Betrayed By Love, Erased From Memory

I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York. To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen. But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table. It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test. "Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture." I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking. He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago. He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy. He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go. He was wrong. I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don. And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy. I wanted to erase him. I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built. Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa." It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul. On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial. When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth. He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife. Because the woman who loved him no longer existed.

Chapters

Chapter 6

Ellery POV:

My fingers turned into a blur over the mechanical keyboard.

This was muscle memory. I had spent years scrubbing Brendan’s digital footprints to keep the FBI off his back. I knew how to hide things faster than the human eye could track.

I hit a custom shortcut key. The massive red countdown for *Tabula Rasa* vanished, burying itself deep in the background processes.

The screen instantly shifted, pulling up a highly complex, chaotic flow chart of offshore funds moving through the Cayman Islands.

Brendan stepped out of the shadows of the staircase. His towering frame completely blocked the only exit out of the server room.

He reached up and yanked his expensive silk tie loose. The sharp, heavy scent of aged whiskey rolled off him, hitting my nose before he even spoke.

But hiding beneath the alcohol was something worse. The sickly-sweet, hyper-expensive scent of Tom Ford custom perfume. Kiya’s perfume.

My stomach violently rolled. Bile rose in my throat, burning the back of my mouth. The physical and psychological disgust hit me like a punch to the gut, but I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. The sharp taste of copper flooded my tongue, grounding me.

Brendan walked up behind my chair. His large, heavy hands clamped down on my shoulders.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against the back of my chair as he tried to wrap his arms around me from behind.

I reached forward, pretending to grab my empty coffee mug near the monitor. The movement naturally angled my body away, making his arms slip right past me.

Brendan’s hands grabbed empty air. His dark eyebrows snapped together, forming a dangerous line.

He froze for a full second, his hands still suspended. A flash of dark annoyance crossed his eyes. He hated being denied.

I immediately turned my head, keeping my face a mask of bored, professional focus.

"The funds from the docks are currently cycling through three separate shell companies in Panama," I said, my voice dead flat.

I clicked the mouse, magnifying the data on the screen to force his attention away from my physical rejection.

Brendan stared at the monitor. He let out a low, cold grunt, choosing not to push the issue of the missed hug.

He pulled up a second chair, crossing his long legs as he sat down beside me.

I could feel his eyes on me. He was staring at the side of my face, his gaze stripping me down, analyzing my pale skin and rigid posture.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. My chest felt tight, but the hand gripping the mouse didn't so much as twitch.

Suddenly, Brendan reached out. His large hand clamped around my jaw, his fingers digging into my skin as he forced my head to turn and face him.

His rough thumb dragged harshly across my bottom lip, pressing hard enough to send a spike of pain through my mouth.

He stared directly into my eyes, searching. He was looking for that pathetic, lovesick devotion I usually gave him. He was looking for his submissive wife.

I lowered my eyelashes, letting my shoulders slump. I perfectly mimicked the exhausted, compliant posture he expected to see.

Brendan released my jaw. He looked mildly satisfied with my submission.

He leaned back in his chair, his knuckles rapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the metal desk.

The temperature in the server room felt like it plummeted another ten degrees just from his presence.

He stopped tapping. The silence stretched, broken only by the hum of the cooling fans.

"Pull up the live balance for the Swiss offshore account. Number two," he ordered.

My pupils dilated instantly.

Account number two was the exact core node that *Tabula Rasa* was currently eating alive in the background.

Hidden from view, the countdown timer ticked down to *71:45:00*.

Brendan leaned forward, bringing his face inches from the screen. His massive, suffocating presence completely enveloped me.

"Pull up account number two. I want to see the live feed of that fifty million."

Continue to next part

Three days after my fiancé publicly dumped me for my stepsister, the Supreme Don issued a command that silenced the entire estate. I wasn't being cast aside. I was being sold to Damien Russo. The "Broken Don." A crippled, scarred monster rumored to have murdered his last two wives. My adoptive mother, Elena, didn't cry for me. She smirked. To her, I was finally being disposed of. She was so confident I was walking to my death that she decided to loot my corpse before I even left. She forged documents to steal my entire inheritance—my biological mother’s trust fund—to pay for my stepsister’s lavish wedding to my ex. "She won't need money where she's going," my stepsister laughed, wearing a dress bought with my stolen funds. They thought they were sending a lamb to the slaughter. They thought I was too weak, too stupid, and too afraid of the monster to fight back. But they made a fatal mistake. With my aunt’s help, I didn't just find the proof of their embezzlement; I found a weapon. I’m not running from the monster. I’m going to marry him. And when I hand him the evidence that the Herrera family stole from his bride, he won't be my executioner. He will be my vengeance.

Action Mafia Romance

8.0

BEYOND BETRAYAL: WAR WITHOUT END

8.0

Betrayed by his own family, Carrick Aurum Gale was left for dead. But death was only the beginning. Reborn with a powerful system, Erebus, Carrick rises from the ashes to reclaim his rightful place as the most powerful Mafia Lord. With ruthless determination and cunning strategy, he builds a new empire, the Zenith Family, and sets his sights on vengeance against those who wronged him. The streets will run red, allegiances will be tested, and the very foundations of power will be shaken. The boy who was once discarded will become the master of his own destiny. Witness the unrelenting ascent of Aurum Zenith, the Mafia Lord who will stop at nothing to claim his throne.

Action LitRPG Mafia Modern

7.1

From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress

7.1

For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne. But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.” My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love. He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."

Mafia Modern Romance

8.2

I Left The Jester For The King

8.2

"Little Siren: I miss your hands on me." That message lit up the screen of a burner phone I found in my fiancé's jacket pocket while he was in the shower. Franco Moretti, the rising star of the Vitiello crime family, treated me like a fragile glass doll. He claimed he was "saving himself" for our wedding night out of respect. But the phone told a different story. I unlocked it and found three years of betrayal. It wasn't just a fling. It was Camilla, a girl from high school I had befriended out of pity. I watched their history unfold. He complained that I was cold. He called me a statue. Then I saw the invoice. He had bought two identical pink diamond engagement rings. One for me, and one for her. Worse, he had stolen my grandmother' s heirloom jade bracelet-a piece of history meant for his bride-and given it to his mistress. "I need her name to get the chair," he texted her. "You are my true Queen." I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I realized I wasn't a person to him; I was a ladder. Leaving him would be too easy. Leaving is what victims do. I walked to my laptop and opened a new document. I wasn't just going to cancel the wedding. I was going to broadcast his ruin to the entire underworld, and our wedding would be my stage. Then, I picked up the phone and dialed the one number my father forbade me to call. "I accept," I told the deep voice on the other end. "You understand what you are agreeing to, Gianna?" Enzo Falcone asked. "I understand," I said, looking at the New York skyline. "You want an alliance. I want a weapon."

Mafia Modern Romance

8.9

Realms Of Sins (Erotica Compilation)

8.9

Step into a world where desire knows no bounds and power is the ultimate aphrodisiac. This anthology explores the dark, seductive lives of ruthless mafia bosses and elite billionaires. Each story dives deep into the high stakes of dangerous romance, where forbidden passions ignite amidst luxury and lawlessness. Experience a collection of intense encounters and provocative narratives that blur the line between obsession and true love.

Billionaire Mafia Romance

8.6

Remarried To The Ruthless Mafia King

8.6

I found the instruction manual for my own abandonment on a dark web forum while my husband scrubbed the scent of another woman from his skin in the bathroom. The thread was titled "Burden Disposal Strategies." The user, RatKing88, asked a simple question: "How do I dump a loyal wife without triggering a war with the old guard? My parents love her more than me." The replies were brutal. They suggested faking a dangerous mission, forcing a paper divorce for 'asset protection,' and then disappearing with the cash. Moments later, Luca walked out of the bathroom smelling of cheap vanilla perfume and panic. He grabbed my hands, his palms sweating, and spun a clumsy lie about a "Code Red" mission in Sicily. "It is going to be a bloodbath, Sienna," he whispered, his eyes wide with manic energy. "We need to divorce on paper. It is the only way to protect you from the vendettas." I felt a cold rage settle in my gut. He wasn't a soldier going to war. He was a rat running off with his mistress and the family savings, leaving his stroke-ridden father and our daughter with nothing. He planned to wait for his parents to die so he could return for the inheritance. He thought I was just a naive, caged canary who would wait forever. But he forgot that canaries are the first to smell poison in the air. I didn't scream. I didn't expose him. Instead, I looked him in the eye with carefully manufactured sorrow and signed the papers. He thought he was escaping to freedom with a bag full of stolen cash. He didn't realize he had just voluntarily abdicated his throne. And I was going to take it.

Mafia Modern Romance

Betrayed By Love, Erased From Memory

Chapter 6

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