Heir of the Mob Reclaims His Glory

The blood pact I signed seven years ago finally expired today.

Wilson Wilder and I would soon become complete strangers.

She was probably still recalling my past fits of rage when I caught her cheating—smashing things, screaming, raising hell.

But she didn't know, everything was different now.

When I suddenly came home, I walked in on Wilson Wilder having sex with another man in my car.

This time, she made no attempt to hide it. Instead, she rolled down the window, leaned out, and gently covered the man behind her with a wool blanket.

From the back seat, I heard the rustle of clothes. She shielded the man even more carefully, then turned back to whisper, "Don't be scared."

Then she looked at me, a flicker of unease in her eyes, and asked, "Weren't you supposed to be at your MBA class today? Why the sudden return?"

...