I Married My Ex-Fiancé's Ruthless Older Brother

I was a Vitiello, sold to the Morettis to secure an alliance. For five years, I quietly loved Dante, counting down the minutes until our wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral.

But it ended with a single text three minutes before the ceremony.

"Stay at the apartment. Sofia is awake. Don't make a scene."

His ex-girlfriend, the love of his life, had woken from a coma with no memory. Just like that, I was erased.

For thirty days, I waited in the shadows while Dante played hero to a woman who didn't remember him. He told me he was protecting her fragile mind.

But then I found the truth.

I stood outside the doctor's office and heard Dante refuse a treatment that would restore Sofia's memory.

"If she remembers, she might leave again," Dante told the doctor. "Elena will wait. She's a good soldier. Let me have my fantasy."

He wasn't protecting her. He was keeping her broken to feed his ego, banking on my submission. He thought I was furniture he could put in storage.

He was wrong.

I didn't go back to the apartment. Instead, I dialed a number every made man in New York feared.

"Matteo," I said to Dante's lethal older brother, the King of the underworld.

"I am done waiting. I want to be a Moretti bride. But not Dante's."

Chapter 1

My wedding dress hung on the back of the door, a cascade of white lace that looked less like a garment and more like a ghostly silhouette of a future that died three minutes ago.

It ended with a single text message.

Stay at the apartment. Sofia is awake. Don't make a scene.

I stared at the phone screen until the numbers blurred into meaningless shapes.

I was supposed to be walking down the aisle of St. Patrick's Cathedral in two hours. I was supposed to marry Dante Moretti, a Capo in the New York Outfit and the man I had quietly loved for five years.

Instead, I was being told to hide like a dirty secret because his dead ex-girlfriend had decided to breathe again.

Sofia Russo. The fragile ghost. The love of his life.

She had been in a coma for a month after a hit gone wrong, a bullet meant for Dante that had instead grazed her temple.

Today, on the day I was to become a Moretti bride, she woke up with no memory.

And just like that, I was erased.

I didn't cry. Tears were a luxury in our world, and I couldn't afford them.

I was a Vitiello. We were bred for silence. We were currency in silk dresses, traded to solidify alliances and seal blood pacts.

My father had sold me to the Morettis to secure shipping routes in Jersey.

Dante had accepted me because it was his duty, but he had kept me at arm's length, his heart a fortress built around Sofia's memory.

Now that she was back, I was just an obstacle.

So, I waited.

I waited for a month.

Thirty days of silence.

Thirty days of Dante playing house with a woman who didn't remember him, while the Outfit whispered that I was a discarded bride, left to rot on the shelf.

He told everyone the wedding was postponed for "security reasons."

He told me he needed time to help Sofia recover, that the shock of his marriage would shatter her fragile mind.

I believed him. I was the dutiful Mafia wife in training. I held my head high and swallowed the shame.

But patience has a shelf life.

I found out about a new experimental treatment for memory recovery, a neuro-stimulant being used in Switzerland.

I pulled strings, calling in favors my father didn't know I had, and got the dossier.

I drove to the private wing of the hospital, the folder clutched against my chest like a shield.

I needed this to end. I needed her to remember so Dante could finally let her go and do his duty.

The door to the doctor's office was ajar.

I heard Dante's voice. It was low, rough-the tone he used when he was making love.

"No," he said.

"But sir," the doctor stammered. "This treatment has a ninety percent success rate. Ms. Russo could regain her full memory within weeks."

"I said no." Dante's voice dropped an octave, turning into the cold steel of a Capo. "You will not mention this to her. You will not administer it."

My hand froze on the door handle.

"If she remembers," Dante said, his voice cracking with a vulnerability that made my stomach turn, "she might leave again. She might remember she wanted to break up with me before the accident. Right now? She looks at me like I'm her hero. Like I'm her whole world. I'm not ruining that."

"What about Ms. Vitiello?" the doctor asked. "The family is pressuring for the wedding."

Dante scoffed. "Elena will wait. She's a good soldier. She'll do what she's told. Let me have this, Doc. Let me have my fantasy a little longer."

The folder slipped from my numb fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.

Silence radiated from the room.

I didn't wait for them to come out. I turned and walked away.

My heels clicked against the linoleum, a rhythmic countdown to the explosion of my life.

He wasn't protecting Sofia's health. He was protecting his own ego.

He was keeping her broken so he could feel whole.

And he was banking on my submission. He thought I was a piece of furniture he could put in storage until he was ready to use it.

I got into my car, my hands shaking so hard I could barely grip the steering wheel.

My phone buzzed. A text from Dante.

Don't come to the hospital today. Sofia is having a bad day. Stay put. I'll see you next week.

Next week. Like I was a dentist appointment he could reschedule.

I looked at the contact name. My Love.

I deleted the name. I typed in Dante.

Then I scrolled down my contacts until I found a number I had never used, a number every made man in New York had stored but prayed they never had to dial.

Matteo Moretti.

Dante's older brother. The Capo dei Capi. The Boss of Bosses.

The Reaper.

Matteo was everything Dante wasn't. Cold. Lethal. Calculating.

He didn't have a heart to break. He had a ledger, and he balanced it with blood.

I pressed call.

It rang once.

"Elena." His voice was a deep rumble, devoid of surprise. It was terrifying how much power vibrated through a single word.

"I need to see you," I said. My voice was steady. I was done shaking.

"I'm at the penthouse," he replied. "You have the codes."

He hung up.

He knew. He always knew everything.

I drove to the Obsidian Tower, the fortress in the sky where Matteo ruled his empire.

The elevator ride to the top floor felt like an ascent to the gallows.

I punched in the code. The heavy doors slid open.

Matteo was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the city he owned.

He was wearing a black suit, tailored to fit broad shoulders that carried the weight of the underworld.

He didn't turn around when I entered.

"Dante is a fool," Matteo said. He took a sip of amber liquid from a crystal glass.

"Yes," I said.

He turned then. His eyes were dark, darker than the night outside. They stripped me bare, assessing my value, my intent.

"Why are you here, Elena?"

"The alliance between the Vitiellos and the Morettis must be upheld," I said, reciting the laws of our world. "My father expects a union."

"Dante is stalling," Matteo said. "He is playing house with a broken toy."

"I am done waiting," I said. I took a step forward. "I am offering a trade."

Matteo raised an eyebrow. "You have nothing I want. You are my brother's property."

"I am no one's property," I snapped. "Not anymore."

I walked over to his desk. I knew what was in the top drawer. I had seen the glint of the photo frame once, years ago, when I delivered a message from my father.

I pulled the drawer open.

There, face down, was a picture of me. It was taken from a distance, capturing a candid moment of me laughing at a cafe.

I placed it on the desk, face up.

Matteo went still. The air in the room grew heavy, suffocating.

"You have been watching me," I said. "For years."

He set his glass down. The sound was sharp in the quiet room.

"Careful, Elena," he warned. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You are playing with fire."

"I am already burning," I said. "I want to be a Moretti bride. But not Dante's."

I looked him in the eye. "Marry me, Matteo."

He stared at me for a long moment. I saw the hunger he kept chained behind his cold mask. It was a terrifying, violent thing.

"Dante will not forgive this," he said.

"Dante made his choice," I replied. "He chose a ghost. I am choosing the King."

Matteo walked around the desk. He stopped inches from me. I could smell his scent-expensive scotch, gunpowder, and rain.

He reached out and touched my chin, tilting my head up. His thumb brushed my lower lip. It was a claim, not a caress.

"If I take you," he said, "I keep you. There is no divorce in our world. There is only death."

"I know," I whispered.

"Done," he said.

He pulled his phone out. "The wedding preparations will proceed. The date remains the same."

"One condition," I said.

He paused. "You are in no position to make demands."

"Dante escorts me down the aisle," I said. "He hands me to you."

Matteo's lips curled into a cruel smile. "You want to break him."

"I want him to know what he lost," I said.

"Very well."

I moved into the guest suite of Matteo's penthouse that night. It was heavily guarded, a fortress within a fortress.

At 2:00 AM, the intercom buzzed.

Dante.

I buzzed him up.

He stormed in, his hair disheveled, his eyes wild.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he shouted. "Why are your things here? How do you have Matteo's codes?"

I was sitting on the couch, wearing a silk robe. I didn't stand up.

"I moved out," I said calmly.

"You can't just move out." He paced the room. "I told you to wait. Sofia is moving into the villa tomorrow. She needs familiar surroundings. It's just temporary, Elena. Why do you have to be so difficult?"

"Sofia is moving into your villa," I repeated. "And I am moving on."

He stopped pacing and looked at me-really looked at me-for the first time in months.

"You're trying to make me jealous," he said, a smirk touching his lips. "Running to my big brother? That's desperate, even for you."

He walked over and leaned down, placing his hands on the back of the couch, trapping me.

"Come home, Elena. Stop playing games."

He leaned in to kiss me. He thought he could just touch me and I would melt. He thought he owned me.

I placed my hand on his chest and shoved him back. Hard.

He stumbled, shock registering on his face.

"I am not playing games, Dante," I said, my voice ice cold.

"I am Matteo's woman now."