My Rival Bragged About Her Don Husband, But He Was My Secret Husband

My Rival Bragged About Her Don Husband, But He Was My Secret Husband

I was the heiress of a Mafia family. Since I always kept a low profile, the head cheerleader Selena Hartwell mocked me throughout high school.

After graduation, I cut contact with every last classmate and threw myself into family business.

Then, just as our family was reestablishing its foothold on the East Coast, an old high school group chat blew up.

Selena went crazy tagging me: "Ava Costanzo, I'm getting married — and my husband is a Don! I'm ordering you to come to my wedding!"

The wedding photo she posted showed the groom cropped out, but I recognized the cufflinks.

The man beside her was Julian Moretti, the second son of the Moretti family, a crew that couldn't even manage two shipping routes without leaning on us.

My father shipped me overseas in high school to toughen me up. I ran into a pack of bullies. After graduation, I went completely dark.

Then someone dragged me into a class reunion group chat, and the unread count hit 99+. Half the messages were tagging me.

"Ava, Selena's been this warm and you're just ignoring her?"

"How rude can one person be."

I scrolled back through the thread to figure out what I'd missed. Selena Hartwell had gotten married today. Word was her husband was a Don on the East Coast. Same territory as me, which was apparently why she'd "invited" me.

"Typical Ava. She was like this in high school too, shut everyone out."

"Not much to look at, but acts like she's better than everyone."

I frowned.

Some things never change.

Back in high school, I enrolled quietly, but years of my father's conditioning had made me too good at every sport the school offered. The administration kept pushing me to take the captain spot on the cheer squad. Selena only got the position after I turned it down ten times.

At her inauguration, she showed up with a knockoff Hermès bag. I pulled her aside and quietly told her she should swap it out. She laughed in my face and said I didn't know quality when I saw it.

Then the photos went out, and people mocked her for carrying a fake. She came straight at me, threw a hot coffee over my head. "Was that you who leaked it?"

I just smiled. The hardware was literally peeling off that bag. Did she really think she needed my help to get caught?

I wiped the coffee off, reached into my jacket, and pulled out a pistol. Shot a pellet past her ear. "I'm warning you. Come at me again, and the next one goes through your forehead."

She went white and didn't start breathing again until she realized the gun was a prop.

After that, the cheer squad won a few competitions and she got herself a following. That's when the bullying really started.

"Ava, you can recognize real Hermès — how come you never carry any? Too broke to buy it, or just faking like you don't care?"

"Look how bulky your arms are. I bet you wrestle the dogs for your food at home."

Ancient history, all of it.

So I sent back something polite: "Sorry, I missed the messages. Congratulations."

The chat erupted the second I hit send. "It's been a month. You're just seeing this now?"

"Playing blind, are we? You haven't posted a single photo in years. If things are going badly, just say so. We won't judge."

Selena tagged me: "Ava, remember our bet from high school? I said I'd end up better than you."

"I always said it: all muscle, no style, no future."

I typed back: "Forgot about it."

I'm not wasting brain space on something that stupid.

The chat immediately rose to Selena's defense. "She's a Donna now and you're pretending you don't remember?"

"Jealous, obviously."

"Probably can't afford a gift, more like it."

"Ha, if your broke daddy's buried in gambling debts, Selena might ask the Moretti to go easy on him."

The name stopped me. Moretti. Was that Julian's family? Someone in their family was getting married, and he hadn't said a word to me.

Then Selena dropped a voice message, dripping with satisfaction.

"Ava, I really do want you there. You don't have to bring a gift if money's tight. I can find you something to wear. And honestly, you've always been strong. You could help move a few things around, call it even."

I wasn't going to dignify Selena's taunting with more than I already had. I'd given her a polite congratulations. That was enough.

But then she dropped a photo into the chat. "Me and my husband, waiting for you~"

It was technically a wedding photo, except the groom was cropped out. Just Selena, perfect makeup, arm hooked through someone's, smiling like she'd won everything worth winning.

My eyes dropped to the arm she was holding.

The cufflinks. I'd had those made for Julian by a craftsman. One of a kind in the world.

So Selena's "husband" was Julian Moretti, the man I'd been secretly married to for three years.

Right on cue, Julian's unread message sat in my phone. "Baby, are you free this week? It's been too long. I learned a new recipe — flew in the best bluefin tuna from Norway just for you."

I didn't answer him.

Instead I typed into the group chat: "I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it."

I told my head of operations, Sandro, I'd be away for a few days and handed him full authority over any documents that needed signing. He looked puzzled. "Has something happened with Julian?"

I nodded. "Yes. I'll handle it myself."

Sandro pressed a set of sleek matte-black car keys into my hand. "Take this one."

I frowned. "Too conspicuous."

Growing up, I'd understood one thing clearly: as long as I was alive, the money would keep coming, so I always moved like an ordinary person, blended in, stayed invisible, stayed safe.

Sandro was firm. "Miss Ava. This car has the highest-grade armor. We just arrived, and things aren't fully settled here."

I nodded and opened the door of the black beast.