He Took My Oxygen Tank for His Mistress, Unaware I'm the Mafia Queen

I used to believe love was an unbreakable vow—until a blizzard in the Alps pushed my fiancé into another woman's arms.

Ten years of devotion crumbled like snow under an avalanche. And with his own hands, he gave my last breath of oxygen to his first love.

When the ninety-ninth wish was fulfilled, I finally severed the obsession that had bound me—no longer the humble fiancée, but the sole heir to Italy's largest mafia family.

This avalanche buried more than the mountain path. It buried the last of my mercy.

...

The wooden door slammed shut in my face.

Damian's boxer shorts were still clutched in my hand—thrown at my face just moments ago by his first love, Lillian.

Through the thin pine panels, Lillian's breathy moans reached my ears, mingled with Damian's heavy panting. Each sound was a dull blade, sawing back and forth across the same wound.

My nails dug deep into my palms, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony in my chest.

I'd been with Damian Vance for ten years.

Everyone said we were a match made in heaven. I'd taken ninety-nine bullets for him over the years, and he'd donated a kidney to save my life. At his hospital bedside, I'd sworn through my tears: "I'll repay you with ninety-nine favors in this lifetime."

A week before our wedding, we decided to climb the Alps to celebrate our engagement. A blizzard trapped us, forcing us to take shelter in this hunting lodge halfway up the mountain.

His first love, Lillian Hayes, was our climbing guide. While helping Damian, she "accidentally" twisted her ankle, then "accidentally" took a powerful aphrodisiac.

I never imagined that Damian—the man who always preached about moral principles—would strip without hesitation, claiming he needed to "relieve her symptoms" with his body.

"Quite impressive, actually—the way you've managed to hold yourself together." A man in an orange climbing suit sidled up to me, malice curling at the corner of his mouth. "Watching your fiancé fuck someone else. Must be lonely. Want some company?"

The rage I'd been suppressing erupted. I spun around and drove my fist into his nose with everything I had.

Just as I grabbed his collar to continue, the wooden door flew open. Damian stormed out and seized my wrist.

"Natalia! Do you have to start trouble right now? Lillian needs to rest!"

He dragged me roughly into the room. The smell hit me immediately—Lillian's perfume mixed with the musk of sex, clinging to his skin.

His golden hair was a mess. His shirt hung open, fresh red marks trailing down his neck.

I felt my heart twist again.

"Listen," he said, lowering his voice, urgent and clipped. "If you care so much about being first, I can give it to you right now. We'll do it before I help Lillian. That way I won't have broken our promise to save ourselves for each other."

I laughed in disbelief. "You think that counts as keeping a promise?"

Damian's body went rigid, his face flushing crimson. "Natalia Rossi! Stop being so unreasonable! If you hadn't insisted on coming to the Alps to celebrate our engagement, we never would have been caught in the blizzard, and Lillian never would have been hurt!"

Right on cue, Lillian let out a soft moan, her voice fragile as spun glass: "Damian, don't blame her... It's all my fault... I shouldn't have taken those pills..."

Her words dripped with false apology, but the triumph in her eyes was impossible to miss.

"I'm sorry, Natalia... I didn't want this either, but there's no other way. The drug is taking effect... Please understand."

Before I could respond, she rose on her toes and kissed Damian.

I watched him wrap his arms around her waist without hesitation, his fingers pressing deep into her flesh as he returned the kiss.

When I finally turned to leave, numb to the core, their tangled breathing stabbed into my back like invisible needles.

Every eye in the room was on me—some pitying, some contemptuous, most gleaming with the excitement of spectators at a show.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to let myself look any more pathetic than I already did.

Half an hour later, Damian finally emerged from the room. I thought I was prepared, but seeing the hickeys scattered across his neck and chest still felt like a blade through my heart.

He walked straight toward me, his gaze falling on the silver respirator in my lap.

"Lillian needs that." He reached for it. "She can't breathe."

I pressed down on the respirator. "This is mine."

"When did you become so selfish?" His eyes widened in disbelief. "She's in danger right now!"

"Because she fucked you so hard she ran out of air?" I asked.

Stifled laughter rippled through the room.

Damian's face went from red to white.

"Consider it a favor to me." He forced the words through gritted teeth.

The pressure in my chest surged into a sharp, stabbing pain. For Lillian, he was willing to ask so casually—even knowing it might cost me my life.

I let go. I watched him snatch up the respirator and hurry back to the room.

A piercing pain shot through my lungs. The thin Alpine air was triggering my old condition.

Once, Damian would have put me first without a second thought.

My father was a mafia godfather. After my parents divorced, I lived in hiding with my mother. Despite the congenital heart defect I was born with, my status as sole heir made me a target for our enemies.

During one assassination attempt, I stumbled into Damian's apartment, gravely wounded. To save me, he nearly drained himself dry, pulling me back from death with what was almost a miracle transfusion.

In return, I promised him ninety-nine favors.

Before Lillian came back into his life, Damian had only made two requests. The first was for me to be his girlfriend. The second was for me to accept his proposal.

But ever since Lillian returned, everything changed. He began breaking his own principles for her sake, hurting and humiliating me whenever it suited him.

Ninety-seven. I told myself.

As Damian walked past me with Lillian on his arm, he murmured: "When we get back, we need to talk about the wedding."

I nodded, my eyes catching the lipstick stain on his shoulder—Lillian's mark.

Yes. We definitely needed to talk.