For five years, Marco Falcone was the perfect man. Or so I thought.

The illusion shattered on the night of our engagement party, when his mistress crashed it, a five-year-old boy in tow.

The boy ran straight to Marco, crying, "Daddy! Daddy, I finally found you!"

It had to be some kind of sick joke.

But then Marco turned to me, his voice stripped of all warmth. "This is my son, Leo. A… mistake Sofia and I made five years ago."

"Leo is the Falcone heir. I have to legitimize them. That means I'll be engaged to Sofia first."

"But Lydia, believe me, I still love you. We can have our engagement party in six months. You're going to be the Donna of the Falcone family. I expect you to be generous and understanding. This is non-negotiable."

I laughed, a cold, sharp sound, and slid the engagement ring off my finger.

My eyes scanned the room and locked on the man in the corner—Lorenzo Moretti, the most powerful Don in New York.

He held another title, one only I knew: the man who’d been trying to make me his.

"Don Moretti," I called out, my voice clear and steady. "I find myself in need of a new fiancé. Are you interested?"

The kind, gentle man I loved revealed his true colors when his mistress and their five-year-old son crashed our engagement party. He told me to step aside. In an instant, I was no longer his fiancée, but the other woman.

Warm light from crystal chandeliers glittered across the room. Champagne flutes sparkled on silver trays.

My fingers traced the facets of the diamond on my engagement ring.

This was my engagement party to Marco Falcone. I was supposed to be ecstatic.

"Lydia, you seem tense." Marco’s hand settled on my waist, his voice that familiar, gentle caress.

"Just excited." I turned, offering him a smile. "After tonight, we're official."

Marco's smile faltered. "Lydia, there's something I need to..."

CRASH!

The grand doors of the ballroom were thrown open. The lively chatter died. A disheveled woman with wild blonde hair burst in, a desperate look on her face.

More shocking was the little boy trailing her—a miniature of Marco.

The moment he spotted Marco, the boy tore away from the woman and ran straight for us.

"Daddy! Daddy, I finally found you!"

A hush fell over the hall. It was so quiet you could hear a heartbeat.

My first thought: this is a twisted joke. My hand twitched, ready to signal security to have them thrown out.

But then I saw the blood drain from Marco's face.

"Leo? What are you—Sofia, why the hell did you bring him here?" Marco's voice was a raw mix of shock and fury.

Sofia? I looked at the woman. She was staring at me with unconcealed triumph. "I'm tired of waiting, Marco. Five years. I'm done hiding in the shadows."

"What five years?" My own voice sounded terrifyingly calm, but I could feel the weight of every guest's gaze burning into my skin.

Marco sighed, as if her performance had moved him.

He turned to me, his eyes now holding a chill I'd never seen. "Lydia, this is Sofia. And this is my son, Leo. It was... an accident. Five years ago."

An accident? I watched the woman press herself against Marco, her body language possessive, intimate.

I knew with chilling certainty this was no accident.

"Marco, I know I shouldn't have come... but I had to, for our son. To give him a legitimate name." Sofia gazed at Marco, tears glistening in her eyes. It was a masterfully played scene. "Leo needs his father. A real family. And so do I."

"And what about me?" My voice was tight with a fury so sharp it almost sounded like a laugh.

Marco didn't hesitate. His next words turned my blood to ice. "Lydia, I need you to be reasonable. I swear, I still love you. But Leo is the Falcone heir. His existence changes things. It affects my standing in the Family. Before we can marry, I have to legitimize him and Sofia."

"Consider it a trial run before you become the Donna of the Falcone family. You need to prove you can be generous and understanding. Don't worry, it's temporary. I'll be with Sofia for six months, and then we'll have our engagement party again."

He stepped closer, his voice a low, commanding whisper. "Now, you're going to help me smooth this over. We can't show weakness in front of our business partners. Understand?"

Before I could answer, he waved a photographer over. "A family picture. We need to project unity and strength for the Falcone name."

Unity? Strength? I stared at Marco, the man I'd given five years of my life to, and saw, for the first time, the cold, ruthless calculator behind the charming facade.

"Of course, I still love you, Lydia," he murmured in my ear. "This is just politics. A man in my position has to make difficult choices."

But his idea of a difficult choice was to demote me from his fiancée to a pariah.

I took a step back, my eyes sweeping the room. The guests, who had been offering congratulations moments before, now watched with a cocktail of pity, curiosity, and morbid fascination.

Then, my gaze locked on a table in the corner. A man sat there, his dark hair slicked back, his deep-set gray eyes watching the chaos unfold with unnerving calm. An aura of power clung to him, evident even as he sat, his imposing frame barely contained by his tailored suit.

Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo di tutti i capi, the most powerful Don in New York.

He also held another title, one only I knew: the man who’d been trying to make me his.

I had turned him down. More than once.

The moment our eyes met, he slowly, deliberately, rose to his feet.

The tension in the room crackled. Even Marco took an involuntary step back.

I took a deep, steadying breath, slid the heavy diamond ring off my finger, and walked directly toward Lorenzo.

"Don Moretti." I stopped before him, my voice ringing with clarity for the entire hall to hear. "I find myself in need of a new fiancé. Are you interested?"

A slow, rare smile spread across Lorenzo’s usually grim face, transforming it. "Lydia, I've been waiting ten years for you to ask me something like that."

"What? Lydia, have you lost your mind?" Marco's voice, dripping with disbelief and rage, echoed from behind me.

I didn't spare him a glance. My eyes were fixed on the hand Lorenzo extended to me. "So, Don Moretti, your answer?"

"The answer is yes, mia cara. My future wife." Lorenzo's hand enveloped mine, his touch warm and firm.

"You shameless whore!" Sofia shrieked. "Marco, look at the trash you chose! Throwing herself at another man right in front of you!"

The little boy, Leo, suddenly charged at me, his small hands grabbing the hem of my couture gown and yanking. "You're a bad woman! Mommy said you stole my daddy!"

The sickening sound of ripping silk filled the air. I looked down at the boy, his face twisted with the same malice as his mother's.

I knelt, bringing myself to his level. My voice was a soft whisper, but it carried the chill of a tomb. "Listen closely, little one. The engagement between your father and me is over. You won."

I rose, turned to Marco and Sofia, and offered them a beatific smile. "I wish you two a lifetime of happiness. May you be shackled to each other for all eternity."

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Marco stared at me, his face a mask of fury, but he kept his distance from Lorenzo.

"Perfectly." I linked my arm through Lorenzo’s. "I'm choosing a real man."

Lorenzo's hand covered mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles as he addressed Marco. His voice was low, a quiet threat more terrifying than any shout. "Falcone, I suggest you accept this new reality. Lydia is under my protection now."

Marco’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent. In New York, no one was foolish enough to challenge the Moretti Don to his face.

"Let's go," Lorenzo said to me. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a command wrapped in care.

The adrenaline began to fade as we walked through the quiet parking garage, and the sheer audacity of what I'd just done hit me.

I had no regrets.

Just then, a news alert lit up my phone: Massive shootout in the South District. Suspected weapons deal gone wrong.

The report detailed how Lorenzo Moretti was a no-show for a billion-dollar negotiation with a major South American arms cartel. The deal collapsed, and all hell broke loose on the docks.

I looked up at him, stunned. "You skipped a deal that size... to come to my engagement party?"

Lorenzo started the engine, the powerful car purring to life. He gave me a ghost of a smile. "No deal is more important than you, Lydia."

His words sent a jolt through my heart, but it was quickly followed by a pang of guilt. "Actually, I'm sorry. Back there, I was just using you to—"

"It doesn't matter," Lorenzo cut in, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "I'm glad you found me useful. Besides, even if you hadn't come to me tonight, I would have taken you anyway."

"Now," he said, shifting gears, "let's make it official."

The car pulled up to City Hall. It was ten at night, but the building was lit, and staff were clearly waiting for us.

"This is—" Before I could finish, Lorenzo was leading me out of the car.

"Don Moretti, everything is ready," a city official greeted us with a deferential bow.

The entire marriage registration took less than fifteen minutes. The moment the clerk pronounced us husband and wife, Lorenzo turned me, his hands cupping my face, and pulled me into a fiery, claiming kiss.

"Now, no one can ever take you from me," he whispered against my lips, his voice thick with a possessiveness that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"I will prepare our wedding. A real wedding. Wait for me, my bride."

My head was still spinning as I took a cab back to my downtown penthouse apartment.

The second I opened the door, a wave of nausea washed over me.

The TV blared in the living room. Half-eaten pizza boxes littered the designer coffee table. And there was Sofia, lounging on my couch in my silk robe, casually painting her nails.

"Oh, look who's back," she drawled without looking up. "I thought you'd be spending the night elsewhere."

My gaze drifted to the wall where my half-a-million-dollar Monet original once hung. It was now defaced with colorful, childish scrawls. Leo sat on the floor, paintbrush in hand, admiring his "masterpiece."

"What are you doing in my home?" I fought to keep my voice from shaking.

"Marco said it's safer for us here," Sofia finally looked up, her eyes flashing with challenge. "And as the mother of his son, I have every right to be here."

Rage simmered in my chest. But what happened next sent a sliver of ice through my veins. Leo toddled over to the entryway console and picked up the only framed photograph I had of my late mother.

"Put. That. Down," I said, my voice trembling with suppressed fury.

The five-year-old just smirked, a chillingly adult expression on his young face. He held the frame high, then deliberately smashed it onto the marble floor. As if that wasn't enough, he began stomping on the shattered glass with his little shoes.

"Who's this old hag? From now on, only pictures of my mommy are allowed in this house!"

"Leo, you will apologize for what you did! Now!" My voice cracked like a whip in the vast living room.

That was my mother’s most treasured photograph, now in pieces at the feet of this feral child.

"Why should I?" Leo jutted out his chin, defiant. "My mommy said this is my home now!"

Sofia rose from the couch and glided to Leo's side, placing a protective hand on his shoulder. "That's right, baby. This house is under new management."

Just then, the sound of a key in the lock announced Marco's arrival. He walked in, his eyes taking in the scene—the broken frame on the floor, my rigid posture. He frowned.

"What's going on?"

"Your son just destroyed the only photograph I have of my mother. I want an apology," I stated, pointing at the glittering mess.

Marco glanced from me to Sofia, then sighed with theatrical weariness. "Lydia, you're overreacting. He's five. You can't hold a child accountable for an accident."

"Overreacting?" I couldn't believe the words.

"As the future Donna of this family, you should learn to be more magnanimous." Marco walked towards the kitchen, dismissing the issue. "Sofia and Leo are hungry. Why don't you make them some dinner? It's good practice for being a wife."

I stared at his back, a sudden, blinding clarity washing over me. "Marco, this is my apartment."

"And right now, Sofia and Leo need a safe place," Marco's tone hardened. "Lydia, don't be so selfish. You wouldn't throw a mother and her child out on the street, would you?"

Sofia clutched Leo, her face a mask of feigned vulnerability. "Lydia, we truly have nowhere else to go. Please, for Leo's sake."

I was about to tell them exactly where they could go when Leo snatched a steak knife from the dinner tray on the coffee table and flung it at me. The blade sliced across my forearm, leaving a bright red gash.

"You bad woman! Don't bully my mommy!" Leo shrieked.

On pure instinct, I shoved him away. He stumbled and fell to the floor, immediately bursting into theatrical sobs.

"Lydia!" Marco rushed over, his face contorted in rage. "How could you lay a hand on a child?"

"He cut me with a knife!" I held out my arm, where blood was already seeping through the sleeve of my white dress.

"It's a dinner knife! He was scared and defending his mother!" Marco didn't even glance at my injury. He was crouched over Leo, checking him for imaginary bruises.

Sofia scooped the boy into her arms. "You see, Marco? This is the woman you chose. She's a danger to our son."

Watching the absurd theater unfold, I finally snapped. "This is my apartment! Get out! All of you, now!"

Marco slowly rose to his full height, his eyes cold as steel. "If you kick them out, then our engagement is truly over. I will not have a vicious, unstable woman as the Donna of the Falcone family."

I almost laughed. The title was worthless, and the engagement was a joke. He had no idea I was already Lorenzo's wife.

I shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Marco froze, clearly thrown by my lack of desperation. He must have decided I was still posturing. "Lydia, I admit I handled things badly. But are you entirely blameless? You're always so consumed with your Rossi family business, you were never the gentle, attentive woman I needed. If you would just accept Leo and Sofia, we can move past this."

He took a step closer, his tone turning persuasive. "I can even forgive your little scene with Lorenzo Moretti. But you have to know, a man of his stature is just toying with you. I'm the one who truly loves you, who will always be here for you..."

I looked at the man I had loved for five years and saw only an arrogant, delusional fool. It was pathetic.

Without another word, I turned and walked to the master bedroom. The moment I opened the door, a foul miasma of stale sweat and cheap perfume assaulted me. The sheets on the bed—our bed—were a tangled mess. In the trash can, a used condom.

My stomach churned with bile. This bed, the one we were supposed to share after our wedding, had been desecrated.

Methodically, I packed a small bag with my essentials, my ID, and my credit cards. Then I walked out of that apartment, out of that life, without a single look back.

Half an hour later, I was in a luxury suite at one of Lorenzo's hotels, the silence a welcome balm.

My phone buzzed. A video from an unknown number.

I opened it. My stomach dropped.

It was a sex tape. Marco and Sofia. In my bed.

Marco was grunting and moaning, "Fuck, Sofia, you feel so good... I fucking love you..." Her ecstatic cries filled the audio.

A text message followed a moment later: "He said fucking me in your bed was the best he's ever had."