Divorcing the Mafia Heir

The day I buried my father, my husband—Enzo Russo, heir to one of the most powerful mafia families in the city—didn’t come to the funeral.

Instead, my stepsister Camilla sent me a photo of Enzo on his knees, kissing her stomach, followed by a message that made my blood run cold: Guess who’s carrying the Russo heir. Before I could even process it, a second photo arrived—Camilla standing in my bedroom, wearing my robe, taking a smug selfie while Enzo slept shirtless in our bed behind her.

I collapsed at my father’s grave.

That night, Enzo returned to the estate with Camilla and her luggage, announcing calmly that she would be staying with us because she was pregnant and needed the protection of the Russo family. He said it like it was a business arrangement, not a betrayal.

I didn’t scream or beg. I simply looked at my husband—the feared mafia don everyone bowed to—and told him I wanted a divorce.

He refused, reminding me that no one walks away from the Russo empire alive.

So I did the only thing he would never expect.

I called his older brother, Dominic Russo—the real power behind the throne, and the only man Enzo has ever feared.

Enzo thought he could destroy me without consequences.

He forgot that in a mafia family, betrayal starts wars.