99 Roses for the Underboss's Wife

I was the brilliant money launderer for the most feared syndicate on the East Coast, and the fiercely loyal wife of its Underboss, Dante.

While I worked sleepless nights to build his underworld dominion, he secretly diverted my operations to fund a luxury club for his naive barista mistress.

When I confronted them and publicly exposed her, Dante didn't show a shred of guilt.

Instead, he slapped me across the face in front of the entire syndicate.

He draped his tailored jacket over his crying mistress to shield her, then turned his cold eyes on me.

"Apologize to her right now, or I will send every single soldier in your crew to the slaughterhouse."

He then weaponized the mafia's whisper network to destroy my reputation, painting me as a hysterical, paranoid woman just to legitimize his affair.

For years, I had blindly endured his psychological torture, believing my devotion would eventually earn his respect.

But looking at the brutal purple handprint on my cheek, and the ninety-nine dried bouquets of white roses he kept in the attic to carelessly patch over his toxic abuse, my heart finally turned to ice.

I didn't throw a tantrum, nor did I beg for his love anymore.

I left his apology blood diamonds on the table, drafted my mafia severance papers, and walked out of his territory for good.

This time, I would build my own empire, and let him drown in the ruins of his.