't even kiss me goodbye. He slid into the SUV. Vincenzo, his head of security, slammed the door.

The convoy sped away, tires screeching on the pavement.

I stood alone on the dock. Above me, the drones were still spelling my name, blinking mockingly in the night sky.

The Family comes first.

"Vincenzo took the lead car," I whispered to myself, my voice cold. "Lucien is in the second."

I turned and ran back to the house. Not to cry. Not to wait.

I ran to the garage. I had my own car, a modest sedan I used for charity work. It didn't have the tracker the luxury cars had.

I wasn't the dutiful wife anymore. I was the woman who was going to burn his kingdom down.

I started the engine.

I was going to see the truth with my own eyes.

Nora POV:

I followed them to The Velvet Room.

It was a high-end gentlemen's club downtown, a glitzy front for the family's money laundering operations. The neon sign buzzed in the rain, casting a sickly red glow across the wet pavement.

I parked down the street, killing the lights and tucking the car between a dumpster and a delivery van. I killed the engine and waited.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

Finally, the side door of the club opened.

Lucien walked out. He wasn't alone.

Sophia was draped over his arm. She was wearing a red dress that was barely a dress at all. It was a second skin of scarlet silk, slashed up the thigh and plunging down the chest. She looked stunning. And utterly cheap.

They stopped under the awning.

I rolled down my window a crack, straining to hear over the drumming of the storm. The rain muffled their voices, but they were loud. They were arguing.

"You promised!" Sophia's voice was shrill. "You said you'd be with me tonight! I saw the drones, Lucien! Eleonora? Really?"

She shoved at his chest.

Lucien caught her wrists. He didn't look angry. He looked... indulgent. Bored, almost.

"Stop it," he said, his voice carrying over the wind. "It's for show, Sophia. You know that. She expects it."

"I want fireworks," she pouted, pressing her body against his. "Like the ones you set off for my birthday last week."

My breath hitched.

Last week. The fireworks over the bay. He had told me it was a test for a shipment of explosives.

They were for her.

I felt like I had been punched in the gut. Every memory of the last few months was rewriting itself in my head. The late nights. The "business trips." The sudden need for privacy.

"You have me," Lucien said, pulling her close. "Isn't that enough? I'll give you anything you want. Power. Status. Just be patient."

"I don't want to be the mistress," she whispered, tracing a finger down his lapel. "I want to be the one standing next to you."

"You are," he murmured.

He kissed her.

It wasn't a quick peck. It was hungry. Desperate. He devoured her right there on the street, his hands roaming over her body with a familiarity that made me want to vomit.

He picked her up effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her back inside the club, kicking the door shut behind them.

I sat in the dark car.

The rain hammered against the roof.

I didn't cry. I think I had run out of tears. I felt hollowed out. Scraped clean.

Seven years of loyalty. Seven years of standing by him while he committed crimes that would send a normal man to the electric chair. I had compromised my soul for him.

And he traded me for a pair of legs and a pout.

He had no honor. He was just a man. A weak, selfish ordinary man.

I started the car.

I drove back to the estate in a trance. It was 2:00 AM when I pulled in.

I didn't go to the master bedroom. I couldn't stomach looking at that bed. I went to the guest room at the end of the hall. I locked the door. Then I wedged a chair under the handle.

I lay on top of the covers, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling.

At 3:30 AM, I heard the roar of his engine.

He was back.

I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs. Then silence. He was in the master bedroom. He was finding it empty.

"Nora!"

His roar shook the house.

I didn't move.

I heard him running down the hall. Doors were being thrown open. He was searching for me.

He reached the guest room. He tried the handle. Locked.

"Nora! Open this door!"

"Go away," I said. My voice was flat.

Crack.

He didn't wait. With a deafening splintering sound, he kicked the door. The chair skidded across the floor.

Lucien stood in the doorway, his chest heaving. He looked wild. Panic and rage warred in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "Why are you in here? I thought you were gone. I thought someone took you."

He rushed to the bed.

Before I could sit up, he grabbed me. He pulled me into a crushing hug, burying his face in my neck.

"Don't ever hide from me," he growled, his voice trembling. "I almost burned the city down."

He smelled of rain. And smoke.

And sex.

He smelled like her.

I lay limp in his arms. He was squeezing me so tight it hurt, desperate to reassure himself that he still possessed me.

"I couldn't sleep," I lied. "Insomnia."

He pulled back, cupping my face. His thumbs stroked my cheeks. He looked relieved. He looked like he loved me.

"You scared me," he whispered. He kissed my forehead. "Come back to bed."

"No," I said. "I'm sick. I don't want to get you sick."

He frowned. "I don't care."

"I do," I said, turning my face away. "Please, Lucien. Let me sleep."

He hesitated. Then he sighed.

"Fine," he said. "Rest. I'll see you in the morning."

He stood up and walked to the door. He looked back at me once, his silhouette dark against the hallway light.

"I love you, Nora," he said.

"Goodnight," I said.

He closed the broken door.

I stared at the wood splinters on the floor.

If he truly cared, he wouldn't have touched another woman. If he truly loved me, he wouldn't have shattered me.

Two days. Just two more days.