Too Late, Mr. Mafia: The Surgeon He Discarded

I was the wife of Dante Cavalli, the most ruthless mafia Don in the country.

But today, his Underboss slid mandatory annulment papers across my hospital bed, ordering me to dissolve our marriage.

In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged them not to abandon me.

I spent the next thirty years locked in Dante's massive penthouse, waiting for a man who bathed the streets in blood but never gave me a single drop of warmth.

My aristocratic mother-in-law stripped me of every cent, leaving me completely isolated.

I foolishly threw away a brilliant surgical career to be a submissive, obedient mafia wife.

In the end, Dante never came to see me, and I died entirely alone in that massive, empty bed.

Until my last breath, my chest was suffocated by a lifetime of regrets.

I couldn't understand why I had sacrificed my freedom and my scalpels for a man who would only feel a twisted guilt decades after I was already a cold corpse.

Opening my eyes again, Fate had dragged me back to the exact day my nightmare truly began.

Matteo stood at the foot of my bed, clearly expecting my usual pathetic tears.

"Take your time to think about it."

This time, I didn't cry or beg for my life.

I just picked up the fountain pen, signed my name, and walked out to reclaim the scalpel I had abandoned.

Chapter 1

Sienna POV

When Matteo, the Underboss of the Cavalli Famiglia, slid the mandatory annulment papers across the overbed table, ordering me to dissolve my marriage to the most ruthless Don in the country, I didn't drop to my knees and beg for my life like I had done the first time I lived this day.

I just picked up the pen.

The acrid scent of bleach from the Cavalli compound's private VIP sickroom filled my lungs. I looked at the heavy parchment resting on the crisp linen blanket.

I had already lived through the next thirty years—every cold, silent hour of them—and died alone in a penthouse that was never my home. When I opened my eyes again, those thirty years were a fever dream scorched into my skull, every memory sharp and bleeding. Fate had dragged me back to the exact day my nightmare had truly begun.

In my past life, these very papers had been my death sentence.

I had spent thirty years locked in Dante Cavalli's penthouse aerie. Thirty years waiting for a man who ruled the criminal underworld with an iron fist.

He was a man who bathed the city streets in blood to expand his empire, but he had never given me a single drop of his warmth.

I died alone in that massive, empty bed.

My heart had given out while I stared at the coffered ceiling, my chest heavy with a lifetime of regrets and the ghost of the brilliant surgical career I had thrown away to be a submissive mafia wife.

But my eyes were open now.

I was breathing.

I used my thumb to rub the knuckle of my index finger. There was no ossified growth from decades of needlepoint, nor was the skin as thin as vellum. Blood pulsed in the veins beneath, a living resistance.

Matteo stood at the foot of my bed, a mountain of muscle and cold indifference.

"The Syndicate requires you and Don Cavalli to temporarily annul the marriage," Matteo said, his voice a flat, mechanical rumble. "It is for security reasons. A temporary measure."

It was a lie. I knew that now.

There was no temporary measure; this was the first step in my permanent exile.

In my past life, I cried. I grabbed the lapels of Matteo's suit jacket. I begged him to call Dante, pleading for my husband to come see me.

Dante had never come. He had barely even looked at the papers before tossing them in a drawer, and he had only felt a twisted, hollow guilt decades later when I was already a cold corpse.

My lungs expanded, but this time, the invisible lead plate that had pressed upon my chest for thirty years was gone.

I reached out and took the expensive fountain pen from Matteo's massive hand.

"Take your time to think about it," Matteo grunted. He shifted his weight, clearly expecting my usual, pathetic tears.

"Fine," I said, my voice completely steady. "I will sign."

I clicked the pen, bringing the gold nib to the dotted line.

I wrote my name. Sienna.

Just Sienna. Not Sienna Cavalli.

I pushed the papers back across the blanket toward him.

Matteo stared at the signature. The muscle that had been taut along his jawline suddenly twitched. His dark eyes, which had held nothing but a flat indifference, widened by a fraction.

He looked from the papers to my face, searching for the hysterical, clinging woman he had expected to find.

"Are you certain?" Matteo asked, the silence in the room suddenly suffocating.

A smile formed on my lips, but it did not reach my eyes.

"Without question." And as I said it, I felt the first crack splinter through the invisible prison I had been trapped in for three decades.