The Regret of Becoming a Mafia Boss

Chapter 1

Midnight in Chicago, the penthouse of mafia godfather Adrian Moretti.

I was pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, forehead against the cold glass, Adrian's hand gripping my waist—hard enough that it felt like he wanted to meld me into his bones.

He was especially wild tonight, changing positions so fast I could barely catch my breath. When the thirty-sixth orgasm hit, I was suspended mid-air like something shattered, only able to claw at his arm as broken moans escaped my lips.

"Serena..." He pulled me into his arms, voice low and dangerous, "Tell me, no other man—can make you scream like this."

I smiled and bit his shoulder: "You know the answer."

Afterwards, I was pinned beneath him on the bed, sweat and ragged breathing tangled together.

He suddenly spoke: "Tomorrow night, come to the family dinner."

I couldn't help but look up at him, my heart trembling.

In the ten years I'd been his secret lover, he'd never been willing to bring me to his family dinners. He said those were places only for wives, fiancées, future mistresses of the house.

Now was he finally going to announce my identity to everyone?

I suppressed my excitement and asked: "Adrian, are you saying...you're going public with our relationship?"

He lit a cigar, took a deep drag, then exhaled: "What is there to go public about with our relationship? The dinner is to welcome my fiancée, Bianca Vitale, the Neapolitan mafia princess."

My ears rang, all the air instantly sucked away.

I heard myself ask, trembling: "What about me?"

He looked at me with cold, emotionless eyes: "Serena, you're very useful. I do enjoy your body."

He was evaluating me like a gun, a car, a tool.

"Adrian..." My voice cracked, "Didn't you say...I was special to you?"

He smiled slightly, but it was bone-chilling: "Serena, don't look at me with those pitiful eyes. It makes me think you're expecting something you'll never get. I know exactly what you're thinking. If we were actually together...it would be too boring."

I looked down at the ambiguous marks on my body, feeling despair spread deep in my heart.

"Do you love her?"

"Love?" He got up and went to the bathroom, turned on the shower, washing away all the traces on his body. "Serena, this is business, not a fairy tale. She represents Naples's power, territory, fleet."

The sound of water rushed from the bathroom. Adrian stood behind the steam, his muscular lines blurred by the hot vapor, every inch as cold as marble.

Soon Adrian emerged from the bathroom. He picked up his phone and made a call: "That blue diamond, the five-million-dollar one, make sure to get it. That's Bianca's favorite. The jewelry box should be custom sterling silver with carvings, air-freighted from Italy. She likes that cold texture. Also, prepare a wardrobe full of haute couture. She'll be staying here for a while."

Hearing this, I felt my chest hurt so much I could barely breathe, and he wore a gentle smile on his face—one I'd rarely seen.

I couldn't stay any longer. I changed and left in a hurry.

Back at my apartment, I pulled open the hidden cabinet and threw everything he'd given me over ten years into the living room:

The gold dagger, the black card, the lover's necklace, antique paintings, sapphire earrings...

All things he'd casually given me after our nights together.

I opened the fireplace and threw them in one by one.

The flames slowly consumed them, just like they consumed everything I'd burned for him over the years.

I dialed a number I'd never dared call before.

It was answered after one ring.

"Serena?"

It was my father, the Italian mafia boss.

Adrian never knew my other identity—I was the Italian mafia heir.

"Father." My voice was terrifyingly calm. "I'm ready to return to Italy."

My father laughed. "Finally tired? Come home. I warned you from the beginning that being with Adrian wouldn't end well."

I continued: "In five days, I want the name 'Serena De Luca' to disappear from Chicago forever."