I Heard His Mind: The Don's Regret

I was naked in the bed of the most dangerous Capo in New York when I heard his mind whisper the name of the woman he actually wanted. It wasn't me. My husband, Dante, moved over me with cold precision, but his thoughts were screaming for Sofia, a soldier's widow he claimed to protect out of "honor." I possess a secret that makes me a freak: I can hear the thoughts of men. And Dante’s mind was a torture chamber of devotion to another woman. I found the deed to a luxury penthouse he bought for her. I watched her parade around in a dress he bought for me, hearing her mental triumph as she thought about rubbing her scent all over it. Refusing to be a placeholder in my own marriage, I left my wedding ring on his desk and fled to Las Vegas to build my own empire. I thought I had escaped. Until the divorce papers arrived in the mail, signed by him. I stood in my shop, heartbroken, believing he had finally discarded me to be with his true love. But then the phone rang. "Dante didn't sign those papers, Elena. He’s in the ICU." My blood ran cold. "He took two bullets to the chest. He started a war to distract the enemy from finding you." He hadn't chosen her. He was dying for me. I tore up the papers and booked a private jet. If the Grim Reaper wanted my husband, he would have to get through me first.

Chapters

Chapter 5

Three days of silence passed before Dante came home with a box.

It was a large, black velvet box with the logo of a French designer emblazoned in gold foil.

He placed it on the bed.

I was sitting by the window, staring blindly at a book I hadn't turned the page of in an hour. My leg was still bandaged, a constant throb reminding me of the kitchen incident.

We hadn't spoken since then.

He had taken to the guest room. Or maybe he didn't sleep here at all. I had stopped checking.

"For you," he said.

His voice was devoid of emotion. It was a transactional offering. A cold peace treaty.

I looked at the box. "What is it?"

"A dress," he replied. "For the Gala on Saturday."

The Outfit's annual charity gala. The night where murderers played at being philanthropists.

"I'm not going," I said.

"You are," Dante said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You are the Capo's wife. You will be by my side."

She has to go. It keeps the rumors at bay.

Rumors that his marriage was failing. Rumors that he was sleeping with Sofia.

I stood up, limping slightly, and walked to the bed.

I opened the box.

The dress was stunning. Emerald green silk, backless, with a slit that would show off my good leg. It was exactly my size. It was exactly my style.

I reached out to touch the fabric.

And then I smelled it.

Vanilla. Cheap, cloying vanilla.

My hand froze mid-air. I leaned closer, inhaling sharply. It wasn't just on the fabric. It was embedded in the fibers.

Someone had worn this. Someone had sprayed perfume on her neck while wearing this dress.

Sofia.

The image flashed in my mind. Sofia, twirling in front of a mirror. Dante watching her.

Does it fit?

Like a glove, Dante. Do you like it?

Take it off. It's for Elena.

He had let her try it on. He had bought a dress for his wife and let his mistress model it first. I was getting sloppy seconds. I was wearing the skin she had shed.

Nausea rose in my throat, violent and acidic. I slammed the lid of the box shut.

"Did she look good in it?" I asked.

My voice was dead calm.

Dante stiffened. "What?"

"Sofia," I said, looking up at him. "Did she look good in my dress?"

Dante's eyes shifted. A microscopic movement. But I saw it.

How does she know?

"She was at the boutique," Dante said, his voice tight. "She helped me pick it out. She held it up to check the length."

"Liar," I whispered.

"I am not lying!" Dante snapped. "Why are you so obsessed with her?"

"Because you smell like her!" I screamed. "My dress smells like her! My house smells like her! My entire life reeks of her!"

I grabbed the box and shoved it off the bed. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

"I am not wearing that," I said. "And I am not going to your gala."

Dante stepped forward, his face dark with fury. "You will wear it," he snarled. "And you will smile. And you will pretend to be a dutiful wife. Or so help me God, Elena..."

"Or what?" I challenged him. "You'll kill me? Go ahead. It would be a mercy."

Dante stared at me. His chest heaved. He looked like he wanted to shake me. Or kiss me. Or strangle me.

I just want peace. Why can't she just give me peace?

"If you want peace," I said, answering his unspoken thought, "then let me go."

Dante froze. "What?"

"An annulment," I said. "Let me go. You can have Sofia. You can have the penthouse. You can have the peace."

Dante's face went blank. Cold. The mask was back.

"No," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you are mine," he said. "Till death."

He turned and walked out of the room. He didn't slam the door. He closed it softly. Like he was closing a casket.

I stood there, staring at the closed door. He wouldn't let me go. He would keep me here, tormented and humiliated, until I withered away.

I looked down at the dress box on the floor.

I wasn't going to wither.

I walked to the closet and pulled out a suitcase. I didn't pack clothes. I packed cash. I packed my passport.

I packed the small revolver my father had given me on my eighteenth birthday.

I wasn't going to the Gala. I was going to the one place where the devil couldn't find me. Or so I hoped.

I pulled out my phone and texted Gianna.

Tonight. The train station. 1 AM.

The reply came ten seconds later.

I'm in.

I looked at the wedding ring on my finger. The diamond was huge, flawless, and cold. I pulled it off.

I placed it on the nightstand, right next to the vanilla-scented dress.

"Till death," I whispered to the empty room.

I grabbed my bag.

"I choose life."

Continue to next part

There are ninety-nine Hermès Birkins sitting in my walk-in closet. To the world, it' s a collection worth millions. To me, it' s a tally of ninety-nine times my husband, Harris, betrayed me. Each bag was a silent apology I accepted to keep our hollow marriage alive. But the hundredth betrayal wasn't fixed with crocodile leather. On the anniversary of my mother's death, I tracked Harris to my family' s private cemetery. He wasn't alone. Jessica, his "first love," was there, standing over the empty plot reserved for my living father, right next to my mother' s grave. They were digging a hole. Jessica smirked, holding a velvet box containing her dead cat and a plaque that read To Arvel, my eternal companion. "It' s just a cat, Cecily," she laughed, tossing her hair. "Don't be so dramatic. Your father won't mind the company. Besides, it shows who Harris really listens to." For years, I accepted the bags and the lies. But desecrating my family's sacred ground? The submissive wife died in that moment. I walked toward them, clutching the evidence that would destroy Jessica' s life and shatter Harris' s world. "Dig it up," I commanded, my voice colder than the grave. "Or I will bury you both right here."

Mafia Modern Romance

7.3

FILTHY LITTLE ASSISTANT

7.3

Jolene flies to Italy broke and desperate for a PA job. She walks into the wrong room and finds a man naked in the shower. She can't stop staring. He notices. The interview is brutal. Two men, Marco and Enzo, tear her apart, humiliate her, and dismiss her. She thinks she failed. Then Enzo gets in the car. It was all a test. They wanted to see if she'd break. She didn't. The job is hers. But they don't want a normal assistant. They want control. They touch her when they want, stand too close, give orders that cross every line. On her first night, Marco tells her to take off her blouse. Jolene has to choose: obey or walk away with nothing. The problem? Part of her doesn't want to leave.

Action Mafia Modern

8.0

From Broken Vessel To Mafia Queen

8.0

Years ago, I threw myself in front of an assassin's bullet to protect my Mafia boss husband, leaving me nearly infertile. He knelt in my blood, swearing I would be his only wife. But tonight, I heard him whisper to his childhood sweetheart in Italian: "My wife is a useless vessel; only you can give the Rossi family an heir." He thought I couldn't understand him, not knowing I used to work as an Italian translator. He also had no idea that an eight-week-old miracle was currently growing in my womb. Julian, you will never see your child. I no longer want your promises. I no longer want you. From now on, we will never cross paths again. Adieu, pour toujours.

Mafia Modern Romance

8.0

His Fake Heir, My Undeniable Power

8.0

After fifteen years of marriage and a brutal battle with infertility, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. This baby was my victory, the heir that would finally secure my place as the wife of mob capo Marco Vitiello. I planned to announce it at his mother's party, a triumph over the matriarch who saw me as nothing but a barren field. But before I could celebrate, my friend sent me a video. The headline read: "MOB CAPO MARCO VITIELLO'S PASSIONATE NIGHTCLUB KISS!" It was him, my husband, devouring a woman who looked like a younger, fresher version of me. Hours later, Marco stumbled home, drunk and reeking of another woman's perfume. He complained about his mother begging him for an heir, completely unaware of the secret I held. Then my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number. "Your husband slept with my girl. We need to talk." It was signed by Dante Moretti, the ruthless Don of our rival family. The meeting with Dante was a nightmare. He showed me another video. This time, I heard my husband's voice, telling the other woman, "I love you. Elara... that's just business." My fifteen years of loyalty, of building his empire, of taking a bullet for him-all dismissed as "just business." Dante didn't just reveal the affair; he showed me proof that Marco was already stealing our shared assets to build a new life with his mistress. Then, he made me an offer. "Divorce him," he said, his eyes cold and calculating. "Join me. We'll build an empire together and destroy him."

Mafia Modern Romance

8.1

Marked By The Devil's Heir

8.1

Trigger Warning: This book is extremely dark, containing themes of obsession, strong sexual content, abuse, and psychological manipulation. Read at your own risk. "I'll delete the pictures depending on how obedient you are. You have to do everything I say. If I want you to become a dog, you get on your knees and bark. Do we have a deal?" Pierce leans down to Malakai's height, his lips brushing the shell of his ear, close enough to taste his fear. "You don't want her to know what a dirty little creep you are, do you?" Malakai Kreston is the preacher's perfect son. Quiet. Obedient. The kind of boy no one looks at twice. But Malakai has a filthy secret. And he'll do anything-anything-to keep it buried. Enter Pierce Masterson. Wealthy. Attractive. Pierce doesn't just want Malakai's secret. He wants Malakai. All of him. His fear. His obedience. His body. His mind. Pierce wants to own it, and lock it away where no one else can ever touch it. Kai has always been the hunter-watching from the shadows, obsessing in silence, taking what doesn't belong to him. Now someone is hunting him. And Pierce doesn't play fair. He plays dirty. How far can you run when the devil already knows every dark corner of your soul? In a game of predator and prey, the lines blur. The roles reverse. And the most dangerous thing isn't the boy who holds the blackmail- It's the moment Malakai stops wanting to be free.

Billionaire LGBT+Mafia Modern

7.8

Shadows of the Moon Bond: Sold to the Alpha Don's Fated Rejection

7.8

Elena Voss was sold like a debt receipt. Her greedy aunt and uncle handed her over to Damien Blackthorn-New York's untouchable billionaire tech mogul by day, ruthless Mafia Don and Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack by night-to settle a family debt they never asked her to pay. The moment their eyes met in that rain-soaked alley, the fated mate bond ignited like wildfire. For one reckless night, he claimed her body and soul, whispering "mine" against her skin while the Moon Goddess sealed their destiny. Then came the betrayal. On their first anniversary, he paraded his pureblood fiancée through their penthouse, let her kneel for him in the study while Elena watched from the shadows, and divorced her in front of the entire pack. "Wolfless trash," he snarled. "You were never more than payment." Heart in pieces and two tiny heartbeats growing inside her, Elena fled. She vanished into Seattle's gray drizzle, changed her name, cut her hair, and built a quiet life as a single mother. She swore the Blackthorn name would never touch her twins-Leo and Luna, the secret heirs he didn't even know existed. Five years later, the children's first uncontrolled shifts rip through their small apartment like lightning. The only place that can teach them control and keep them hidden from rival packs is back in New York-back under Damien's shadow. The Alpha Don who once threw her away is now obsessed. The fated bond never died; it only waited. He feels her every laugh, every tear, every protective growl she gives their children. He'll burn his empire, his alliances, and his pride to drag her back. But Elena isn't the broken girl he discarded anymore. She's a mother with claws. A luna who learned to bite. And this time, if he wants her forgiveness, he'll have to beg on his knees. Pregnancy. Divorce. Secret babies. Billionaire alpha. Mafia power plays. Revenge that burns slow and sweet. Some bonds can't be broken. Some rejections come with claws. And some second chances are paid for in blood.

Mafia Modern Werewolf

I Heard His Mind: The Don's Regret

Chapter 5

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