When The Mafia Marriage Contract Expires

I married the ruthless mafia Don, Zane Falcone, at seventeen to pay off my father's blood debt. For three years, I played the obedient wife, secretly hoping my childhood love would thaw his cold heart.

But on our third anniversary, he left me dining alone, openly flaunting his cartel heiress mistress to the entire underworld.

The final blow came when my father was dying in the hospital. I called Zane, begging for a car. "I am in the middle of entertaining our southern allies, Aria. Stop being dramatic." He hung up on me. Through the receiver, I could hear him dancing with his mistress. By the time I rushed to the hospital, my father was already dead.

At the funeral, Zane abandoned me in the pouring rain to answer his mistress's phone call. When he finally came home, he didn't offer condolences. Instead, he ordered me to pack his mistress's bags.

I handed him the divorce papers, telling him the debt was paid, but he tore them to shreds. "Nobody leaves the Famiglia! You are mine until you are dead!"

Looking at his unhinged rage, a switch flipped inside my chest. I didn't understand why I had wasted my youth hoping to change a monster who saw me as nothing but a breathing contract.

The next morning, I grabbed my fake passport, snapped my SIM card in half, and disappeared.

Chapter 1

Aria's POV

Sitting alone in the VIP room of a restaurant so exclusive it had no name, on my third wedding anniversary, I stare at the fresh photo burning on the screen of my phone-my husband's custom Rolex resting on the bare thigh of a cartel heiress.

If I cannot retrieve the fake passport and the two thousand dollars in cash from the floorboard beneath my bed tonight, the Falcone Famiglia will swallow me whole, and I will die in this blood-soaked marriage before my twenty-first birthday.

The silence in the private dining room is a physical weight. Two armed soldiers stand sentinel outside the mahogany doors. The candle on my table has burned down to a stub, wax pooling on the damask tablecloth like congealed blood. I look at the untouched steak on my bone china plate, cold and gray, the fat congealing around the edges. I've been sitting here for three hours.

My phone buzzes. Not Zane. Rocco, his Consigliere.

"Mrs. Falcone," Rocco says, his voice tight. "The Don cannot make it tonight. Urgent syndicate business requires his immediate attention at the docks."

I look back at the photo on my screen. Vivianna posted it ten minutes ago. The background is unmistakably a luxury hotel suite-crisp white sheets, champagne flutes on the nightstand, the glittering city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. Not the filth and brine of the shipping docks.

"Tell him I understand, Rocco."

I hang up. I do not cry. Those tears dried up somewhere around year two.

My mother calls a minute later. I force a bright tone into my throat.

"Aria, my sweet girl. Are you and Zane having a wonderful anniversary dinner?"

"Yes, Mama. The food is amazing. Zane rented out the entire floor just for us."

"That is wonderful." Her sigh of relief is so heavy I can feel it through the receiver. "He is a good man, Aria. He protects our family. You are so lucky to be a Mafia Donna."

I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles turn white. The bones press against my skin like they're trying to escape.

"Yes. Very lucky."

I end the call and stare at my reflection in the dark window-a pale ghost in a burgundy dress I spent two hours choosing, hoping tonight might be different.

It was never different.

Three years ago, my father, a failing Capo, accumulated a massive blood debt. The Falcone Famiglia demanded a union to settle the score. I was seventeen-young enough to still believe in the fairytale version of the man I'd been secretly in love with since childhood.

The night before our wedding, Zane walked into my bedroom. He didn't look at me with desire. He didn't look at me at all. He threw a thick, three-year contract onto my bed and said, "This is a transaction, Aria. Do not harbor any romantic illusions about me. You will play the part of the obedient wife, and your father gets to keep his head. That is all this is."

He moved me into his fortress the next day. Gave me a bedroom at the far end of the hall, as far from his as the floor plan would allow. I cooked. I waited up. He walked past me like I was furniture.

Last month, on my birthday, he actually promised to come home for dinner. I sat at the table until midnight, watching candles burn down to nothing. The next morning, Rocco told me Vivianna had a "medical emergency." When Zane finally walked in, he looked right through me and asked for his black coffee.

That was the moment my heart stopped beating for him. Just... stopped. Like a watch someone forgot to wind.

The heavy doors swing open. A waiter steps in, eyes darting nervously to the untouched food.

"Should I box this up for you, Mrs. Falcone?"

"No." I stand, my legs stiff from three hours of stillness. "Throw it all in the trash."

Outside, the New York night bites through my coat. Rocco holds open the door of the black SUV.

"Mrs. Falcone. Do not forget the Annual Syndicate Gala is tomorrow night. The Don expects you to be ready by seven."

I slide into the leather seat without answering.

Back at the penthouse, I wait until Rocco's footsteps fade down the hallway. Then I kneel beside my bed, pry up the loose floorboard, and check that the envelope is still there. Fake passport. Two thousand dollars. A lifeline I bought from a street fixer three months ago.

Still there. Still waiting.

I'm sliding the floorboard back into place when my phone vibrates in my clutch. I pull it out, expecting my mother again, another lecture about gratitude.

"Aria!"

My mother's scream tears through the speaker, raw and broken with terror. The sound hits my nervous system before my brain can process the words.

"Mama? What's wrong?"

"It is your father." She sobs wildly, the sound of a woman coming apart at the seams. "He collapsed. He is coughing up blood. You need to come to the hospital right now."

The phone slips in my sweat-slicked hand. I catch it, press it harder against my ear.

"Please, Aria..." Her voice fractures into something barely human. "He is dying."